Only an idiot would go through it alone unless you had to

There aren't any "little people," unless we are talking about people who are, actually, physically, little, and even in that case, there aren't many good reasons to discuss their size, unless you are purchasing clothing for them and they prefer to wear clothes that fit.

I wanted to post up something about the 2008 Poetry Scores Art Invitational, which we hosted last night at Hoffman LaChance Contemporary, with a mutually - indeed, communally - created vibe that makes me happy to be here, the way Barack Obama and David Axelrod make me happy to be here.

I didn't take any pictures or make any sketches, I just wanted to look at art and connect with people and drink Schlafly beer and eat John Eiler food, and I did all of those things, and they all made me happy. I also bought art, which I wasn't certain I would be able to do; this, too, me, happy to have made, as the Germans would say, if they spoke English along the lines of German grammar, which they never do.

I wanted to put up some good word, here, this morning about how happy this event made me and how much I love - I am, I think, talking about love, here - the people who helped to make it possible. Not having any images of the night, my thought was to plunder Thom Fletcher's Flickr site (henceforth, thy name be Fletchr) for an image of the sculpture Fred Friction contributed to last year's invitational.

I would have used that image as an excuse to talk about how happy I was to see Fred and his darling "K-leen" last night, especially seeing them together, because, as an Okie who married a cousin of mine once said to me, when I was contemplating divorce in a previous life, "Life is really fucking hard and only an idiot would go through it alone unless you had to."

That post would have gone on to complain at myself that, though I bought Fred's sculpture last year, it's still in a bucket in my basement, waiting to be reassembled; and I would have issued an open invitation to Fred (or anyone with gifts for making shapes in physical space) to come out to The Skuntry Museum one cold day this winter and help me to reassemble it.

But, checking the crab traps of my friends, and I am talking about wholesome crabs one eats, not infestations of pubic lice, I see that Tom Fletcher already is up and at it on that there Fletchr site, with fresh pictures from last night, and why does that not surprise me.

So I thought, instead, to post up pictures of the Poetry Scores support staff, my fellow board members who did all the actual work last night, while I connected with people (which is surely important, for a fledgling arts org, if not by any stretch "work" to me).

Serra Bording-Jones, who bought the ice and minded the till and collected the filthy lucre. Charlois Lumpkin (our people have unbeatable names), who minded the bar and inspired the generous tips which always more than pay for the beer and outfundraise the art auction. John Eiler, who made the patTAY four ways, including this handsome salmon in the shape of salmon pate, and otherwise foraged for food. Fletcher himself, who backed the bar.

Others did other things. I'll keep an eye on Fletchr for pictures of them and opportunities to enthuse over them.

Thanks to Schlafly for the free and discounted beer (Anthony Brescia is a beautiful man, and Fat Charles is a fat and beautiful man), for KDHX for finding us Serra and Charlois in the video production class they set up for the making of Blind Cat Black: the movie, and for the Hoffman LaChances for cohosting the best party I attended all year.

Love, and I am, I think, talking about love, here,

Chris the creative director