The Arty Party

Last night was City Weekly’s inaugural “Artys” awards party where they honor local artists, galleries and whatever else they can think of. I guess they have a ballot and voters. And then they have readers’ choice awards too. Kind of like the Slammys.

I met with Annie Quan, who does marketing for them last week about advertising for the Gallery Stroll and so she put me on the guest list. Pictured above is my nametag. There’s something about a laminated nametag that makes you feel important and one of the clan. My SLGA buddy Kristina came with Brandon. They're pictured below. They were making fun of me because I have a blog. I think mostly they were making fun of the fact that I have time to maintain a blog. I can’t argue. It’s 10:27 AM, I’m at work and I’m posting on my blog. Anyway, they have the cutest little boy named Che. Kristina calls me his “Aunt Laura.” Kristina also has a brilliant daughter named Lily. I’m glad they were there because I know them and I know I like them. But most of the people there are really nice. Ruth Lubbers and Amanda from Art Access were there. They’re nice. I also talked to Trent Call and Tessa Lindsay. Both exhibited at my gallery earlier this spring.

And then there were a bunch of people that kind of looked familiar; but I had to casually glance at their nametags to pick up on who they were. This one girl made a beeline for me saying, “Hi! How have you been?” She hugs me, “It’s so good to see you.” And then she tells me she has the Banana Republic skirt I’m wearing. I laugh, tell her how great it is to see her too and then she walks away. No clue who she was. Until I hear someone call her Lindsay, the bell rings and I realize its Lindsay Larkin, one of City Weekly’s salespeople. I’ve met with her a couple times, but mostly I return her phone calls saying we just don’t have money to advertise this month. She’s nice.

The party was at Panache, which is a restaurant on the second floor of the Wells Fargo Building downtown. The food was good. They had really good bruschetta, mini tacos and mini carrots (not baby carrots, mini carrots). They also had those tiny chocolate mousse cups that I like. But here’s something that confused me: I pick up this small piece of chocolate layer cake. I figure it’s just chocolate cake with cream filling in between the layers and maybe the ganache on top has a minty flavor to it. I take a bite and there’s a strong flavor I can’t identify right away. After a few bites I figure it out. It’s cinnamon. Not cinnamon like the spice cinnamon. That might have been good. No, this is cinnamon like Wrigley’s Big Red cinnamon or Cinnamon Bear cinnamon. Weird. I don’t recommend it. Of course I ate the whole thing.

I don’t get City Weekly’s categories for awards: “Most unusual gallery with least likely proprietor” sounds like a category Maria would make up like she did with the beautiful baby contest when she gave an unfortunate baby the “most delicate hair” award. And then if they gave Local Colors Artworks the award for “Best Local Gallery” simply because they have the word “Local” in their name, that’s kind of cheating, don’t you think? I guess its mostly just for fun. I don’t know. Is this serious? Do winners get award money? I wonder what kind of category I could come up with for me to win an award.

Overall it was a nice party. I stayed an hour. They had a little jazzy band there playing jazzed up Metallica and stuff. I kind of kept to my table though. That’s just how I am sometimes. I’m sure that’s how I’ll be at Dre’s birthday party tonight too. It’s at Jim Arbon’s house. I like Jim, I don’t know Jim, but he is a very nice and pleasant person. Not sure if we’ve ever had a conversation before. But there’s something about his parties that make me feel…invisible? Maybe. I mean, I always go with people I know, so that’s fine, but it’s weird. I walk in, I know all the people there because I see them at other parties, they glance at me, and I know they know me yet we don’t really talk to each other. It seems like at any other party we talk to each other. I don’t know there’s something about Jim’s house. I feel like I don’t have a station there, no place to go. Of course I’ll go because, c’mon, it’s Dre. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DRE! You gotta love Dre. Maybe if I print out and laminate a nametag I’ll feel like one of the clan.