Come On Baby, Let's Go Downtown

Upon arriving downtown Saturday afternoon, I noticed the cows.



Having drank about 100oz of water to that point, I went immediately for coffee. The gal behind the counter was rockin' like Dokken with the music cranked up in the nearly empty shoppe. I walked outside to see this:



I believe that's a Boa constrictor. A couple snaps and a square later, I was in the Overture Center awaiting The Dulcinea and her oldest son, D. Upon their arrival, we went upstairs to check out the exhibition in the James Watrous Gallery just as I threatened last week.

I managed to take this picture before being told that photography was not allowed.



No photography? I did as they asked and shut down the camera. I asked why it was that photography was not allowed and was told it was because the artwork was on loan to the gallery by the artists". At least that's what I recall her saying. So? No one gives a flying fuck if the works of art downstairs get photographed. Are they part of some permanent collection of which I am ignorant? Anyway, here's what I can show you from Gina Litherland's exhibition:



While I found Kay Knight's pieces to be rather uninteresting, I absolutely loved Gina Litherland's. Oil on wood, oil on masonite, watercolors - they were all really neat. I really like her 4 panels of the seasons. Unfortunately I wasn't allowed to take photos and they don't appear to be replicated at her webpage. There was also one in which a hunter clad in camouflage was being eaten by a trio of hyenas. Perhaps that one could be permanently hung at the DNR offices down the street. Oh! Here's D checking out Ms. Knight's works:



He didn't care for all the nekkid womyn in Ms. Litherland's work. No doubt this attitude will change in a couple years when he becomes a teenager.

Leaving the Watrous Gallery, we headed downstairs and checked out the other galleries. There were a few neat works and I managed to grab some snaps.





This last one really endeared itself to me. I don't think The Dulcinea figured out what it was right away. But, when she did, she was totally unsurprised that I liked the picture. It was a pleasant surprise to see pubic hair in a work of art such as this. I suspect that it's more common in art nowadays than on real women.

Wandering outside to get some lunch, one couldn't but help notice all the cows. I think this one is some kind of metaphysical statement about identity and communitarianism.



Or not.





Was it pure irony that we came across this last cow on our way to the Chocolate Shoppe? Or was it Fate giving us a sign that we were on the right path?

We ate lunch at the pizza joint next to State Street Arcade. While they definitely have talent, I want to register my dismay at the absurd varieties they have. If you really must cook contrary to the laws of nature and put pasta on a pizza, then do it once. There's no need for multiple pasta-laden pizzas. And, if there actually was a God, then macaroni & cheese pizza would be an abomination unto him. Here's what you need to do if you want a normal piece of za: go somewhere else. I think about 80% of the selections either eschewed a sauce or had something other than your traditional pizza sauce. (Usually BBQ sauce.) Plus I just want to say NO FUCKING FRENCH FRIES ON PIZZA!!! Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus! French fries come in little sacks that are transparent because of all the grease they've soaked up. One takes a fry out of the sack, dips it in malt vinegar, and then pops it into one's mouth. It should not be on a pizza.

At least I was able to indulge in some Zanzibar chocolate ice cream at the Chocoalte Shoppe sans any fucked-up toppings. Mmmm...Zanzibar chocolate ice cream...