Art = Wank!

While Mexico is preparing to go full on nutso for their Bicentennial, I am worried about groceries.  That is right, the city is decked with Mexican flags and banners everywhere you look.  Every corner has paraphernalia of all sorts, even green red and white donuts.  It will be madness in the next few days.

Where is the syrup?  There is no bread in the house and I don’t even know how many eggs are left.  What is worrying too is that the dogs ate the last of the yogurt.  When Mexico awakes tomorrow ready to get their party on, I am going to be ready to get my breakfast on.  This is a pet peeve of mine, going into celebratory holidays knowing there is no food in the house.

The day was pretty much wasted piddling around the house, waiting on the gardeners, the painters and whatever else there was for interruptions.   About mid afternoon Tonya gets a phone call from this crazy ‘artist/photographer’.  His name is Manuel.  He speaks in parables, kind of like a whacked out Mexican Willie Wonka.  He is blathering on to Tonya about being ‘aqui’, then he finally speaks in a way a normal human can understand and he tells here he is in Mexico City.  There is some exhibition opening tonight and he has a friend or two in tow.  He informs Tonya that he will be by later to get us, then we will go to this thingy and then, they get to come over and drink. Awesome.  He says he will get a bottle, and Tonya asks him if he thinks he is going to sit here till 3am.  This makes for an awkward moment, but it is quickly resolved. “I don’t want them sitting here getting drunk until 3” Tonya tells me…as if I have any complaints about that, especially artists.

This reminds Tonya of the combo Bicentennial/Mordo celebration tomorrow.  She calls Lilliana to find out the who, what, and when.  Seems like the blowout has been scaled back.  The grand total comes in at about five people.  Grilling is on the plans, but Cesar says we should go out.  Lilliana tells Tonya she will call tomorrow and they will go to the grocery store to get the necessary items to celebrate Mordo’s 51 years and Mexico’s 200.

We decide that time is ticking and make a move to go run some errands.  While out Tonya says we should eat early because of the festivities tonight.  We go buy Mordo his birthday present.  Guess what it is?  That is right, a bottle of his favorite tequila.  However, I go the extra mile and choose the special edition one which has a small can of Corona Light shrink wrapped to it.  That is right, Mordo will be floored by the thoughtfulness of this gift.  We stop by the local Taco Inn (Tonya’s fave taco joint) and grab a bite to eat.

Forget my favorite routine part of the day, coffee time.  Who can have a coffee after eating 4 tacos, peppers in cream and fried cheese?  We have a bit of time before Manuel is to show up so we take it easy.  Tonya gets on the phone and I read about George Michael going to jail. Tonya gets an important phone call from a neighbor.  He says he will be over at 9.  He has to speak to her and has some extremely important news.

It is 7:30 and no sign of Manuel.  Tonya looks sheepishly and says that he will probably be late.  Ok, we sit and wait some more.  Eventually she gets tired of waiting and calls Manuel.  He says they are nearby, but does not quite remember how to get here.  She tells him directions and then we wait again.

About 15 minutes later the doorbell rings.  Tonya goes down and checks.  She yells up that they are waiting outside.  Ok, I grab my keys and put my shoes on and head down.  When I get down I see the gang.  They had just come from dinner and were ready to get their party on…at an art opening.  So be it.  In a flash we are at the opening. 

We had only been there a few minutes when the head of the museum saw Tonya and comes over.  They start chatting, and Manuel starts talking some sort of gibberish.  I have no clue what he is saying, I can only judge by the shocked look on the head of the museum’s face and Tonya’s, that he was obviously saying things he shouldn’t.  She smiles nervously and tries to talk to Tonya.  They both smile nervously and she ushers us through the crowd and to a table.  She signals a guy behind the table and he brings out some tequila for us.  In no time, it is handed out and some simple pleasantries are exchanged.  The head of the museum, being the head, can’t hang around long, she has to see to others.  She smiles and politely gets pulled somewhere else. 

This guy was the best.

I hate openings and parties.  Most of the time you stand around like a complete tit just smiling and getting bored.  Tonight is no exception.  To add to the frustration is the endless comment, “Oh…you don’t speak Spanish?  Why not?”  If I had a peso for every time I was asked this, I would be rich.  I smile and don’t answer.  Of course, I would love to ask them point blank, “How much English were you speaking in four months?”  I love how the Mexicans think everyone should be speaking their language…even in America!  Yes, I know, Spanish is the language here.  However, do you know how many times in public back home when a group of Mexicans got together and they knew they could speak Spanish, they would happily do so, no matter who else was standing there.  You see…it is this attitude which plays a part in me struggling to learn this language in the first place. 

I stand around and look at people and play games with myself, like ‘hmmm, wonder what he does.  Look at her shoes, gross.  He is totally out of place…’ Manuel wonders over and asks me something in Spanish, then disappears.  I stand around a bit more and watch the sound guy wearing the glittery cowboy hat.  He is definitely proud of the Bicentennial.  A few minutes pass and Tonya asks if I want to go see the exhibition.  I happily agree, so we go upstairs.  I am a bit confused.  This whole exhibition is on the maguey plant.  I thought there was going to be loads of photos.  There are like two, and then a bunch of drawings.  I get a look around the place, feeling a bit gipped.  This is my first time in Diego Rivera’s studio.  I don’t get him or Frida…but I get him more.  We breeze through the little exhibition and back down two flights onto the ground floor and back into the crowd.

Old playmates re-united.

As we are standing there, repeating the awkwardness I have been so good at so far, I notice this really big lumbering guy.  He looks a bit dopey and something is wrong with his nose.  He’s got a bandage on it or something.  He is a few feet away holding court with more strangers.  He looks at us and I think, “Why is that freak looking so intent at us?”  He starts smiling and he sloppily comes our way.  He holds his arms out and is saying something. Great, this lumbering oaf is gonna fall face first right into our small gang.  Tonya has a deer in the headlights look on her face, then it changes to a smile.  The oaf barges in and hugs Tonya.  He smiles slowly and talks slower.  I keep staring at the bandage on his nose.  Tonya used to play with this guy when they were kids.  This was her neighbor.  This was one of Diego Rivera’s kids.  They stand and talk for a few.  Tonya introduces us, and I shake the big guy’s hand.  He has a painting in Frida’s studio and tells Tonya to come and see it.  He leads us through the crowd and around the studio.  As we wait to push through the crowd Tonya looks at me and says it is almost 9.  The neighbor needed to see her at 9.  She asks if I mind going home and waiting on the neighbor until she gets there.  Ok. 

I am a little miffed about not seeing Diego’s kids painting in the studio.  I have never been in there, so I was curious.  I leave the opening and head back home.  I stand outside and wait for the neighbor.  I recognize his walk from a few blocks away.  He approaches and smiles.  He says “hello” in a sheepish tone.  I say hello back and smile and shake his hand.  I tell him Tonya is with Diego’s son, and she will be here before too long. He struggles a bit with his English and he asks, “What was your name again?”  I tell him and he smiles, “Yes” is his simple reply.  I tell him we can go inside and wait, but since Tonya is being escorted around with an important guy, we might get more done if we go back to the opening and grab her.  He agrees and we go back.  As we walk in I tell him to relax, he probably has friends here.  He just laughs.  Now I am standing in a sea of strangers with a neighbor.  He makes small talk.  I point out the head of the museum to him.  He is polite and we laugh at our nervousness.  I tell him Tonya was taken into Frida’s studio.  He asks if I have been in there.  No.  He motions for me to follow him and he makes his way in like he owns the joint.  The place is packed.  We wind up the stairs.  At the top, he stops smiles and points, “Look.  It is Frida’s bathroom.  It is just like yours” he says.  He makes me laugh.  I don’t think it is like ours, but if he thinks it is funny, then I do too.  When we get inside the room at the top, Tonya is standing arm in arm with Diego’s son.  People are snapping pictures….so I do too.  Next thing I know Manuel is chatting to him and pulls out a video camera and gets him to start talking about his painting and the Bicentennial.  This is when we get Tonya and take her away.

Tonya and the neighbor have a pow-wow for about 15 or 20 minutes.  They laugh, smile and smoke.  Eyebrows are raised and some exclamations are made.  It is private stuff, but interesting.  When they have talked over what they need to talk over, we walk the neighbor outside and say goodbye.  After I shake his hand, Tonya asks if we should go back to be with her friends.  Ok. Here we go again.

I am the guy who does not belong.  I just stand and smile and Tonya gets pulled here and there.  Every so often, she takes a moment to tell those around us that Tim does not speak Spanish.  They look at me and continue on (bastards!).  I stand and take it like a hero.  I smile and nod while they jabber on and on.  For some reason I get really perturbed with the couple Tonya is now talking to.  Once again she stops and introduces me to them, they smile and we shake hands.  She informs them I do not speak Spanish and they say they speak English. Good, maybe I can be a part of a conversation.  They turn to face one another and start right back up into Spanish, as if I was not there.  After I have enough of the laughs and stories I could not understand, I decide it is more fun to go home and make popcorn.  So I do.

'Untitled art wank' - Tim Murrah

I am kind of hungry because we had an early dinner, so I think the idea of a big bowl of buttered popcorn sounds pretty awesome.  This is the real deal, cooked on the stove top, not some microwave rubbish.  As I am putting the finishing touches on my ‘corn, I open the fridge to grab a coke. “What!”  I say to no one.  There are no more cokes.  I ask aloud once more “Who drank the last coke!” and shut the fridge.  Now I am really mad.  No breakfast. No coke. No English and a Bicentennial yet to go. Oh-and the art crowd will be showing up at any time. 

Sure enough, about 20 minutes or so goes by and Tonya comes in and says that everyone else is in tow.  The living room fills up with art opening folks and they immediately start helping themselves to my popcorn.  What the ….  I smile and help Tonya get some glasses and get the visitors some refreshments. For the record, Manuel came empty handed even though he said he was bringing a bottle of something for the revelers.  I am an outsider in my own living room.  I decide I will back out slowly and go upstairs to be pathetic and type this blog.  Someone asks who wants a mescal.  Tonya sees me and tells me to have one.  I oblige.  Manuel then starts talking to me about mescal in Spanish.  I just stare at him.  He obviously is in another world and cannot decipher the ‘what the hell are you saying’ look on my face.  The mescal tastes like wet cardboard.  I am going to try and casually set it down on an end table, when some guy named George starts talking to me.  He’s an older guy, a photographer.  He pulls out his iPhone and starts giving me a mini exhibition of his work.  He is really a nice guy. 

I try my best to stay out of the way, and decide that talking with George is alright.  The crowd eventually shifts and so I do too.  I go to the table to see if there is any popcorn left.  I get pulled into a conversation with a young guy wearing a Hermes belt. It is completely small talk.  In moments of silence, he repeats his last statement and sighs.  This drives me nuts.  The crowd comes back down and comments about my record collection.  He asks if I collect records. “Yes, I try”, I tell him.  All of a sudden this guy is telling me the best place to buy records here. “There are two places” he says loudly. He then tells me the streets where they are located.  One of them is actually a corner.  Everyday this guy comes out with crates of records and sells them.  ‘You have to look through his stuff though.  When he has good stuff, he has good stuff” he says.  “You see, this guy has no idea of what he has, so it all sells cheap” Ok, this is the best thing I have heard all night.  I ask him to write down the street corner where this guy is. 

Next thing I know everyone is up and saying they are leaving.  Tonya is asked to call someone a cab, turns out it is George.  Everyone else is making quick with their departures.  I walk with George outside, to say goodbye to the rest of the crowd.  As we are at the gates George pulls a can of some sort of mace out of his pocket.  Before I can ask him why he has it (duh, obvious!) he says he was almost kidnapped before, so he never goes out in the city without it.  If I walk with him to take another guest to her car, he will tell me the rest of the story.  We walk the lady to her car, and as we are almost there a car comes barreling down the cobblestone street, “Well.  They just stole that car” George says.  The lady chimes in, “I don’t trust anyone here.  I will give you guys a ride back because this is Mexico” I think this is a great idea.

As she drops us off George is telling me his story.  Tonya is outside waiting, having a smoke.  George tells how he was looking for a theater and hailed a cab on the very street he was already on.  He gets in and becomes the chump these creeps were waiting for.  The cab slows and two guys come and open the doors and start yelling.  George yells back and they get in.   George kicks on of the dudes and they dog-pile him.  The cab drives a few blocks and pulls up to another guy waiting to jump in.  In all the ensuing chaos George manages to get loose.  He gets away.  He says that while he was dog piled, they had been stabbing him in the leg.  “That is why I never leave without this stuff” he says holding up his mace.  This is the type of story I like to hear when I am about to go to bed.  I already feel at odds with this place, and now George just crop dusted extremely combustible fuel on my fire.  Tonya puts her cigarette out and sighs.  I know she appreciates the huge favor George just did.