Sit down

Alright, where do I begin. Friend invited me to a gallery opening, in which he was performing, as part of the sort of background scenery in the tableau vivant that the main artist was trying to enact, which was in fact a reenactment (down to empty beer bottles and a chess board you were allowed to play with) of an artist space that used to exist - or maybe still does - in New York, but was dedicated to Houston (the city in Texas, not the street in New York), and populated with Houston-originated artists. So this main artist, a performance artist, generally strives, in his art, to make you feel uncomfortable (I had to leave when he began to drink the salsa and smear mayo on his face [actually, not mayo, Miracle Whip]), but he doesn't just want you to be annoyed or horrified uncomfor- table --- he wants you to feel simultaneously empathetic (are you keeping up with the meta?) -- all of which was actually best achieved by a woman in attendance who was not meant to be performing at all, but couldn't help herself, because she was SO DRUNK she simply had to keep interjecting, commenting, taking over, making demands, drinking Jack Daniels, falling down, poetry slamming, breaking her teeth in a big bloody mess on the cement.