Art appreciation

I wound up in an art gallery again last night. I'm not sure how this keeps happening to me. I'm not cultured, at all, and I don't really understand art.



My friend Meredith, who is an artist and puts up with me because I'm fun at parties, once took me to one of her friend's shows. The guy's deal was that he took photographs of desert scenes and large empty buildings and such, and then photoshopped in a whole bunch of little people with sad expressions on their faces. I'm making it sound stupid, but it was actually pretty cool. I was so pleased that I could relate to something at a gallery that I said, in a really loud voice, "HEY! Look at all the LITTLE PEOPLE!" The rest of the crowd at the gallery compressed their collective lips (and probably sphincters) and frowned at me. And then they frowned at Meredith, as if she had failed to discipline her child.



She should have known better. The last time she'd taken me to a show, it was a performance art thing, and the artist was sitting in the center of the gallery, nude except for an old-fashioned 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea-style diver's helmet, banging on a steel girder with a hammer. I found this so hysterical that I actually had to turn around and press my face into the wall to staunch the giggling.



The worst part was afterward, at the party. Meredith introduced this poor bastard to me, and before I could stop myself, I actually said, "HEY! You were the naked guy in the Captain Nemo helmet!" He looked at me as if I were something he'd just scraped off his shoe.



Anyway, I wound up in a gallery again last night, and it was fine. I drank too much, but I was otherwise well-behaved. I hope I'm not getting old.