I take art classes. There. I said it. I can't draw my way across a straight line (never mind an Deadwoodesque pistol battle!), I've lost my previously honed skills for determining development time and density in the darkroom, and I just made a mess of my first mold / casting project, but whatever ... I take them anyways.
Because (despite the suckage) I love them. Not as much as I love lanky men, Macedonian feta or Movember, but I love them.
And also ... art classes are ripe for the sweet sweet comedy!
Doubters? Check these gems from a unit on pinhole photography.
'I'm going to have to check your holes.'
'You're hole is too big.'
'Hmmmm ... your hole looks a little rough.'
Seriously? You expect me to keep a straight face?
(Keep in mind, despite my early-30s-nerdy-lady-skin-suit, I'm really just a sexually frustrated 15 year old boy on the inside.)
Or these more recent panty-wetters, courtesy of sculpture class.
'You get it wet, get it hot, bend it a bit. Get it wet, get it hot, bend it a bit.'
'See how rigid I can make it.'
I am not making this up. You can check my notes. Yes, I am juvenile enough to write this stuff down, but whatever. I also take copious and accurate notes during Art:21 screenings (because PBS flippin' rocks). So suck it, haters.
However, despite my propensity for inappropriate outbursts of gigglage, during a recent video demo on mold making using a live model I was one of the few not giggling uncomfortably and making gynocological comments as two men slathered think blue goo all over woman wearing nothing more than what appeared to be:
Nia Vardalos' hair:
and Revlon Toast of New York lipstick (Helllooooo 90s!).
(Check out Cindy rocking my high school fantasy look! I had a few five finger discount Toast of NewYork lipsticks and a foot-wide [ok, 1.5 inch] barreled curling iron with which I attempted those casual waves, but that's another post.)
Not only was I not giggling, but I was actually annoyed at missing the instructional dialogue in the wake of giggles as the goo was slathered on her breasts and pubic area. I did manage to catch a sweet tip regarding excessive body hair / pubes - the model should slather on petroleum jelly or thick conditioner ... apparently out Nia lookalike went with conditioner.
Yes, I've had The Flaming Lips' She Don't Use Jelly in my head since Wednesday.
But I digress. Point being, I was adult-like and annoyed at the disruption to my learning - a fact that loans further credence to my assertion that I have a personality distorting brain tumor.
However, I thing I redeemed myself fully in this fine moment shared with a Fairway's cashier upon dashing down to purchase petroleum jelly for the class to use as a resist in our plaster molds.
Me (approaching the cashier with three tubs of Vasaline): 'Ummmm .... It's for an art class.'
Cashier (snickering): 'I wasn't going to ask.'
Me: 'That's about as awkward as buying nothing but a lone cucumber.'
Cashier: 'Oh ... or a carrot.' *
Me: 'Hmmm ... cucumber's too ambitious?'
* I just about peed the couch tonight watching Withnail and I ... Uncle Monty's tirade about the quality of root vegetables (carrots in particular) vs. flowers:
" The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is, you will agree, a certain je ne sais quoi, oh so very special, about a firm young carrot."
Well said, Monty, well said.