Last night I went to my friend world-famous visual artist Sam Spano’s birthday party. He’s 32 now apparently. I’ve known this dude for a long time, what with him having worked at Donut Farm many years ago, and having gone to grad school with my spirit-sister, who is world-famous French Canadian multimedia artist Laura Rokas.
And anyway, when I stupidly left Oakland a few years ago and spent a miserable rotation around the sun in Portland, I gave Sam Spano my old room in the house I shared with Laura and Tracey. Man, that’s just about the best house I ever lived. Laura painted an emblem for it and everything, which I had originally asked her to make to put on the hood of the Doomsmobile, but then it was stolen (lol). See here:
Well, this son of a bitch, this Sam Spano—he still lives there, minus all of us! It is a strange sensation to revisit my old house and sit inside of it, and so on. Sam kept it looking real nice though. Yeah. That dude is cool.
We drank a bunch of wine and a bunch some other thing, which I have forgotten, and which I had never had before. I had my own bottle of PIG WINE, don’t you know, and some fuckin Thai food I’d brought from Tuk Tuk in downtown Berkeley. And in this state, in this dreamy state, with my blood full of alcohol and my stomach full of noodles, I remembered there were things all around the house that the three of us had left when we left for good. I remembered the lucky cat sculpture Laura had made of her cat Boyboy and I wanted to take him home. Little Boyboy statue was still there by the stairs. I asked Sam if I could take it and he walked over and gave it to me. I put Little Boyboy on the armrest of the couch and hung out with him all night. See here:
Boyboy is in my room now, on the shelf across from my bed, surrounded by other little animal sculptures I have. I love him. I have been asking Laura to make a Dante lucky cat for a billion years, and now he can sit next to Boyboy . . . so hopefully this public post guilts her into it. Though, Laura, if you’re reading this, and I know you eventually will, can you make Dante into a tanuki statue instead? Like this:
I would scream. That would be so cute. You got to leave off the enormous testicles though, cuz Dante hasn’t had any in like eleven years.
How can I end this post? I need to go to sleep. OK, here’s a 140-year-old Japanese woodblock print of of an umbrella-wielding tanuki using his gigantic balls to ward off some stupid idiot jerks who didn’t know what they had coming to them:
Happy birthday, Sam Spano. You’re cool. Please let me hang out in my old house more often. Why aren’t we doing more shit together?? For god’s sake man, I’m right down the street from you.
And Laura . . . get to work!! Dante demands it. Yeah~