Emili, Missy and I carpooled to Newport Beach, Calif., yesterday to check out an artsy-fartsy bash sponsored by a bunch of action sports companies. While guitarists crooned on the makeshift stage built in the middle of the Orange County Museum of Art, the surfy partygoers milled around the photographs, woodblock prints and drawings created by surfy artists. How many ways can an ocean wave be conjured on a dry surface? Plenty. And the crowd snapped up the pieces which were priced from $50 for a screenprinted poster to $18,000 for a 10' by 8' sheet decorated with mixed media that illustrated what I thought was a schizophrenic's mind. I couldn't figure out why some pieces were selling. But then I chatted with a pro female longboard surfer whose eyes widened when she thought that I surf (I don't; I tried once in Cabo San Lucas and nearly died). Hooked on the thrill of dancing on water, she surfs every single day in Oceanside, Calif. No wonder the surfers want to be surrounded by visual reminders of the ocean on land.
This piece was an exception to the wave motif. I told Emili that the ghosts from Pac-Man got stuck in the domes of St. Petersburg.
My fondness for blobs extended to the late dinner Emili, Missy and I grabbed at Brite Spot after returning to L.A. Missy ordered my usual of a soy chicken fried steak with two eggs cooked over-easy. So I tried the soy meatball sub and potato salad.
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