after the show at piano's, they asked me to perform at deitch projects. as if i would let my stash air force I's go anywhere near casey spooner's athlete's foot. instead, i decided to go back underground for a while. that and after instigating that as-four-way beatdown on leo fitzpatrick at the benjamin cho show, kid america thought it would be best for me to lay low. recalling the practically lethal exposure to corporate retail following the popeye's quagmire, i thought it best to hide in plain sight. i'd blend into the background, become wallpaper, like someone who still reads *wallpaper. i'd wear regular reissued dunks and type-1 jeans. trade in the eugenia kim for one of those stupid fidel castro hats. talk about going to field day, the matthew barney exhibit, and other such nonsense. read mcsweeney's while listening to the new white stripes record. eat at planet thailand, ride a schwinn cruiser, join friendster, make obscene drawings on mspaint, tell people that i liked donnie darko, drop references to baudrillard, mr. show, and quantum physics, carry a copy of dave hickey's air guitar in my ironic tote bag...in other words become completely unspectacular, filler for some anonymous greenpoint loft complex. and it was working well.
or so i thought.
summer - o'clock