Tonight, I get to be an artist. Un artiste, if you will.

Over the last few weeks, I had one of my photographs framed and submitted it to a political art auction. I have never shown my work and no one knows me from a hole in the wall, but I decided to take the plunge and put myself out there anyway, thanks to a gentle nudge from Saviabella.


Now, I am nervous and wired and really wishing that I could just go home and eat tortilla chips under my comforter, but I can't, because the auction is tonight. TONIGHT AT 6:30. Apparently, the art buyers like to meet the artists, and so I have to go out in public as an artist, which for some reason feels as awkward as going out in drag for the first time.

My plan is to wear all black, not that my wardrobe offers me many other options, and play the role of a reclusive mute, because nothing paves the way to success like social ineptitude paired with a lack of verbal communication. I like to think that artists can get away with this sort of behaviour. Also, I plan on highlighting the new rash of pimples along my upper lip with daubs of sheer lipgloss in Warm Peach. I'll turn the world of moustachery on its head, just you wait.

I just realized that the pants I am wearing don't have any pockets, because they are the kind that are supposed to be all drapey and figure-flattering. Whatever will I do with my hands for several hours while I wait to see if anyone bothers to bid on my piece? I can't smoke there, I'm not a nail-biter, my cake-hole can only take in so much finger food, and keeping a fierce grip on my water glass is not the way to appear suave and in-the-know. I guess I'll just have to go for my default behaviour, which is to finger the hem of the Palinode's suit coat while I alternate between stroking the rim of my cup and rubbing my thigh. I will still look a touch obsessive-compulsive, but as most of it occurs below table level, it will be less distracting.

So, a reclusive, mute, obsessive-compulsive artist with a facial rash I'll be. * If you live in Cityville and are going to this bash, you'll know me. I'll be the one crouching behind a balding man looking like I could really use an alcoholic beverage or three.

* You just know I am cooler than you.