Go back with me. Way back. By my carbon-dating techniques, I'm going to say around a month and a half. Yes, we're talking ALL the way back, friends, to late January. It'll be alright, just bring some water rations and don't taunt the wild animals roaming about madly.
Look, there's Late January Me, sitting around the house bored out of my mind. My friends are traveling in London, Florida, California, or in the library studying for the February bar. Every last one of them. I'm unemployed every other week and - oh look - I'm climbing up the walls, literally. There are scratches all over them.
So I decide to Do Something. It had to be something I could do by myself, obviously, and something cheap or free, lest I be forced to sell a kidney for rent. As an avid DCist
and DC Art News
reader, I decided to take their weekly agenda advice and start going to some shows. I mean, I like art, right? I'm kind of a photographer
myself - not exactly an artist, but I like to think it gives me a little bit of an increased perspective on the subject. Okay, maybe not, but why not give myself a little culture. For free! Plus, I live on U Street, it's not like I have to trek very far to find a gallery.
So I go to one. And of course I blog about it
! If I'm going to blog about bugs in my oatmeal
(I still get google hits all the time for that post) then, yes, I'm going to write about the art show I went to. Then I see another
. All of which are linked to by this guy
, who noticed me because I'd linked to him on this site a number of times.
Then, things start to get weird. Really Weird. As a result of my increased readership from those links, I get an email from this guy
, who invites me to happy hour and promptly pimps me out as an "art writer" to every single one of these people
who gets within ten feet of me. Time passes. An entire two weeks, if my calendar is winded properly. Suddenly I'm one of those people! I get press passes
! I sit four chairs away from the WaPo art critic, who's review on the same show makes me SO MAD I'm spitting about it for hours. I'm an angry art critic! Is this the same girl who spent a summer assembling telescopes at Perkins Observatory
in hopes of one day becoming the next Mission Control Commander for NASA? Is it the one who moved to DC out of a desire work her way up the ugly political ladder and be the liberal Peggy Noonan
? How about the one who agonized through three years of law school just to become a glorified secretary?
Oh folks. We haven't hit the peak of sureality quite yet.
Someone has rationalized today that I'm one of the two "most widely read Washington-based online art writers on the planet.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lotto ticket to purchase.
Just a quick addendum. I wrote this rather flippantly, mostly due to plain old flabbergastiness on the whole subject -- in fact, it gave me flashbacks to that terrifying heat-flush I got every time I was singled out in Property class and asked, "Ms. Mylastname." One hundred faces turn to watch me squirm. "Why did the defendant's lose their right to the easement in Archaic v. AncientCase?" But in fairness to the artists I write about, I wanted to add that I take my reviews quite seriously. And who knew, but I actually have a degree in writing and have been published in a couple (far, far
off the radar) magazines, and maybe more importantly, I have the patience to sit and think critically about something, so I'm not a totally unqualified hack. Not totally
. I will, however, let Lenny explain to my editor that I haven't turned in a review in four months because I'm sitting paralyzed under the spotlight in front of my laptop.