Sunday was hot, and not just due to pressure systems and jet streams. The temperature was on-the-rizzah at the High Noon Saloon, where the darlings of Cherry Pop Burlesque hosted Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School, a sketch-a-hot-scantily-clad-mom who-could-kick-your-ass event.
I have always had an interest in the arts, so I thought this would be a good, wholesome way to spend an afternoon. I was also once told that I was more sketch than a rough pencil drawing. Dr. Sketchy's Anti-Art School seemed applicable to my interests and personality.
Sexy-time was MC'd by the hularyoos Olive Talique, whose slight Brooklynite accent made me wonder, "Did more of my peoples make a pilgrimage from the land of bagels to the land of queso?" I always get grilled for leaving a highly liberal quadrant of the country for the vice grip of Wisconsin. Although my old school townies can get civil unions up the hoo-hah, can they draw oodles of cha-chas in a supportive public forum? Hmm?
As I sat surrounded by a Groucho-glasses-wearing woman, some sci-fi convention types, and two Iowa burlesque lasses -- Betty Wantsme and Kitty LaRue of local group Foxy Veronica's Peach Pies -- it made me wonder: Was this hedonism (originating in New York) only due to the infiltration of non-Sconnie immigrants? All I wanted to do was draw bongos, not analyze state border control. Holy schnikes, this was getting deep!
As I sat pen in hand, poised to draw variations of ass-crack, quietly having an anxiety attack, something miraculous happened. Olive noted that the two children running around were not grammar school boozehounds, but the kids of the model, Randi O'Toole. "Don't drink any whiskey!" she warned them. And this snarky little girl shouted back, "I don't like whiskey!"
Maybe it's the D.A.R.E. program in action, or maybe she prefers scotch; either way, she was and is, by far, the coolest kid in Wisconsin. She single-handedly proved me wrong -- a new dawn is a-coming for Wisconsin, one confident, empowered, opinionated little lass at a time.
The rest of the afternoon was spent drawing in true art class style, sketching the occasionally clothed, occasionally gyrating Olive and Randi. Prizes such as Bongo video gift certificates and a jar of olives with a few attached condoms were given out for the best renderings. With tables full of PBR and crayons, Elvis, Violent Femmes, and Rusty Warren on the stereo, and some hawt broads in sparkly costumes on the stage, the only other thing that could have been better would be a side of Smut Muffins on my tongue.
Right now, my etchings are still in an amateur state. But with practice, I think my vision of Madison is becoming clearer.