| A few casual yard sale shoppers swung on by, followed by a steady amount of friends and the casual flux of studio-mates past and present. Shea joined the affair late, and without provocation, started to
drag out a ton of miscellaneous trinkets, broken tools and computer parts and stacked them with care on a table outside the gallery. Sensing the iron was hot, and Shea was stepping away from his notorious pack rat and hording ways, I took the opportunity to light up a big fire, beginning with random brush laying about and moving onto the piles of heavily weathered boards, palettes, and weathered furniture lying about the courtyard.
Soon everyone was drinking beer, Shea brought sausages and hot dogs, started up a grilling
fire, and the games began as the crowds waned. Shea found a stash of old, unopened soda cans, which led to a game of stickball, with yours truly supplying the heat, and Shea swinging a heavy aluminum pole. The rest of the studiomates ran for cover.
Oddly enough, it was during a quiet moment that the most startling event of the day took place. Matt and I were resting and talking over some beers when a muffled boom rang out from the fire. Before we remembered I put a couple cans of soda in the fire, we were caught in the fallout area. An explosion of burning embers and assorted shrapnel rained down over an eight foot area around the fire, grazing us and leaving burnt holes in the very seats we sat in.
After nervously laughing and eating some more, we started playing a very, very intense game of Buns Up. With little provocation, the old schoolyard game turned into a hard throwing, intense little rivalry that left Jana, Shea, Matt and I sore and worn out. The party came to a standstill, out of beer, out of food, and almost out of daylight as well. The next day I seemed to have caught the worst of it, with sore hamstrings, butt, calves and a welt on
the side of my leg. |
