Adventures in Volunteering: The SFAC

Earlier this month Gavin Newsom hosted an event at the SFAC, which is one of the places I hope to work one day. I had never done anything prior to the event to get my foot in the door with these people, so when I caught wind of it I stayed up into all hours of the night fixing up a lovely little resume and cover letter to send to the director of the art gallery in hopes that I’d be able to participate somehow. She called me back the next day to say that she’d reviewed my application and that she’d love to have me there. Right! I was in!

I had work before the whole shebang, so on top of smelling like a nice mixture of sangria and sweat, I had remnants of simple syrup stuck to my pants. And of course, this day was one of the three hot days we have in S.F. per year, and because God has a wicked sense of humor, I had chosen to wear gray: the ultimate sweat revealing color. Had my sleeves not been great and flowy, I’m sure that the blistering Muni ride and the subsequent speed walking up and down Van Ness (I was lost) in my black pea coat would have resulted in the greatest armpit sweat spots known to man. My back was soaking when I finally met up with Liz (an art friend who was also working the event) who didn’t have a thing to worry about because she had so little clothing on that the only areas that were covered up were the ones that don’t particularly generate a lot of sweat (or at least, let’s hope not).

The SFAC building is a lot older than I had expected. The floors throughout the place are a glossy pea green and there are heavy wooden doors and wooden spiral staircases everywhere. The feel is almost Victorian, which I don’t dislike but am also not particularly fond of; however, the open, airy and spacious event rooms with their beautiful antique chandeliers to accent the double doorways that open up into gorgeous balconies with views of the city are spectacular. Chandeliers, art, Gavin: it all sounds so romantic, right? It probably was. “Probably”, not “definitely” because there was also a bar where I drank lots of booze. Romantic booze (red wine) thankyouverymuch.

I enjoyed meeting those who attended the event; San Francisco is always good for an interesting crowd. Many were artists themselves, either there on their own or family members of the guest of honor (Ruth Asawa), and others were just hoping to get a piece of Mr. Newsom, including my scantily-clad friend. Honorable mentions include Frank Chu, a.k.a. The 12 Galaxies Guy, who I'm sure was just there because he smelled a camera crew. And Frank? If you're reading this, the next time you go to a public event, I think all of us would appreciate it if you'd button your shirt all the way down to the last button or, at least wear a t-shirt under your dress shirt. I don't like the fact that I know the exact size and shape of your protruding belly and the look of your belly button frightens me. Anyway, to the aforementioned single ladies trying to get a bite out of Mr. Mayor, I have to say that I really don’t see the appeal. He’s just a well groomed guy in politics that isn’t of retiring age, right? Is that all it takes? If the pope was a 32-year-old man with good hair and a strong jaw line, would everybody say: wow, check out the pope!-?

In reality, Gavin’s face is tinged a weird reddish pink color and he wears too much cologne. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that every single member of his posse--who all dress like they’re auditioning for Men in Black III--wears the same cologne. They all rushed in like tiny tornadoes of Boss #6 barely five minutes before Gavin was scheduled to speak, totally skipping over their name badges and programs. Newsom ran up to the podium, gave his speech about how important he feels art is in San Francisco, asked Ruth to say a few words (a few as in three—literally) and that was it. They were gone. Just like that. In an article published by the SF gate, Newsom is said to use plain soap, cheap gel and no cologne whatsoever, but my eyes disagree because not only did they SEE him looking so fresh and so clean in the kind of metro way that doesn't permit products of less value than what J.Lo would use, but they watered BECAUSE OF ALL THE ALCOHOL FUMES THAT WERE RADIATING FROM HIS SKIN.

Anyway. I can’t wait for another event at this particluar venue. I was pleasantly surprised that the director of the gallery wasn’t some stuffy old woman with horn-rimmed glasses, but a young woman with star tattoos on her calves, a nasal septum piercing and fiery red hair instead. This gives me hope that the next turnover in the gallery world is going to benefit me immensely, given that shoes from The Walking Company and white stockings with tummy and rump support just don’t suit me. Three cheers to that.