We’ve got a lot of thoughts about the people down the street at the Defibrillator Gallery.  On one hand, we love them.  They’re all super nice, super fun, super sexy, super jokey people.  Their director staged all the photos you see on the Holiday Jones site.  For a bunch of art school grads, they’re unexpectedly not pretentious.  In fact, they’re downright welcoming and friendly.  And their shows are remarkable.  We’ve never felt better about ourselves and the world than after we saw one of their artists get naked in the Gang office and get sprayed with water while another woman sang acapella opera about post-modern feminism.

On the other hand, we’re wildly jealous.  They live the life we only wished we lived.  They do all sorts of crazy things that aren’t boxed in by the conventional rules of modern society.  Like last night, we got a text from their director of operations asking us if we wanted to come down to the gallery to get drunk and donate blood that an artist was going to sluice himself in this weekend.

In short Freudian terms, they’re the id to our ego.  They encompass the existence that we would gladly live if we weren’t bogged down by the obligation of owning and operating a growing hospitality establishment.  They’re the crazy diamond that we wistfully wish to shine on while sitting in our windowless cubicle.

Their Rapid Pulse International Performance Art Festival commences tonight and extends until the 15th.  We highly encourage everyone within eyeshot of this blog to go.  Your life will be affirmed in all ways.

Also, we’re sponsoring it!

Full performance schedule can be found at their website, www.dfbrl8r.org