See Ya at Obama’s Crack
Obama’s won the Nobel Prize for peace and all I can think about is that I won’t be able to stare at his butt anymore. Let me explain myself!
Apart from being a great little hang-out with decently priced beer and some great music, Polyester, a tiny forgotten bar on Traversia de San Mateo, also has random art exhibitions. Art might be too grand a word for it. Let’s just say that gay arty types decorate a pillar for a predetermined period of time. Months ago, when I was first brought there by Andrew – my token American friend - I was shocked to see that Obama had been drawn fully naked on a pillar in the centre of the room. Clearly this jaw-dropping body wasn’t his but an inspired remodelled version of Leonardo Da Vinci’s David with Obama’s face on it. The human sized drawing made me slightly uncomfortable at first. Surely this was not the way to treat our saviour. But on seeing my American friend’s reaction, who thought the whole thing hilarious, I realised the political correctness of it all and applauded the feat. On one side of the pillar, you could …well… see his privates and on the other side his remarkable, delightfully sinful, bubble butt. This chef d’oeuvre soon became our favourite meeting point. I mean how can you not adore saying this over and over again: “I’ll see you at Obama’s crack!” We even abandoned our adored GRIS (C/de San Marcos) with its foosball table in the basement –perfect for making new friends - and its interesting sculpture imbedded in the wall of a black and white chequered man trying to crawl out of it. Let’s face it: a dude half-way stuck inside a wall cannot compete with Obama’s buttocks.
But last week Obama’s crack was covered up; the pillar had been black duct-taped over. In its stead, there was a collage of random pictures representing the artist’s earliest sexual awakenings including an extensive listing of the proper use of handkerchief in one’s back-pocket. I counted over 70 different colour schemes all with ambiguous meaning depending on which side you wore one, ranging from the ownership or not of a suit to the worshipping of navels. Some of the crudest codes would most surely make our Noble Prize winner blush but I have to admit that every time I see him on TV now, I check if he is not wearing a mustard hanky in his left pocket.
