This morning I woke up on our new couch. I think at some point I meant to go to bed, but I felt so comfortable where I was, I never quite made it. Also, my husband was snoring pretty loud, which was no small discouragement. I dicked around on the internets for a while, and then peeked in to see that Andrew (the husband) was happily sleeping diagonally in bed with his head on my pillow.
Clearly, he missed my presence very much.
I woke him and offered to go pick up egg sandwiches and bring them home. Andrew took this to be some sort of incredibly sweet gesture on my part, but really I was just hungry and impatient.
Now I am immersed in our Saturday ritual, wherein I drink cup after cup of coffee in our favorite coffee shop, pretending to do my homework while continuing to dick around on the internets, as Andrew and our friends perfect their performance art.
Performance art is the term we have adopted to describe the act of generally behaving like an asshole for the sake of our own amusement. The term originated one day during a discussion of vegan donuts, when my friend Alli proclaimed that she would like to open a vegan donut shop wherein she would secretly fry the donuts in lard, and that it would be her “performance art.”
Performance art, in this connotation, is a favorite pastime for my group of friends. Our greatest form of entertainment is found in insulting each other, and musing about things we could do that serve no purpose or motive but to behave like an asshole. The scenarios are rarely acted out, but one account I have been told of comes to mind as a perfect illustration of the term.
Nearly every one of my friends keeps a blog on LiveJournal, myself included. LiveJournal is fairly notorious for a phenomenon known as drama, of which there are many forms. Some episodes of LJ Drama stem from genuine misunderstandings and others from deliberate creation of misunderstandings. My friends decided to engage in the latter, by drawing each other’s names and picking a fight on LiveJournal with the person whose name they drew. The catch? The person with whom they were picking the fight was fully apprised of that fact.
Allegiances were pledged, vendettas were issued, and the desired effect was achieved: the amusement of a select group of people who were in on a joke that was funny to no one else.
That is performance art.
I have no idea what it is that draws us to this particular art, except that we are a collection of people who were misfits as adolescents, and misfits are terribly resistant to reform.