yet another vitale warehouse
John Vitale took me on a tour of his new warehouse last night. It's his fourth or fifth warehouse in the past five years or so, but I think this one is going to be the one for fame and fortune. It's a quonset hut that was built by the army during WWII. It's got 8,000 square feet on two floors. More than enough room for art shows, parties, and all sorts of underground functions.
What's really nice is that its right downtown, on 1st ave south and about 20th street. No more driving across the county for Vitale functions.
The timing of it seems just right somehow. As I look up in the sky along the St. Pete waterfront, I see dramatic signs of development everywhere. There's two highrise condos that are reaching up higher and higher into the sky with each passing day. There's also been a half dozen street level buildings that have gone up on fourth street in the past month or so. Groundbreaking for new structures seem to be happening everywhere you look. Even the long vacant, box named Fred lot is going to be a bank. I thought about putting up a sign designating it the "bank named fred."
The point is, St. Pete finally is beginnig to feel like a place that would have the money and the urban life to actually support a real art scene. Most ambitious artists left town in search of greener pastures, but I think this pasture might finally be turning a vivid hue of green. Maybe.
(Boy, it sounds like I'm writing this for some sort of neighborhood newsletter.)
(The Russian neighbors are running their grinder thing again. How considerate to wait until dusk to start doing nerve-shattering industrial projects in a residential area).
(Good thing I'm not a seething, paranoid, misanthrope with a high powered rifle).
(I keep putting off the last work on Bob Bandit's painting job. I keep telling him that I'm going to show up and then I never do. Working a second job sucks. Working a first job isn't that great either. When I get home I just want to do fun stuff and dick around. Oh, well, the money was good enough to get me through Christmas. But no more second jobs for me).
(Tomorrow all of my legal troubles will be resolved. The Hillsborough thing was dismissed. But not until my lawyer milked it for all it was worth. They had no case and no witnesses, and no evidence and still it went all the way to jury selection before my lawyer did a motion to dismiss. Now he wants his full trial fee. It's the same result, he says.
The parking meter thing will be reduced to criminal mischief. Goatbelt will be glad to know that his house is no longer in the hands of Al Estes Bail Bonds. But I guess he'll have to find out for himself. The parking meter incident turned out to be a friendship deal-breaker. We'll he's got Rodney, and Allen Winkle, and Steve and......oh yeah, his wife.
I called him the other morning. He didn't pick-up but it was probably a good thing. Me and Rachel hadn't slept at all the night before and then we went for a drive to just see what the morning looked like. Next thing you know we were circling his house and giving him a jingle. I think the idea was to invite him for a ride in my truck and be good buddies again. But he wisely ignored the call).
6:30:48 PM 
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pictured right: a budding, mini-metropolis.
sick computer