Most popular question at Glow: “Dude, where' s the show?” Most popular response: “Beats me, bro.”

"Dear Santa Monica,

What I'm about to say might hurt, and I mean no disrespect because I’ve got nothing but love for you. But while Glow was great in theory, the execution left me baffled, dehydrated and one irrational thought away from a civil misdemeanor.

You promised us "A collection of international artists transforming the iconic Southern California spot into a premier art destination from dusk until dawn." Not so much. Perhaps the art was great, phenomenal even, but that means nothing to a frazzled mind. In the true spirt of a twilight visit, I waited until 1 am to arrive, and therefore spent spent all my energy stalking tourists for their parking spots, scheming to Red Rover it through the police barricade onto the pier and plotting revenge against the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company for withholding fish and chips at 1:55 am (everything closed at 2). And yes I could have lined up for a latte and cinnamon roll at one of the many Starbucks booths, but that just felt wrong.

So by the time I got around to checking out the scene I didn’t have much sanity left to spare on the white bubbly moonbounce apparatus or jellyfish-waterbottle contraptions under the pier

You see, certain pre-existing conditions must be met in order to truly appreciate the artistic experience. They're relatively simple, yet vital:

Sense of Zen: Too many people. Not enough parking. Never have I felt the kind of road rage that surged through my veins as I sat for over an hour in stand still traffic...inside a parking deck! And while I understand that the pier would collapse if one more person stepped foot on it, being shuffled off the walkway like cattle by police was not good for the chi.

Sense of Direction: I was never exactly sure what I was supposed to be looking for. Exhibits were scattered about on the pier, along the shore and up in the grass with no central focus or order, leaving the crowds to wander around, bumping into one another in confusion. Seeking clarity, I asked a Santa Monica native and local architect where I should go. Completely peeved, he said “The design is all wrong. It's too spread out with no way to capture traffic,and there should be at least ten more installations. F’ing Santa Monica needs some more f’ing art at their f’ing art party."”

A Sense of Wonder: There were times when I wasn't sure if I was at an exhibit or merely caught up in some sort of rave ritual, (like the cardboard moon on a stick with dinosaur and seahorse shadow puppets). But the official ones all appeared to be thinking the same thing: "Hey, let's make something glow in the dark!"

There was some sort of a plastic bag installation by Peter Tolkien Projects, made up of "30 dunnage bags (used to isolate and stabilize cargo during transportation) resulting in a 22 foot diameter molecular-like structure." People could crawl inside, therefore "participating" in the art-making experience. It was white and it glowed. Weeee! But most people just walked up and put their hands on it while watching a few stumble around inside.

And don't ask me why, but the longest line was for EX-SE-08 by Shih Chieh Huang, an “installation of common objects, such as water bottles and plastic bags, transformed through light, air (directed by small fans), and fanciful constructions into an underwater grotto, at once enchanting and unnerving.” It resembled the whos-its and whats-its aplenty found in Ariel's under-the-sea Disney treasure trove...but with underpinnings of social consumption.

I must say that Usman Haque’s Primal Source was fun to watch. What everyone called "that giant fountain projection thing” was a massive screen with lights bouncing off the water with rear projection. It had a series of microphones against the fence that you could scream into to directly alter the visualizations. I wonder what "This is lame!" looks like in lights?

While most artistic attempts left me emotionless, kudos to Machine Project for creeping the bejeezus out of me with the horror movie soundtrack and the girl in some sort of tin man costume locked in a glass house.

In all it was a valiant first try, but it lacked soul. And in a town known for selling more soul than James Brown, we need all the redemption we can get.

But don't be discouraged Santa Monica. I admire your ambition and look foward to next year's attempt, as we all deserve a second chance.

Yours Very Truly,

Miffed and Moping in LA