Laguna Festival of the Arts

Every year in Laguna - an enclave of rich white people located in a peaceful curve of the california coastline basically immune to rough seas for some reason - the city government conducts an "art" extravaganza the focus of which is a world-renowned recreation of famous artworks using human beings. It is hailed globally for its relentless ingenuity. It also gives the locals a chance to paint the nipples of Laguna hotties who are used in the paintings of scantily clad Maxfield Parrish nymphs or strident French Amazons in curtain-y clothing with a breast exposed leading the brave French to victory. It's all quite an achievement. It's like a static version of the Rose Parade in its splendor and preparation. Beyond all of this creative grandeur however is a triad of plots in the vicinity which host "artists." There is the more hoity toity "main location" which hawks the goods of local Laguna "artists" someone or other consider to be "quality" "artists." These are trained craftsmen who can paint sappy pictures of women at the seashore or sappy pictures of barns better than the other craftsmen in town who are not quite so good at it: these people who are not quite so good at it go to a location across the street which delights in considering itself the less snobby venue for "art" created by a more down to earth sort of folk. People who don't have galleries on the main highway in other words. Then there is a third location nearby that has "international art" which means sappy craftsmen who have a little better handle on marketing their sappy crafts and who might live as far away as Tiajuana or Vancouver. There are basically two main streets in Laguna, one runs parallel to the ocean and one runs perpendicular to that and travels through the bottom of Laguna Canyon at the end of which is the small beach of Laguna. There is not a lot of room to maneuver a car in other words except at 3 in the morning when there are no cars but yours. At three in the afternoon however during the 2-month-long "art" festival there is a pileup in three direction at the end of the canyon where it meets the road along the shoreline that backs up cars in three directions. It would be four if there was a road going from the end of the canyon out into the ocean that reached Peru. In the old days - five years ago - Laguna was a place in California where if you lived in the Los Angeles environs and you were white but not rich you could go to Laguna and just bask in the reflected light of blond, white-skinned American Success Families. Happy dads, well-groomed moms and hot daughters and well behaved sons living their lives in a white compound of quiet and upscale food emporiums and a smogless sunlight of sea air and no fog. However now the Mexicans and the Iraqis and the Palestinians and the Somalians and the Armenians and the El Salvadorans and the Pakistanis and the Indians and the Jordanians and the
Turks have decided that Laguna is just the place for them and now it is a diverse, multi cultural melting pot of big fat third world pigs who all seem to have SUV's and 300 rootbeer skinned kids and a need to barbeque and play volleyball and plop their fat asses onto the tiny beach and burp while leaning back on their hands and stretching their legs in front of them and looking at nothing and thinking about refried beans.