Right around the time when the Cake Club event was starting up last Friday evening, Lizz and I were halfway across town in a little art gallery for the opening of tripARTtight, a three-man exhibit.

I pretty much know nothing about art, but I have the firm belief that it's not hard to impersonate a sophisticated art critic. How? Just stare at the artwork with exaggerated appreciation or disdain (depending on your mood), nod occasionally, and mutter highbrow comments like "I drink only the finest espresso" or "Salvador Dali is my Muhammad Ali." Easy, right?

Unfortunately, Lizz is a real artist, and I knew that there was no way I could have fooled her. So I had no choice but to follow her around like a lost puppy while trying to keep my ignorant mouth shut.

To my untrained eye, a lot of the paintings there looked like the result of someone drinking a few cans of paint then throwing up on a canvas. I was quite confused. But I never let my lack of understanding stop me from pretending that I know what I'm talking about. So pay attention as I explain some of those works of art to you philistines.

Looks like an artsy version of "Where's Waldo?" Can you find Waldo? No? Have you even considered the possibility that there's no Waldo? Yes, art is profound like that.

A White Lady and a space alien hanging out in a nice garden. It represents the ideal of intergalactic peace.

An artist's depiction of our future robotic overlords.

A man covered in spaghetti. It represents... okay, I don't know what it represents, but I like spaghetti, so... I like it.

Ha! A sculpture of poop! Nice. And I thought those artists are all highbrow and shit.

They also had my favorite kind of art--the edible kind. They served vegan pancit palabok, vegan brownies, and some kind of jerky made from veggie meat. I know, I know... I should have been disgusted. But I swear they somehow managed to make all the veggie stuff taste like real food.

Now that's true art.