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Best Place to Pretend You're Living Sex and the City 

Opening Nights at 111 Minna Gallery

The distinguished gent with the graying temples and the half-empty martini glass smiles conspiratorially as we swoop in on the buffet table and pile our paper napkin with slabs of brie and fresh strawberries. An exchange of witticisms is duly followed by introductions and a discussion of the group show ("The space theme is very ... sort of ..."). Then there's the suggestion of more drinks, and our girlfriend's wink and promise to return after a quick swing around the gallery. Everything seems to be going swimmingly until the gent proffers a business card reading "Professional Photographer" and declares that we would make a great subject for an artistic nude series he has in mind, while squeezing our hand just a tad too long. At this juncture, our girlfriend mercifully returns, grabs us by the arm, and tugs us outside for a smoke. "Can you believe that guy?" we ask between agitated puffs as the friend shakes her head bemusedly. There is talk of leaving for someplace less painfully hip, but eventually, inevitably, we are lured back, past the DJ spinning spaghetti western tracks and through the throng of Financial District refugees, SOMA boutique owners, at least one former crush, and the Academy of Art students wearing too many belts, before our friend spies a cutie in a cowboy hat and we decide it's time to freshen our drink.

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(Sorry, no information is currently available for other years in this same award category.)

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