Monday, May 25, 2015
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
The following is from a forwarded email. This is what passes for comedy in the elevated world of right-winged American thought. I included my response afterwards:
Dear Abby, My husband is a liar and a cheat. He has cheated on me from the beginning, and, when I confront him, he denies everything. What's worse, everyone knows that he cheats on me. It is so humiliating. Also, since he lost his job 14 years ago, he hasn't even looked for a new one. All he does all day is smoke cigars, cruise around and shoot the bull with his buddies, while I have to work to pay the bills. Since our daughter went away to college he doesn't even pretend to like me, and even hints that I may be a lesbian. What should I do? Signed: Clueless Dear Clueless: Grow up and dump him. Good grief, woman! You don't need him anymore! You're running for President of the United States. Act like it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "A prime example of the absolute failure of all right winged comedy. I mean, seriously, I'm game for something good, but it never arrives. And there was such great fodder in that concept too. Any half ass weekend comedian could've done nearly anything with that. The art/music/comedy gap is mindbogglingly absurd. Dylan, John Prine, Lucinda to who? Kenny Chesney? Foxworthy, Larry The Cable Guy, to Louis C.K. or Larry David! Bruce Nauman or Cindy Sherman to… well, hmmm… Actually, I don't think there are any solid artists in your world. I just don't think they exist. Which is most interesting. Yes, when it comes to elevated thought, the right winged mind is like a sad, old woman, trying to be sexy. There's just no getting around a nasty heap of pubic fat. Stick to football, BBQ, and landscaping. GO BERNIE! Phil."
Monday, May 11, 2015
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Fwd: Disturbing exhibit with profanity and a dildo in the gallery space, empty beer and wine bottles, exposed food
Got a wonderful email forward to me this morning. I am so thankful to be sharing studio space with such brave, powerful, "artists"! "Opened food"? I think I left 3 cookies and maybe a dozen cheese balls in a plastic bowl because I had to rush home with Gordy who was running a 104 fever with Coxsakie. I am the one who is offended! And I am certain that these children and parents and people she speaks of are the precise people that SHOULD see my art. GO COWARDS! Anyway, here it is! Enjoy!: "...Do you have Phil's email address and phone number? He set up an exhibit Saturday that he said would be up just for the weekend. I told him I teach children here and asked him if it would be down by Tuesday, which is when my first kids class is this week (I have a very conservative adult coming tonight for lessons ). He said yes. I am hopeful that he will take care of this within the next 24 hours, but I arrived today to no Phil, and empty beer cans and wine bottles, as well as opened food, left out in the gallery space, all art still up. We know there is a problem with mice. I teach children from ages 6 to 12 and know that many of them would be disturbed by this work. This is not a show their parents would choose to take them to. Some of the parents hang out in the gallery space to chat or get work done while their children have lessons with me. I am quite certain they will not be happy if this art, and the empty beer bottles, are still there come tomorrow. It is imperative that I get in touch with Phil to confirm that he cleans the space and also takes the offensive art down before my class tomorrow."
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Oh, I don't know. Lately, I've been hung up on Lawry's Seasoned Salt. I say it in my mind as I'm driving or walking down the street. "Lawry's Seasoned Salt". It's not that I'm even interested in it. It's just there, those words. I guess I briefly wondered who the hell Lawry was but that's about it. And I don't even use the shit. We have a big thing of it in the spice cabinet that's probably been there since we moved in here. It's probably filled with dead weevils. I can't listen to good music anymore. I listened to Elliot Smith last night with Jack Grace and he was way better than I remembered. That dude was John Lennon-good! But I don't need to listen to it. I don't need to listen to anything anymore. Everything gets in my way now. I have no desire to talk to hardly anyone anymore, even the people I enjoy talking to, unless they're able to make me laugh. I just want to laugh. Fuckin' make me laugh, motherfucker, or leave me the fuck alone! That's it, that's all I need from anyone. It's a lonely business, this life thing. But like I said, I think the painting is finally working. Something powerful is definitely starting to surface. And it's easy, calm. I'm even starting to gain a bit of control finally. I can take my time with it and not worry about it leaving me, vanishing. When I'm painting, I feel like I'm riding along in the mouth of a giant wale. But what does that even matter? It's just a way to pacify yourself. There's no difference between a great painter or musician and a really good office clerk. In the end, we all get cooked. Fried, steamed, stewed, roasted, baked, microwaved, bbq-d… Or hell, maybe you get eaten alive? But it's gonna happen. So then why do we even bother? What's another anything anymore at this point? Why write? Why paint? Why endure? Why is there the need for there to be anything more to it? Isn't whatever's already there in front of your eyes enough? Yeah, I don't know, man. Lawry's fucking Seasoned Salt baby! Why the hell not?