For the record...
For the record, the absence of a sense of humor in society today annoys me. I was going to write an in-depth analysis of a comment submitted anonymously to the "My children don't appreciate me..." post below ...
Before leaving I would, I guess, say this: nobody knows the position I hold, or don't hold, in the pantheon of famous artists better than me. The writer's point is certainly true, but that's not the point. What--do you think I'm operating under some kind of delusion? Do you think that when I suggested that titling my portrait of Hank Paulson "The Screaming Pope" was an act designed to stake my claim to a place on the Velazquez/Bacon/Raymond continuum that I am self-infatuated to the point that I actually believe there is a Velazquez/Bacon/Raymond continuum worthy of scholarly investigation? That I am not smiling slightly as I type? Do you not think that when I, while addressing from behind my Flip video camera my daughters walking up 7th Avenue, en route to dinner at Il Bastardo (don't order the veal chop--very odd), refer to myself as a famous painter that we (i.e. both me and they) aren't smiling at the audacity of the notion?
Do you people think I'm an idiot?
Next time we have something to say as a comment, let's grind down a little deeper; come up with something that merits the three clicks it will take me to accept it for publication.
The one above? No. Sorry. No entry. Comment does not merit the three clicks. Blow it out your ass.
For the record, when one says "I'm going to become a famous painter," it usually means for more than the proverbially 15 minutes. You clearly have achieved the 15 minutes (which is something, to be sure, and certainly more than Chico has done), but whether you have achieved sustainable fame is yet to be seen. The goal for 2009, perhaps?but really, I just don't have the energy. Instead, I'm going to walk to the corner burger place and order a Texas burger (basically a cheeseburger with an egg on top) and some relish. In some neighborhoods this concoction is called a Gusburger. Perhaps also a Corona. With a lime.
Before leaving I would, I guess, say this: nobody knows the position I hold, or don't hold, in the pantheon of famous artists better than me. The writer's point is certainly true, but that's not the point. What--do you think I'm operating under some kind of delusion? Do you think that when I suggested that titling my portrait of Hank Paulson "The Screaming Pope" was an act designed to stake my claim to a place on the Velazquez/Bacon/Raymond continuum that I am self-infatuated to the point that I actually believe there is a Velazquez/Bacon/Raymond continuum worthy of scholarly investigation? That I am not smiling slightly as I type? Do you not think that when I, while addressing from behind my Flip video camera my daughters walking up 7th Avenue, en route to dinner at Il Bastardo (don't order the veal chop--very odd), refer to myself as a famous painter that we (i.e. both me and they) aren't smiling at the audacity of the notion?
Do you people think I'm an idiot?
Next time we have something to say as a comment, let's grind down a little deeper; come up with something that merits the three clicks it will take me to accept it for publication.
The one above? No. Sorry. No entry. Comment does not merit the three clicks. Blow it out your ass.
posted by Geoffrey at 10:16 AM
1 Comments:
Maybe 2 Coronas
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