Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Movie Review--an infrequent feature here at TYOMP

I haven't seen "Confessions of a Shopoholic" nor do I plan to. But I've seen the commercial about fifty times, and any movie that contains the line "Oooh, you speak Prada?"--much less one that highlights it in their advertising (the suggestion here being that the producers consider this to be one of cleverer lines in the movie? Really? God help us.)--deserves to be fiercely boycotted.

Candace Bushnell, a person of whom I'm fond in the way we can be fond of public individuals we don't actuallty know, must want to puke.

And then, to add to my woes, emerges this excresance (which isn't even a word, I don't think, but which has been designed by me to describe the image you see below. Helpful hint: it shares the same root as excrement) from my dark and twisted soul:



Titled "The Annotated Treasury," it is supposed to be Tim Geithner. The very fact that I have to explain this speaks volumes.

I mean, look at the man:



He should be EASY to paint. Look at the Cosmo Kramer hair. The Tin Woodsman nose. Are those ears on the side of his head or aerodynamic braking devices? I mean, what more does a painter need?

Granted it is a work in progress. And granted, one of the things that makes me a bigger man than you, dear reader, is my willingness to post images of works in progress and then make shit-references to them. Some permutation of "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," if you will. But still... It looks like the demon spawn of that sitcom actor who also sometimes plays Nixon and Chloe, my daughter's puggle. While we're talking chick movies, he played Alicia Silverstone's father in "Clueless."

Anyway, I guess what really galls me is my inability to get the job done in time to take the damned thing out to Wall Street today. It is 61 degrees and spectacular. The fact that I am not "on line", so to speak, with this painting, on this perfect day to be so, troubles me beyond my ability to convey. Ails me. Plunges me into a fit of remorse, depression, self-flagelation, etc.

I could not be more upset, and the fault is mine. I don't want to get into it any further, other than to say there won't be another day this nice for at least ten days. Prolly longer. Shit!!!
Quick note: Apparently excrescence is a word. I knew it was something like that. It is defined by Wiktionary (God help me if this is where I'm getting my definitions) as "Something, usually abnormal, which grows out of something else."

Merriam-Webster thankfully concurs, saying: "1 : a projection or outgrowth especially when abnormal (excresences in the colon); 2 : a disfiguring, extraneous, or unwanted mark or part (blot)."
To suggest that I am beside myself would be to minimize the issue by multifold degrees.

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