Monday, July 04, 2011

Of Mice and Men ... and Independence Day

Five years ago today I put a bullet in the head of my public relations agency and walked out the door. It wasn't as harsh as I make it sound, though. The truth was that it wasn't particularly well--my agency--and it knew something was up. So when it asked, for like the 500th time, "Tell me about the rabbits, Geoff?" I took its hand, led it to the front of the office, where the windows look out over 19th Street, and started telling it about the rabbits while I stroked its hair.

Just when we got to the good part (which, because we were built to service Big Pharma, came at the moment when they heavily sedated the rabbits and then vivisected them), I put a bullet in the head of my public relations agency and walked out the door. Five years ago, today.

Two thoughts came to mind at the time:

First, I said to myself, "Shit, I've got twenty bucks in my pocket and a buck-sixty-three in my bank account. Better sell that watch quick."

Second, I said to myself, "It could be worse. Now I'll never have to listen to another smirky, 28-year old Wharton MBA explain to me why my strategy was wrong and hers was right when, in reality, hers was wrong and mine was right
Brief personal aside: I used the above Wharton example because one of my all-time favorite clients was, in fact, a 28-year old product manager with a Wharton MBA, and it was one of the most delightful work experiences ever. So you Wharton people can untwist your knickers and continue, unencumbered by new-found negativity, with your plans to buy a painting.
To quote the Bard of Asbury Park:
Well Papa go to bed now it's getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now
I'll be leaving in the morning from St. Mary's Gate
We wouldn't change this thing even if we could somehow
Cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us
There's a darkness in this town that's got us too
But they can't touch me now
And you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me
What I watched them do to you

So say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day
All down the line
Just say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day this time

Now I don't know what it always was with us
We chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines
There was just no way this house could hold the two of us
I guess that we were just too much of the same kind

Well say goodbye it's Independence Day
It's Independence Day all boys must run away
So say goodbye it's Independence Day
All men must make their way come Independence Day

Now the rooms are all empty down at Frankie's joint
And the highway she's deserted down to Breaker's Point
There's a lot of people leaving town now
Leaving their friends, their homes
At night they walk that dark and dusty highway all alone

Well Papa go to bed now it's getting late
Nothing we can say can change anything now
Because there's just different people coming down here now
and they see things in different ways
And soon everything we've known will just be swept away

So say goodbye it's Independence Day
Papa now I know the things you wanted that you could not say
But won't you just say goodbye it's Independence Day
I swear I never meant to take those things away
I know what you're thinking. Enough with the fucking Bruce Springsteen lyrics on the 4th of July, you're thinking. Every goddam year with the Springsteen? What, you never heard of Billy Joel?

You don't like it? Write your own goddam blog. And just so we're clear, today marks the first day of the sixth season of The Year of Magical Painting. And that, my friends, is something. Consider this:

Black and White Krugman with all, or much, of the stupid shit whited out. Because today I'm announcing my independence from idiots who want to write stupid stuff on my paintings. No more I Heart New York. No more I Love My Family. No more plugs for South American soccer teams. If you are gonna write something on my paintings you have to apply some brain power to the process. Or, barring that, write "I am Spartacus."

Does this make me a bad person?
Naaah. Keep saying to yourself Picasso was an asshole too.
Picasso was an asshole too. Picasso was an asshole too.


Gauguin was an asshole too. Gauguin was an asshole too.

That's the ticket!
And Matisse! Seemed like a nice enough guy, but he could be a son of a bitch.

Anyway, I'm gonna take my new-found real estate and transcribe recent comments from Zero Hedge. My favorite so far?
Im not sure I really like these pieces very much. As a gimick I think they are great. Nobody else can make them, if even if done better. Unfortinately they could be a lot better. They have the tropes of bathhroom wall graffiti, but lack there full expression a bathroom wall offers. The author has made his contribution overly precious. It poses as a launching point for collective expression, but in the end its just dandiest illustration, and as dandiest illustrations go they are pretty boring. Each portrait then seems the same as the last. Had the author yielded authority each likely would have been far more interearing and each highly unique and transcended the gimmick. Id still buy one as is if I could afford it, but thats just because boring gimmicks still sell.
Ouch! They are a pretty tough crew. I have some thoughts about this, but perhaps another time. I just got invited to a barbeque and will now have to take a shower. Which is a colossal imposition.


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