I dig it

The sex icon of the 20th century reading Joyce's Ulysses in a sweet/sexy outfit in a playground. And from what I read about this photo, she really was just finishing off the book. I dunno, I just like this picture.

© Buddhist Pimp

You should know that today I made history. I thought of a great concept for a new show, a character, or maybe even just a plush toy: The Buddhist Pimp. I will go out on a limb here and say I was the first one to think of this in all of human history and will try to get someone to make me a million dollars off of it. I googled the concept to make sure I was right. And of course I was! I made the search engine cross-eyed. I got the image above instead.

P.S. Only ONE person played my porch game. This clearly demonstrates one thing: that most of you have a life. No, not because you didn't play the game but because you obviously know the meaning of all the terms. It was simply too easy for all of you wasn't it? I like to pander to my readership who are ALL so well-educated and adept at luxury quitodian architecture.

The Porch Game

If you can define each of these terms correctly, you win a free melba toast (or a music mix if you don't like toast—especially melba). The first to complete the task wins!
(Note: you are not allowed to use internets for help. Use what knowledge you gleaned from your 20+ years (or 40+? if you actually are in my demographic) being around porches, et al.

Porch
Portico
Patio
Cupola
Veranda


The most sorry attempts will be posted here! And if no one tries to do this I will appropriate someone's name for my own wrong answers for comedic value.

Life's a bowl of Porch chops.

Vermont update number 4 (I think)

The last few days have been perfect weather-wise aside from a few rain storms that have caught me offguard and without an umbrella.
I attended a bonfire last night and committed my first block of time to this thing humans call "socializing". It is strange this activity. People just converse about anything they want. The subjects of the conversations are purely tangential. Sometimes people 'open-up' and you learn a new thing or two. Anyway, I did this until 4am.
Today, I tried to make more work but distractions are abound.
I had a nice studio visit with visiting artist Sarah Oppenheimer. Her work is all about perspective, a subject I also hold in high interest. She turns 3D experience into 2D ones. Interesting stuff. She's wicked smart and was quite helpful.

Dennis Parker'ed in Vermont

Things are on the mend over here in Vermont. Melatonin has worked its magic and your humble blog-ater can now rest in peace and enjoy his time in the woods.
A new 'soundtrack' to my life here right now has been the song "Like an Eagle" (1979) by Dennis Parker.

Mr. Parker, previous to recording "Like an Eagle", was a successful porn star who went by the name Wade Nichols. One of his film producers helped run the legendary Casablanca Records label based in Los Angeles (incidentally, their old porn/record headquarters is now the home of the 'up and coming' Circus Gallery). This no doubt parlayed Mr. Parker's talents from sexing to singing. The record was rather popular in the clubs and helped him make the transition to more mainstream acting roles, most notably on a long-running soap opera in the early 80s. Unfortunately his career was tragically cut short when he was diagnosed with AIDS. In those days, there was absolutely no cure or anything so it was pretty much a death sentence. He committed suicide in 1984.

"Like An Eagle" is a swooping existential number, which has a certain melancholic tinge to it, even though it was a club hit. I like his silver outfit and excitable expression on his face. I love the part where he's like "I'm lookin' at you, lookin' at you, lookin' at you...". Ha Ha.
And the next number is "I need your Love". Not the greatest song, but it's worth watching because the video makes no sense whatsoever. Please note the awesome incongruous transition between being hit on the head with the cro-bar and the 'disco/love' world with titties. Enjoy!

Cures for Insomnia Anyone?

I'm STILL struggling with this damn insomnia. I drank three beers (Stella Artois!) beforehand and it made little difference. I then popped some Advil PMs again, willing to withstand the sleep pill hangover—which I'm 'enjoying' right now—again. I also utilized the sleep music I bought. It was effective to the extent that it blotted out my neighbors barbaric snoring. It simply proved to be a nice distraction from the other distractions that keep my eyes open. One of the primary ones last night was the worry that I had eaten the wrong pills after downing the beers. I thought about poor Aussie Heath Ledger and how he went out that way. My brain ate that worry up like Big League Chew. Ha ha remember that stuff? It was so tasty I just ate the wad of gum instead of chewing it.
Speaking of gum, last night there was a slide talk by painter Charles Garabedian, who by the way, is AWESOME. He's 80 years old. He was showing paintings he made with chewing gum wrappers. Some semi-obnoxious guy in the audience asked why he used the wrappers in an skeptical, yet aggressive tone. Mr. Garabedian fired back that gum helps with constipation.

Anyhoo, if you have any advice on how to conquer this insomnia issue, please chime in.

Insomnia in Vermont. Update 3

Apparently this gadget is supposed to help.

I've been having trouble catching some zzzz's and I'm getting kind of fed up with it. Every morning I've been finally falling asleep at 6am, waking at noon. Such a biatch.
Other than this, Vermont is peachy.

I've had a few revelations:

1. Pounding on your neighbor's wall because of his incredibly loud snoring will cause tension.

2. Putting squash in a burrito is genius.

3. Making paintings as dumb as possible is empowering.

4. This is the best dance song I've heard in years!
The first 4 downloaders get it as its DRM controlled. Email me for the password.

5. River foam is disgusting:

Richard Pryor

I've recently been revisiting the genius of Richard Pryor. Check out this video. It's a little long but it's worth seeing it till the end. In it, he's unusually subdued but it has a nice build-up.
Also check out this gem which I watched numerous times since finding it:

It shows Pryor's sweet side. It makes Eddie Murphy's attempts at G-rated comedy look disingenuous at best. Pryor had said Murphy's comedy was 'mean-spirited' and it makes sense he would say this after seeing Pryor's pre free-basing softer side.

Spider Crap: Vermont Update 2

The spider did not look like this. I just put it here because its looks like it would poo largely.

I can't say how nice it is to be free, unfettered from life's usual demands. I already feel my artistic powers cresting. Lots of good progress was made in the studio today, punctuated by chow time and the necessary work study work for the development office.

This day was perfect—almost.

The only 'off' moments today involved spiders. As I was peeing in the bathroom I saw an itty-bitty spider. I playfully blew on it pretending I was God. How fun! I blew this way and that and enjoyed watching it being confused by the sudden hurricane. But I guess I got carried away and decided to blow it off the ledge. In retrospect I wanted to see it get all spidey on me and break its own fall with its magical silk-throwing powers. Indeed, it broke its fall alright—on a bigger spider's web. The bigger spider wasted no time in mummifying its newfound prey as I watched helplessly. I felt kind of awful about it. I then reasoned (no doubt to heal my conscience) how life is crazy, even for a spider. Crazy things happen to all sorts of living creatures, many of which are simply are at the wrong place at the wrong time. People who live healthily get cancer. Innocent people get shot in wars. And innocent spiders get lifted by sudden gales into the jaws of other spiders. It's life. You can't argue with that. I took this logic to town and celebrated my own innocence with a coffee with a caveat that I will never blow poor insectoids to their own deaths again. Ever.

Later on that night, I was working in my studio. I was drawing on a canvas on my worktable when all of a sudden I saw a brown liquid come plopping down on my art. I looked up and saw no leaking, no pipes, nothing. But then realized where it came from: a big black spider DIRECTLY above the offending brown liquid! Was this revenge on behalf of all spiders? This spider decided to defecate, barf, or I dunno what on MY art. I didn't even know spiders could realize such a healthy flow of poo. Who knew!
Karma, I say. Karma.

Vermont Update

I could not sleep until 3am last night because of my jet lag in tandem with the nasty humid weather. I popped a couple of Advil PMs and that magic mallet knocked me out cold until about noon the next day. I arrived at the beginning of lunch. Having to find a place to sit in the dining area reminded me of the same anxiety I had every time I went to the cafeteria in college. The idea of having to talk to whatever middle-aged stranger whose table I decided to invade weighed heavy on me. But I got through it OK.
I talked to some older lady about painting. She didn't like Philip Guston. I tried to make a convert out of her not knowing what else to say. She remained skeptical. "Too much pink", she said. She liked Lucian Freud. I scrunched my face as if I was a 5 year old being fed brussel sprouts. A stalemate.

Because of the heat, making anything during the day proved to be difficult. I passed out on the floor of my studio for awhile wearing nothing but my boxers. I felt like I was at the bottom of a jacuzzi—and not in a good way.

But when the night fell I was able to start some pieces. Oh, and I got my bag back from Delta. Today was a good day.

TOUCHDOWN IN VERMONT

Well, I arrived in one piece. I'm in Vermont! Never thought I'd come here. From the plane the land looked very green and bucolic. I'm sure there are rivers of Maple Syrup and pancake rafts—all waiting to be explored. Delta has already effed up and lost one of my bags, though. They better get Wavy Gravy or whatever bearded looking fellow to schlep my bag over to Johnson ASAP. All the airport staff look ridiculously more crunchy than their JFK counterparts. They're wearing Tevas and stuff.
More sensory relays when they come...

**Addendum: I left my Apple earbud headphones on the plane. When I went back, they were gone. I then did what any disgruntled recipient of bad luck would do: I shoplifted!
I swiped some Colby headphones from a Discovery Channel retail store when the attendant wasn't looking. The headphones lacked the tasteful design of the Apple earbuds as they has bolt-like thingies sticking out from the sides which made me look like a skinny Jewish Frankenstein, but they worked and I was happy again. But my smart antics went all bad Karma on me when I dropped my laptop from the seat yanking the Colby headphones apart at the plug. Now, I'm without earphones again. Should I steal again in Vermont?

I am

a idiot.

THIS IS FUCKING DISGUSTING

You want to see something that should—without a doubt in my mind—be eradicated from the Earth? A body ornament so gauche, its very cognization makes my skin one large ant blanket. Ladies and gentlemen (and perverts), I give you THIS.

Errol Morris' Beer Commercials

If you know Errol Morris' films you will know the man is busting at the seams with talent. You will wonder if he is one of the best living film makers working today. You will know that he always brings something to the table.
But there's a side of him that does not get its due: his beer commercials. They are almost subversive, almost parodic; They are smarter than most of the visual swill that punctuates our time watching the boob tube for sure.
Have a looksee HERE.
Also, watch "FlamZ", "Mayo", "Hotdog", and "Balding".

Smashing idear

The recently deceased Fredric J. Baur, the designer of Pringles Potato chip cans, had his cremains put into his cans. Uh, Take note.