Sublime Subliminal Art

I think I'll... by Ed Ruscha

I think I'll... by Ed Ruscha

What little I know about art is that I know I don’t like modern art. Impressionism, the Dutch masters, yeah, I could look at those for hours. Modern art… well, it reminds me of the dyed macaroni with randomly over-glued polygonish-like masterpieces my kids brought home from kindergarten. So sweet, so touching. “Is this for me? So beautiful! What is it?” Exasperated, they would say, “It’s an elephant in the space station with a peanut butter sandwich. Don’t you see it?” “Oh,” I’d answer, “there he is and what a fine hat he’s wearing.” “Moooommmmmm, it’s not his hat, it’s his tractor – don’t you see it?”

But that’s just me.

The Obama’s have borrowed paintings and other pieces of art for the White House. Their taste is their business, at least when it’s in the Residence. According to Brian Ledbetter at snappedshot, at least one is a fraud, ahem, study. Is that what one artist calls it when he rips off emulates another artist’s work? In wordsmithland, we call that plagiarism. Unless, of course, you’re some big-wig journalist who swipes stories from bloggers. As I said, I don’t get the modern art mindset.

Althouse rues that of all the fine African-American artists out there, the Obama’s pick one that is less than honest. Maybe the same person who vetted Van Jones is doing double-duty in the art department.

Pundit and Pundette zing us all on our complete and total un-coolness:

They really are too hip for the room.

I can just imagine the subliminal message that painting beams into Dear Leader’s brain each day as he heads out to press conferences, jaunts to foreign lands for no apparent reason, campaign stops photo ops, burger runs with Biden, blow a billion here and there, you name it. TOTUS must be sooooo jealous.

The NEA is really doing it’s job influencing the rest of America to the messianic traits belonging to the man that floats in and out of the Oval Office.

Let the mocking commence. And no, screams of raaaaacist (!!!) don’t apply. It’s still a free country, for now, and I’m entitled to my opinion on their choice in art and/or “artists”. Get over collective yourselves.

UPDATE: Oh wait, it’s a response to Matisse’s work. Uh-huh.

UPDATE II: See, that didn’t take long. King Charles the Nutjob spews, right on cue – 3,2,1.


Still recouping from the marathon birthday doin’s for the hubster, who reached his half-century mark relatively unscathed. So a quick round-up is in order while I get back into the swing of things:

The war that was Twittered: use #iranelection (thx, Jimmie) or search ‘near:Tehran within:15mi’ (thx, Gerard) at Twitter. Who needs media talking heads who try to tell you what a dreamboat Ol’DinnerJacket is, when you can get the truth from people who are there?

Stacy in 300 words or less on Iran.

I say he doesn’t care.

Ever have those days where a song or phrase sticks in your head, and then you hear it later – from the pulpit? He’s paying attention to this little world, you can be sure.

Boycotts do work, especially in a bad economy where everyone is scrambling to keep what little bit of business they still have.

OOOOOOO-kla-homa! The reprise begins.

Learn a new language for less. Top sellers are Spanish, Korean, Farsi…

This would apply in Georgia, too.

The anti-Rule 5. Ick.

Useful Idiots, Sunshine State Edition

Stacy gives a lesson in “trollmania” and then proceeds to drop kick the latest troll, a certain Mr. Oliver Willis, through the goalposts of life.

I’d not had much trouble with these pesky creatures until I’d returned from my first CPAC conference. Then they came out of the woodwork! The gleeful, “Oh goody, look, I’ve got a comment!” turned into a more glum, “Oh great, look I’ve 15 comments, and I have to moderate them all…”

No politics this Tuesday. Not that there isn’t a wealth of media-bias to comment upon (take a gander at this and then tell me the media isn’t still agog over The Won. Note that the story is being widely covered by the Brits, but nothing on this side of the pond.). Today, my useful idiot rant is about the Florida Highway Patrol, or in particular, the lack thereof.

Last Tuesday, we were happily driving back to Base Camp from a exceptionally blustery but fun day at the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. South of JAX on I-95, we were vehicularly molested by a trucker.

We were in the middle lane, minding our own business when the semi swooped up behind us, flashing his brights. It was dark, there were no vehicles in either of the lanes beside us. So we moved over to the left lane to let him pass. He zooms alongside, and then tries to move over on us, trying to drive us into the wall. I flashed the brights and slowed down. So did he. At that point, the hubby called 911. He described what had happened and gave the dispatcher all sorts of information about the truck – tag numbers, etc. While he was talking to her, the trucker tried to come over on us again, so we moved over two lanes into the right lane. As we entered Duval County, she tried to transfer us to the Duval County 911 operator. NO ONE ANSWERED. In the meantime, with the original dispatcher still on the line, the trucker threw garbage out of his passenger window that hit our car and then swerved to the right, trying to run us off the road. Duval County answered after many rings on the second transfer attempt. Their response? “We’ll keep a lookout, sir.”

Would it have been easier for them if we’d just been killed and strewn about the highway?

We finally escaped the insane trucker, but never saw ANY law enforcement (state or local) after our report. In the meantime, the menace is still out there, so beware!

Random CPAC Decompression – Part The Second

Some days I wonder if Michael Steele is off his meds. The lovely Melissa Clothier (whom I met Thursday night) has more.

I am definitely Twitter-challenged. My posts aren’t showing up and neither is my picture. Sigh. Another task for a day when more braincells are firing.

Maybe I could wear one of the new ribbons, dude; something in chartreuse, say, for… I don’t know, I forget….

You had to be wanded to get into Geert Wilder’s speech, even though you could see him openly in the restaurant earlier in the day.

Fred. Fred. Fred. Why did you leave me, O Fred? His radio show with wife Jeri launched today.

Fausta, of the cool shoes & CPAC roomie, has her Monday Carnival up.

Hummus is not my friend. Skye said, “Try the hummus, it’s delicious!” And yes, it was. For a while. It’s ok sweetie, you didn’t know and I didn’t remember. The mind is the first thing to go, you know. At least no whipper-snapper called me nasty names.

Two things of note on the way home:
1. Saw Tim & Mary Pawlenty at the airport having some quiet one-on-one time before heading home. And yes, they stayed that way.
2. Read 90 Minutes in Heaven by Don Piper cover to cover on the flight.
3. Got home before the airport closed. Judging from Twitter, a lot of people didn’t.

Ok. So that was three. Like I said, the mind is the first thing to go.

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