Your Art is Wrong!
art my ass.
This weekend was The Big Meeting. Budha's parents were in town and I met them. She flew to "the cowtown" to be here. Not to see me as much as to see them and moderate the slap-parent conversation. This isn't a journal site, per se, so you can read about it on her page, or maybe bootyquake. I'm not sure where the hell its gonna wind up.
I do know they'll be better written and there won't be as many spelling mistakes.
Just let it suffice to say that we all had a good time, much food was eaten, breaks were taken, we saw two movies (go see The Sixth Sense, thats all I can say about it), said "babe" a lot, and I actually went into the Denver Art Museum.
Yeah, you heard right. Slap got his uncultured ass to an art museum. They didn't even have a bunch of coolass dinoasur bones or old guns or nothin', just a buncha art and... uh,
The museum was quite cool and I enjoyed most of it. Surprising when you consider most of the stuff on my walls was bought at Target and contains at least one of the following elements:
J and I pretty much looked at old stuff from asia and central america, but she wanted to get to the "contemporary" area before we left.
Never to be one to say anything conotating a negative response to her, I happily plod my goofy ass into the "modern gallery" and see - well - some stuff.
There were the requisite goofy paintings that if I had painted them their value would be as semi-waterproof oversized roofing tiles:
There was also this 20 by 20 foot room, where all the light was blocked out and the description told you you were supposed to sit there and stare for 5-7 minutes. On each wall at the far end were a few low powered lights shining on the walls. I think they changed intensity a little over time. In the middle of the far wall was some kinda blue tinge, but I couldnt find the light source for it.
After 5 minutes I was bored, my eyes hurt, and I don't like sitting in an unknown dark room. It was like sitting in some goofy science experiment where they show how people will do anything stupid if they read it on a sign.
Theres this... thing. Eight foot wide sign that diaplays messages with the words spelled in little red dots. The only real use I've seen for these things are the ones built into beer ads hanging on the walls in sports bars...
...but this one was artReally.
I couldn't believe it. It was just one of them things you see like the stock tickers. It wasn't even reworked or decorated or anything, they didn't even bother to hide the power cord for it. Just ran the godamn black umbilical right up the wall where it suckled at the tax-dollar funded teat of electricity.
(no, I have NO IDEA where that came from)It was like my Uncle Edwin just took the thing out of his remodled rec-room basemtent bar and foisted it off to the Museum 'cause he needed a few hundred extra dollars for a new trolling motor on his bass boat.
I sat there and was just TRANSFIXED by the sheer inanity of the fact that my tax dollars went into hanging this thing. J came up to me and all I could say was "...look. just look at this thing!"
"It's definately webpage material."
"You are so right. Where the hell is that pen..."
So I proceed to jot down what I can. Sitting there, in the middle of the floor, scribbling frantically while J reads them off to me with something close to a straight face.
These are the ones I could get down before I just couldn't take it any freakin' longer.
I did look at the pieces little plaque on this one. I just had to know who was responsible for this...
You know, I can't really say anything more than:
Art my Ass.
Yeah, and highschools are cutting Drama and Music programs all over the fucking country at a rate similar to how they're flattening the rainforest.
Oh well, at least I got to drink beer when we left...
10 Aug 99
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