I was going to place a small blurb about surfing porn, muscle sites, tattoos, butts, boners, naked hockey players, jock straps, crew cuts, college wrestlers, stalked dc rugby boys with an international following, hot man to man sex and guerilla workouts, ode to the word butch or butchies as it were, cock rings, punk rock, facial hair, daddies, boys, twins, tequila, the film transporter, 6 pac abs, electroclash, baseball size biceps, blueballs, trance, disco, poppers, afro-sheen, love hangovers, weblogs, designers, salsa, urban awareness, ghetto fabulous, Frank Stella, Space Invaders, skateboard injuries, camouflage, new wave, film noir, rimming, leather, zeus studios, sculpture, Paris, super-butch, Marines, boots, the term fox, the term muscle-god, the term grease monkey, bling bling, L.L.Cool J, Kanga Hats, painting, painting, the death of painting, long live television, neon, weights, Sylvia Plath, the color red, why some things are just so damn funny i.e. The New Zealand Symphony sent out 8000 promotional CDs to market its new season. But when recipients of the discs put them into computers to play, they discovered that someone had substituted the track titles with pornographic descriptions of sex acts! Day-Pop, muscle boys, muscle daddies, s&m, tit, lit, wit, fags who have snits, hello magazine, peircings, lube, lube-job, hand-job, Faye Dunaway, Eyes of Laura Mars, Popeye not as hot as Brutus. Xy Magazine, Breakfast at Tiffany's, MP3s and so much more, but it just isn't coming together today.
Longing for compelling and irreverent commentary? 'Professor Barnhardts's Journal' serves up the goods. Every first Tuesday of the month, there will be a "theme" issue. A bunch of writers will be asked a thought provoking and perplexing question, such as "Why I Write," "What's Your Favorite Movie," etc. The other Tuesdays of the month there will be one new article published. Perhaps an interview, a piece of short fiction, or an e-mail exchange between two writers on a particular topic. Unpredictable, you say? That's what they're aiming for. So far Mike Nelson of MST3K whips out "..." (Or, My Devastating Short Story) and a bevy of writers pull off, 'Why I Write'. Note to self check out Marty Beckerman's Brain to Penis.
2. Copyright and Trademark Rights. The Illegal Art: Freedom of Expression in the Corporate Age Website is owned by its authors ("the Elks Clubs of America") and its suppliers. Its structure, organization, and code are the valuable trade secrets of the Freemasons, probably. The Website is also protected by United States Copyright Law and a group of big, scary goons who will happily beat you until you're ejecting teeth like a winning slot machine. Use of any trademark does not give you any rights of ownership in that trademark, jackass. Except as stated above, this Agreement does not grant you any intellectual property rights in the Website. Got it, fucko? I can tell my favorite NY Lawyer is grinning, you know who you are...blah blah blah and more on copyright extensions.
3:19 PM :
Thursday, October 10, 2002
A huge selection of original, restored and new kitsch from Vintage Vending. (Diner, Lounge Tiki, Signage etc. etc. etc!)
I was very much in love with someone that year, back then I was very very young, rather idealistic and somewhat reckless. Every morning we would have breakfast at the Munson Diner before heading over to The School of Visual Arts. Upstairs where they had the little studios for the graduate students, we would hang out in the lounge at the end of the hallway. That cool chick from Spain. the one with the fancy cigarettes you liked so much, remember? She was always 'going on' about boys, how boys influenced her, hell, I agreed, thinking yes! that's my whole center of influence! Later on I remember thinking...oh Beuys! Yeah, he's good too and Laughing at the headline, Museum Scores Beuys.
1:15 PM :
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
DO-IT @ E-FLUX an online instructional art exhibit curated by Hans-Ulrich Obrist. Viewers are invited to partcipate by making artists' work via their online instructional manuals. The exhibit showcases many veterans of conceptual art and some newcomers. Try John Baldessari's How to Kill a Bug, a slight tweak on the flyswatter, however you need to find a lathargic fly. Execute Chicks on Speed's FAKE-USA, and rent a billboard to disseminate your project. Photographs of the pieces can then be sent to Obrist, who will post them on the site. Do it is also an online compendium of artists' writings, essays and interviews. Visit the notes section and read fascinating texts on experimental exhibitions and artworks in the form of instructions. CAUTION: D.I.Y ahead!
8:01 PM :
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Your future dream is a shopping scheme! I wanna be Anarchy! Sing along now, Medicom Toy Company presents the new sneering Sid Vicious punk rock ACTION doll, did you know they make CBGB t-shirts for babies?! They do, I nearly passed out the first time I saw one! Oh and if you were thinking about a Nancy Spungen super groupie action doll, it ain't gonna happen, but never say never right?! Spreading out bits and pieces, have I mentioned how much I 'lurv' my bad boy Chad? I do. Arts and Letters Daily is D.O.A., but the content providers are back editing Philosophy and Literature; arts, ideas, debate, you know the drill. Just for shits and giggles, Arresting Images and Celebrity Mug Shots, from Smoking Gun. The Gun's crack team of document hounds have compiled a disconcerting collection of cold-busted famous people, icons and assorted nutballs, like Bill Gates, Matthew McConaughey, and Yasmine Bleeth. Don't worry, no Britney Spears stories except this one.
3:55 PM :
Monday, October 07, 2002
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live...'R�sum�' by lil Miss Dorothy Parker for always wearing a cloche, cutting words with a damn cold scalpel and coming up so terribly funny! Listen to Belle and Sebastian and imagine today, cold, with orange leaves falling, and a generous ohio sky.
I gave myself to sin
And I've been there and back again
I gave myself to providence
The State That I Am In
Oh love of mine,
would you condescend to help me because I'm stupid and blind?
Desperation is the Devil's work, it is the folly of a boys empty mind
Now I'm feeling dangerous, riding on city buses for a hobby is sad
Lead me to a living end, I promised that I'd entertain my crippled friend
...ici le Belle & Sebastian [X]
6:59 PM :
Sunday, October 06, 2002
On my own on Saturday, to stir and mingle anonymously, among the crowds at the art museum. Just for a few moments in the late afternoon when the crowds seem to settle into a languishing rhythmic movement, sliding from one painting to another. Persnickety panicked patrons offended by my long luxurious lingering, upholding the uptight with their upturned artificial aficionado ardor. I study what I love and most of what I love is to study all the people. A Matisse dismissed as 'busy busy busy' by a fussbudget fattie, poor Henri, he gets no respect, even in the afterlife! I love to visit all my paintings but have a favorite place, on the bench in front of Sharkey's, which smells of blood and smoke and turpentine.
The trick is not to mind it, with guys, it isn't something to talk about, but something to let go. My workout partner hitting the wall and passing out on me, mid set. His cold sweaty forehead slumping into my lap, I'm trying to remember my CPR, he's breathing and moving in and out of consciousness. Meanwhile the color is draining rapidly from his body like the ghost image on an ink starved photocopy. His eyes roll back in his head, spitting out Gatorade, slumping over, and jerking. I'm wondering if he's having a seizure, the scene is slow motion, as the paramedics make their way down the stairs to the weight room. Orange juice, questions, blood pressure, ice packs and blood sugar tests, all vitals are in order, all systems are go, as the power switch is thrown and he's plugged back into the outlet. In a few moments I know my workout partner is alright, he's being a smart-ass, grinning, sneaking a glimpse at the hot paramedics bum and signing off on his trip to the hospital. The diagnosis was over-exertion, a nearly 300 pound squat for someone only 5'5". He's small but mighty, but even mighty has to be mighty vigilante, on occasion.
6:40 PM :
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms...
T.S. Eliot for ease and honesty and forever filling my head with a thousand images that flicker against the ceiling, impatient to assume the world.
8:53 AM :
