(I Woke Up in a Van...)
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Jazz Hands
I hate to keep bringing up the awkward kid at Panera, but dear Lord, he is awkward. He always gives me free stuff, which is fine, it's just that he does it in the most uncomfortably gay way possible. It's never, "Hey man, you can grab a free pastry with your coke if you want." No no no. He phrases it like this, "Know what goes good with soda? I'll slip in a sweet pastry delight under the radar and let you find out. Yum yum yummy yummy..." *awkward smile* See, that's just weird. Speaking of weird, Caroline and I went to the Andy Warhol museum yesterday. I've never been a huge AW fan but, have to say, when put in perspective (and for the era) he was extremely influential and ahead of his time. Who thinks to associate a looping soundtrack of layered gunshots to a painting of Elvis with a handgun or create a series interactive record album covers? Clever stuff. Quite honestly, the best part of the whole thing was the kid's section. I did a forward/reverse/embossed painting of a goat in a trench-coat holding a gun. It's called "Forward/Reverse/Embossed Painting of a Goat in a Trench-Coat Holding a Gun". It was a good day, we Warholed, watched Spinal Tap and ended up playing the most amazing game ever created with Aubryn and the James Gang. What do you get when you cross a prosthetic limb factory with a recording studio...
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Have you ever considered how tragically, utterly beautiful it is to read any kind of literature? Because for a half-second window of time you get to throw out your own perceptions and your own reality in order to trade them with someone else's. Reading a blog or a novel or any kind of story, whether fictional or realistic, you get to look out on their world through their own eyes, to think their 65 mph thoughts, to listen to their own inner music. Out goes the four walls around you, the constructs of your agenda, the comfort of the chair you're sitting in, the agony of what you're eating for dinner- instead you're visiting Pemberley or watching Gatsby stare across the lake at the green light or feel Edmond Dantes' suffering. You lose yourself in the mind of the artist, in his own creation. That's only the beautiful part. But the tragedy is knowing that, after learning about another frighteningly, upside-down world, and seeing that world from their own point of view, you never existed.
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