.
I am a contemporary artist who specializes in the art of kitchen appliance/non-perishable food items sculpting.
My parents were artists as well, which is undoubtedly how I developed such a true appreciation for the craft. My father was a car mechanic who built creative-yet functional sculptures under the hoods of various Chevrolet models (mainly those built between 1969-1978), and my Mother was a Secretary/Aspiring Rug Hooker, who had a unique gift for turning otherwise mundane yarn into visually-stimulating farmhouse motifs.
Being raised in this creative environment gave me the freedom to grow artistically, absorbing the foundations in both composition and design.
I delight in using bold, brand-name appliances like Bosch, KitchenAid, Cuisinart, even the odd Ron Popeil contrivance. I then add various non-perishable food items, and the result is an enticing, unique shape compelling the viewer to realize the magic is not in the materials themselves, but rather in the hand that morphed these materials into pieces of extreme brilliance and short-term non-functionality.
The following kitchen appliance/non-perishable food items sculptures belong to my “Leaving the Nest” Gallery. I hope these masterpieces evoke as much emotion in you as they have in me over the years (if not more).
.
B’s “Leaving the Nest”
.
“Step Off my Grill…” -Bschooled
.
The vision for this piece came to me while I was going through a turbulent period in my life.
I had just graduated from College (give or take a few dozen credits), and was looking to find my “true calling”. However, because I am directionally-challenged and suffer from a mild case of vertigo, I decided it would be best to sit on the couch watching TV all day, so my true calling could instead find me.
Unfortunately, my Mother didn’t feel the same way. Ever since the Doctors severed the ambilical cord that at one time had connected us, it felt as though we no longer shared the same mindset.
She would continuously try to coerce me into doing illogical things, like contributing financially to the household, or performing chore-like duties in such a way as to belittle my skills (I had taken my Bachelor of Arts in college and therefore had a varied and extensive education).
“Will you please clean your room?” she’d occasionally ask, in a tone that wasn’t always pleasant.
It was a horrible experience, one that I pray no other 25 year-old will ever have to endure.
.
.
“The Hand That Rocks the Ladle” -Bschooled
.
I created this magnum opus after finally coming to terms with the fact that this woman–the same one who’d allowed me to stay rent-free in her womb only a quarter of a century earlier– was suffering from a severe mental illness.
She starting asking bizarre questions, like “When are you going to start pulling your own weight?” and “As long as you live under this roof, you will NOT be bringing random guys home from the bar at 3am…do you hear me??”
It wasn’t that I couldn’t hear her (she was standing less than two feet away at the time), it was that the words coming out of her mouth were completely absurd. It was obvious she needed professional help, and since I wasn’t a Psychiatrist, nor did I have good enough grades to get into a school for aspiring Psychiatrists, I knew I had to leave.
I also knew this because she kicked me out.
.
.
.
“The Frugal Gourmet”-Bschooled
.
She wrote me a cheque for $400 which, when added to my savings, left me with an impressive total of almost $411 dollars.
I found a basement suite on Craigslist, and even though the bathroom wasn’t finished and it reeked of cat urine, I knew it was better than the alternative.
(*sidenote-the alternative was becoming a squatter, however back then I didn’t have the thigh muscles required in order to remain in that uncomfortable position for extended periods of time)
I used the leftover $11 to buy groceries, and while making my very first meal (ever!), the inspiration for the above work of art came to fruition.
Unfortunately, because I was too broke to create a “Putting the Fruit in Fruition” sculpture, I had to settle for the minimalistic yet equally endearing frugal gourmet piece.
.
.
..
“Mother Can You Spare a Dime?” -Bschooled
.
*FYI, when I created this piece I didn’t actually have a dime, so I was forced to use two nickels instead.
This stunnilingus was spawned when the cable company told me I’d have to pay for their services.
Needless to say, I was devastated. Cable had been a part of my life since I was six-months old, and it felt like I had lost a family member (only much worse). Desperate, I did the only thing I could do. I reached for the phone to call my Mother.
You can just imagine the angst I felt when I discovered that it, too, was not in service. Having no other choice, I grabbed my jacket and went to see her in person.
Public transport is yet another thing I pray no other 25 year-old will ever have to endure.
.
..
.
“Tongs for Nothing!” -Bschooled
.
The emotions I felt while creating this one-two-punch were inexplicable. However, since I am a true artist, I will try my best to explicate them.
Anger, angst, Trophonian, bathed in tears, begrutten, blatant, curkling, dacryagogue, dissolved in tears, elegiac, epiphoric, flebile, illachrymable, in mourning, in sackcloth and ashes, in tears, lachrimose, lachrymal, lamenting, larmoyant, like Niobe all tears, mournful, mugient, plaintful, plaintive, querimonious, querulous, remugient, sorrowful, sorrowing, tearful, weeping, with moisture in one’s eyes, with tears in one’s eyes, and with watery eyes, just to name a few.
My Mother denied me, her firstborn and favorite child, the gift of life in monetary form. She said I had to learn “to survive on my own”, and that her decision not to help me out financially hurt her more than it hurt me.
I found that hard to believe, because I was hurting “something fierce” and I knew that her threshold for pain wasn’t all that high.
.
.
.
“Eye of the Grinder” -Bschooled
This could very well be one of my most majestic creations of all.
I was sitting in my unfurnished basement suitelost and alone, trying to think of ways I could earn money without having to give up my free time. “What would Sylvester Stallone in Rocky III do?” I asked myself.
Unfortunately, because I’d never actually seen the movie, I really had no idea.
Suddenly, my Mother showed up at my door. She felt horrible for treating me so horrible-like and begged for my forgiveness. I made her sweat it out a little, but in the end I knew that because she was family, I had no choice but to forgive and forget.
She also agreed to double my allowance, but really, that’s neither here nor there.
We hugged it out, and after drying our teary eyes, we packed up my stuff and headed back home.
Thankfully it all worked out in the end, and now whenever I look at this magnificent and compelling piece, I’m reminded of a famous quote I once heard-
.
“Risin’ up, back on the street, did my time, took my chances. Went the distance now I’m back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive…”
-Anonymous
.
.
.
.After it was all over, I went to my magic 8-ball paper sculpture and asked, “So, Magic 8-Ball…do I have what it takes to be a successful Kitchen Appliance/Non-Perishable Food Item Sculptor?”
..
“Magic 8-Ball Paper Sculpture” -Bschooled
I knew it!
.
I hope you’ve enjoyed my blood, sweat and tears. And remember, if you’re interested in purchasing any of the above brilliant works, please don’t hesitate to contact me for a quote. (prices may vary depending on annual income and/or net-worth of customer.)
Just Making Convo 
01:20 am… I was using my pez… too tired to comment on art which is state of the art… I’ll be back to you… and to Laura as well…
Ivan, how many times have “Laura” and I told you to lay off the pez?
Hyperactivity doesn’t look flattering on anyone…
all true artists have to go through a period of starving for their art….. mercifully yours was short ;-)
Thank-you NM.
Looking back I guess things could have been worse. But like they always say, hindsight is 20/20…
(I have no idea wtf this means, I just like dropping random “idiom-bombs”…it’s my new schtick)
“(*sidenote-the alternative was becoming a squatter, however back then I didn’t have the thigh muscles required in order to remain in that uncomfortable position for extended periods of time)”
Aw man I think something came out of my nose when I snorted at this. I’m disgusting.
Don’t worry, Amanda, I did the same thing when my sister called this morning and told me it wasn’t actually a prerequisite.
(boy, was my face red!)
Stunned, just stunned. I feel so inadequate. I was in love with the Hand that Rocks the Ladle until… I beheld Tongs for Nothing. You are a creative genius.
Ha! Oh, Delicate Flower, how you flatter me so…
If ‘creative genius’ is short for “Woman Who Suffers From Self-Diagnosed ADD and Has a Little Too Much Time on Her Hands at Work But Doesn’t Bother Using That Extra Time to Take on Projects That Could Potentially Further her Career”, then by golly, maybe you’re right!
In fact, I think I’m going to ask my Boss if I can put that on my business cards…
Tongs for the compliment, DF:)
If you manage to get all those on a business cared I want to see it!
Great self analysis!
as for the tongs: any ole’ (kitchen)time(r)
A. Glad to see the thigh muscles are improving. Probably helps with all the random guys you have been bringing home from the bar/gym.
B. Who owns that many tongs..esp a poor out of work grad?
A. It’s true, the random guys do help, but to be honest I owe most of my success to Suzanne Somers.
B. Inheritance (wait till you see my candelabra collection)
You’ve done it again! You never cease to amaze me with your stunning displays of artistic talent combined with a verbally adept prose, that when weaved together leaves us in a stunned silence. Or in some cases (mine) a state of nonsensical rambling of puerile nonsense. A quick question: when your hands are flying spontaneously and are guided by the disassociation of your brain(?) would you consider that a state of discordant schizophrenia? I sure hope so!
I think that by now you know beyond a doubt how much I love and appreciate your art. I’m playing a game of phone tag with the Sundaram Gallery in New York, and both the Travesia Cuatro in Madrid and the Lisson in London are supposed to get back to me within a day or two. Unfortunately, the La Maison Rouge in Paris came back with a resounding and surprising no. The stuck up bitch-boy that I talked to said, and I quote, “The un-Europeanism is plain for the world to see. This female non-European is obviously a ruffian with barbaric tendencies.” Don’t worry though, I gave him my monies worth in threats (you won’t believe the call rates to France). If I end up in Paris in the next year he’s going to taste a truffle from the wrong orifice. Then I plan to tie him up and make him eat McDonalds and watch Desperate Housewives, until he is stone dead. Like the killer did to the fat guy in ‘Seven.’ Don’t let that get you down though, the other three galleries sounded very, very interested. So pack a suitcase, and start deciding on pricing!
Since I’m trying to cut down on my ridiculously long comments, just a few quick side notes….
In ‘Tongs for Nothing’ not only was the art itself revolutionary, but the internal dialog…..illachrymable indeed. I can’t tell you how much you are expanding my vocabulary (real and made-up) everyday.
“Eye of the Grinder” brought an unexpected flood of emotions out in me, but for purely selfish reasons. I remember sitting on my couch with 4 or 5 of my friends, and when Clubber Lang (the bad guy) killed Mickey (the cute, old, grumpy, trainer guy), I started crying my 9 year old eyes out. I was a latch key kid and Mickey was like a father to me. It was humiliating. I still haven’t lived those tears down. I get messages on Facebook even now saying, “Hey Scott, Mickey’s dead man, DEAD!”
Lastly, the result of the magic 8-ball sculpture gives me great hope about the 3 pending galleries, as well as all of our other business endeavors. Maybe if we do a show in Madrid, I’ll pick us up a whole nother kind of magic 8-ball!
The only negative part of any of this is that I’m now going to have ‘Eye of the Tiger’ in my head for approximately a week.
Stupendous job once again B!!!!!!
Scott,
Thank-you for your kind words. Even though I know you were forced to say them as per the “Kind Words Clause” on page 42 of our 2,453 page business-partnership contract, it still means the world to me. And that’s saying a lot, especially since I hold the world in such high regard. (I have to, it’s where I keep all my stuff)
To answer your question, the flying hands and disassociation of my brain is most definitely discordant schizophrenia. It’s also extremely contagious, which is why you’ll never see me leave the house without my sheepskin hand muff and hockey helmet. (Go Flames!)
Anyway, I want to thank-you for making all those calls on our behalf. (even to those damn Frenchies). To be honest, those other Galleries you mentioned had never even crossed my artistically-creative mind, mainly because I had no idea they existed. I guess I just assumed that artists only sold their wares through EBay and Craigslist nowadays.
Whatever you do, though, don’t sign on any dotted lines just yet. Right now I’m working on my best sculpture to date, and I’m telling you this one is going to take us all the way (or at least to third base). I don’t want to give too much away (most of my talent comes from the element of surprise), but I will tell you this…it involves a group of seven somber looking canines, seated around a table playing what looks to be a “gambling-type” game. (with playing cards)
And the best part about it is that the canines are made entirely from old VHS tapes! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???? (don’t worry if you can’t, I felt the same way at first)
Anyway, thanks again, Scott. We make a great team, and right after I finish my best sculpture to date, I’m going to create an even better one just for you.
(hint-think “latch key kid logging onto Facebook with a tears streaming down his face”)
Re-reading my comment I realize that I didn’t do so well at cutting down my ridiculously long comments. I’ll have to try harder.
While you hold the world in such high regard, I’m forced to hold the world on my shoulders as a result of the ‘Atlas Clause’ on page 1,304. Oh well, I’m basically pleased with the contract as a whole.
I didn’t mind calling all of those galleries, that’s what overbearing and greedy business partners are for. I’d prefer you not to use Craigslist at all anymore. I worry for your safety, and my human investment, as I call you in my more tender moments. It’s too dangerous.
Don’t worry; I won’t sign any contracts without you. I looked into it, and there is just no way that I can get away with it legally. Not even Shapiro could make it stick. I love the idea of your latest project. May I suggest a game of Texas Hold-em where a Rottweiler is going all in, and a Golden Retriever is deciding to call? Maybe an Irish Setter in the background looking pissed and extremely drunk?
I’m truly honored that you’ve decided to do one just for me! I think we may hit home base that night. Either way I’m sure that tears will be streaming down my face once again. And that is the mark of a truly gifted artist!
I’m so excited. I just can’t hide it. I’m about to lose control, and I think I like it!—-Payback HA! I had ‘Eye of the Tiger’ droning on an endless loop as I drifted off to sleep last night.
Scott,
First of all, good job on cutting the comments down. Personally I enjoy your lengthy use of verbiage, but that’s just me (I’m a reader, it’s what I do).
But since you seem to be worried about it I did a comparison, and noticed that this comment was a whole 4 words shorter than your last, which means you’re making progress (I’m also an OCD’er, it’s another thing I do).
I also love your ideas for future projects. I was thinking more along the lines of a pit bull playing billiards with a dart hanging out of his mouth while various other breeds stood around drinking beer and watching from the sidelines, but yours sounds like it might be more “hip” so to speak.
And trust me, I’m excited too!! In fact, I wrote a song about it!
Mmmm Bop! ba duba dop!
Ba du bop, ba duba dop!
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du
(even steven)
I really hope your mother will see this magnificent collection and realize that the creative genius apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree. (And she might be in a generous mood and purchase one of your pieces. Maybe the “Hand that Rocks the Ladle”? I know as a Mom I find that piece overwhelmingly evocative. )
By the time I read the anonymous quote, I have to admit I was openly weeping. I have to go and blow my nose now…I’m starting to mess up my keyboard.
To be honest, I don’t think my Mom shares the same appreciation for my craft. In fact, last Christmas I gave her a replica of my “Mother Can You Spare a Dime?” piece, and she looked at me like I had three heads or something.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, I found out later that she’d actually taken a can-opener to it and served it for lunch!
Needless to say, our relationship has been tense since then, but we’re working on it. (group therapy has definitely helped)
Anyway, thank-you for the humbling compliment, Talon. And just so you know, I plan on creating a special “Thanksgiving-Pilgrim” sculpture just for you. (I sure hope you aren’t a vegan!)
ps. I’m glad I’m not the only one who finds that quote so moving. “Anonymous” is to me what the Dalai Lama is to Dalai Lamians…
Again with the haunting genius of well-positioned nuances! The EYE Bschooled! The EYYYYYE!
Anyone who remembers Roger Corman’s “X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes” (1963) starring Ray Milland, will remember that exact scene with Don Rickles, and that EXACT CUT – OUT EYE in your “Eye of the Grinder” forever staring to help, hinder, or hurt, depending upon the situation. You threw us the patented “subtle hint” with a movie reference to Rocky, which sparked flashbacks to many of my old Italian friends, but once I recovered, there was THE EYE again, imploring yet another flashback, when our favorite parent (an old black and white Motorola television), first planted THE EYE into flashback data storage, to be unleashed by your spectacular imagery. SPECTACULAR IMAGERY!!!
Okay then! coffee wearing off . . . gotta go. Excuse the outburst and all that, stay the course, be the B, and can’t wait for the highly anticipated gallery reviews!!!
Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . kettle whistling! Gotta go!
Hey, Invasive1,
I have to be honest…you lost me at Roger Corman. I came back for a bit at Don Rickles, but then the black and white Motorola television came into play, and next thing you know I’m back out in left-field.
However, I must say you that you do have quite the way with words. I’m not sure if it has to do with your periodic flashbacks or what the deal is, but then again, that’s not important. What is important is that you have a gift, and you need to use that gift before it’s too late.
(btw, I’m also impressed with your expressiveness…you really know how to “kick those caps lock up a notch…”)
Anyway, let me know if you ever come out with an autobiography, Invasive1. I would love to get my hands on that bad-boy.
WTF!….
Trophonian, begrutten, curkling, dacryagogue, , elegiac, epiphoric, flebile, illachrymable, , in sackcloth and ashes, in tears, lachrimose, lachrymal, larmoyant, like Niobe all tears, mugient, plaintful, querimonious, querulous, remugient.
Ying…are you trying to make me feel stupid again?
How much is “Mother Can You Spare a Dime?” I’d be interested, but all I have are pennies at the moment.
What can I say, that word-a-day calendar is really paying off.
Are the pennies American or Canadian?
Nevermind…the sculpture is yours, YnB. I think I’m starting to realize that the actual “selling” side of things is something I’m not really good at. Besides, I’m not really in it for the money anyway. (that’s what my uninspiring day job is for)
ps. I’m having a hard time keeping this straight…are you Ying or am I?
You are Ying (just remember the “i” is for me, B) and Yang is me ( the “a” is for the “and” in YandB.) How’s that? ;-)
I thought I was B?
(I need to lie down, my head hurts…)
You are B, silly!! :-) (I was writing like I was you)
Oh, now I get it!
You were “method acting”…
;)
“The Hand that Rocks the Ladle” Oh. My. Gawd.
Woman… I was eating chocolate while reading this. Hello? Chocolate spittle on the computer screen is just … not good.
:lol:
Where ever you work, whatever you do when not making us all laugh hysterically… you’re wasted. If you are not a humorist, then quit your dang day job!
And when you make a gazillion dollars, remember your old friend, April, who pushed you to that magical place under the golden sun.
(oh, and when you have a chance, there’s someone I’d like you to meet on my blog. I had you at the back of my mind while writing this post. You might say, I was B-inspired. :wink:)
April,
Although I’m pretty sure I won’t be making a gazillion dollars anytime soon (sculpting doesn’t pay what it used to), I will remember you anyways, I promise.
And thanks to your blog, the memory of you, a Cowboy, and a strategically placed oil can is now forever burned into my memory…
(the last two not in a good way)
b:)
Thanks B! It’s coming, I think. Globe Pequot parked on my manuscript forever, as did the editors at St. Martin’s, so they must be passing it around the office and mocking me, or it’s deep in a slush pile. Anyway, your words are encouraging, while mine are often dredged from the murky swamps of sporadic recognition, sparked by unexpected sights, sounds, and WHOA! What was THAT?! The EYE again? Sometimes those quick moments of clarity are like a bird hitting the window . . . my rolled-up paper says, “Signs Point to Confused”.
“Sings Point to Confused” indeed…
Evening Bschooled,
That’s a damned touching story and I’m delighted that you and your old mom were able to sort out your differences.
As for the art, well you know that even though my taste runs more toward Norman Rockwell and Red Skelton paintings, I’m a big fan of your work. This time around though, Bschooled, the pieces left me a little jittery and melancholy. I suppose it might be because the kitchen utensils got me thinking of my old mom too. Lord help you if she had a pair of tongs in her hand when she caught you stealing from the cookie jar. She’d squeeze your head til you lost consciousness. And I still have the scars from the ladle beatings.
Still, I’m sure they’re damned nice pieces of art and that folks will snap them up before you know it.
All the best
Don
Don,
Please do me a favor and don’t open any UPS boxes you get in the next few days. I recently sent you a special sculpture to get you into the “Christmas spirit” (I figured it might take you a couple of months, so best to start early), but I had no idea it might bring back horrible memories for you.
Basically, it was a replica of the nativity scene, only it was created from tongs, ladles, and a cookie jar I fashioned into a manger. (I also made a baby Jesus out of feta cheese and fitted him with a velveeta slice-turned-sensible cardigan, but that’s neither here nor there).
However, had I known about your Mom beforehand, there is no way I would have done something so tactless.
I apologize, Don. And to make it up to you, I will be sending you an 11×17 print of your avatar, made entirely out of macaroni glued to brightly colored cardboard paper (FYI, I may need to use those wagon-wheel shaped pasta noodles for the glasses part).
Now that’s a piece everybody can enjoy!
Friends till the end,
Bschooled
My own sculpture?? My own pilgrim? I am honoured!
I guess you can’t blame your mother for being practical and using a part of your sculpture. I think if you put that amazing creative genius of yours to work, you can craft her the perfect “Cutting Through The Crap” greeting card. Moms are such suckers for sentimental verse.
You’re right Talon, I never thought of that….
Looks like the lady who gave birth to me is really going to cash in this Christmas!
I agree with the others…the plethora of tongs is disconcerting. Were you going through an “I want to be a gynecologist” phase at the time? I hope to god that if you were practicing on yourself you scrubbed those things before company came over.
Don’t worry, TL, I would never be that inconsiderate.
I actually created my own special examination tools after being inspired by the movie Dead Ringers… http://www.thepinksmoke.com/images/deadringersinstruments.jpg
And the best part is that it doubles as a Captain Hook hand!
(it kills at costume parties)
This post had too many funny things to pick out just one. I will say, Rocky 3 is worth a view. If for nothing else, the soundtrack. especially when he is training. Then again there is 4. Tough to decide…
Seriously Will, that video moved me. I had no idea Rocky was so inspirational!
I think it’s safe to say we can all learn a very important lesson here…
“As long as you have a skipping rope, a wheelbarrow and a guy chasing you in a car, you don’t need to be injected with a hypodermic needle in order to reach the top of the mountain…”
(ps. for some strange reason I can’t stop watching it)
I know! This video makes me want to either workout or learn the standup keyboard/guitar thing. Can’t decide which.
Why did Laura and you hide the baby from me?? I see the picture on the fridge door! I demand a DNA test ASAP.
In awe,
Ivan.
Ha!
Oh Ivan, that’s not my baby, and (as far as I know) it doesn’t belong to “Laura” either.
I just keep that picture on the fridge to remind me what could happen if I don’t “Play Safe”…
In more-awe,
Bschooled:)
This is so weird,
I had an almost exactly similar experience. Except instead of being a sculptor, I was a professional throwback hillbilly. And my parents weren’t artists – but were inbred hillbillies.
My creations were made with shotguns. I knew right from the get go that 2 + 2 = 4… Or so they told me, and that New York City was looking for outsider art and that as an insider in the world of outsiders, I had more than an outside chance of making it big inside the exclsuive world of outsider art. As an outsider artist…
But then again, I guess the same could have been said about my artsy friends, Goober Doogie, Cooter Hicks, Dauber Gob, Billy Bob Clampett and Hank “Goober” Penny.
I also knew, or suspected that I knew, that my mom and dad were brother and sister. It’s a funny story, but that’s for another day. You know, the funny incest story telling day. I think it falls on a Tuesday this year…
Anyway… My first work with my shotgun was kind of simplistic when I look back at it now. Because it was simplistic it had a simple title and theme. “Dead Skunk That I Done Shot” It wasn’t a magnum opus, but it was the beginning of what I liked to think (when buzzed on moonshine — which was always) was a great artistic shotgun series. The dead skunk eventually putrefied. I moved on.
From there, the shogun art magic happened “Abducting A Mountain Bride” “Shooting Stop Signs No. 64” “Buying Ammo From Big Breasted Daisy Mae” “Dead Crow/Crow Pie” they just came to me… and my shotgun.
It was inevitable that I’d make it big in New York, fall in with the wrong crowd, bastardize my art, become addicted to snorting lines off squirrels’ breast and ultimately throwing myself off a bridge.
And yet it didn’t happen.
Shame about that…
My God, Alan, the similarities between us are ridiculous. They are also ludicrous, preposterous, absurd, nonsensical, bizarre, silly, outlandish, and occasionally even unreasonable, but hey…it is what it is.
I, too, was an insider (aka “innie”), however it was something that I didn’t like to flaunt. In fact, I made sure that all of my shirts covered my midriff, because I always wanted to “keep people guessing”.
I never wore pants in those days though…but only because I didn’t want the people too have to guess too much. They tend to get annoyed after a while.
Oddly enough, my Mom and Dad were related as well, but it wasn’t a blood relation. Well not real blood, anyway….more like alien blood. And unicorn blood. And a hint of warm goat’s blood, but that was just leftover from some tribal ceremony they went to when they were in their “experimenting phase”.
From what they told me, it sounds like it was a pretty good time.
Anyway, about your so-called “art”…
That is sooo called art, Alan! I mean, seriously, what else would you call it?
“It’s flashy, it’s splashy, it’s trashy…it’s Art!”
All I can say is no matter what, you have to keep powering through. You are just too talented to let this talent detalent itself. For serious this time.
Oh, and let’s be honest here…you don’t need to be an artist to fall in with the wrong crowd, become addicted to snorting lines off squirrels’ breasts and ultimately throw yourself off a bridge. I mean, I worked with a guy who did that, and he’d never even finished a cross-stich!
And yet it didn’t happen either.
Shame about that…I never really liked the guy.
Criminey!
The weirdness gets weirder. And in that perplexingly strange way that only weirdness can. And to top it off it’s Saturday morning and I woke up in the cat cage. Which is, yes, weird… I guess I went out last night and bought a cat cage. That’s the only explanation I can think of. It’s certainly the only one I want to contemplate. Still, I’ll keep my eye out for a cat. If I bought one it can stay, but it has to get a job. And be able to tell a joke. And cook. I’m not cooking for any cat. It would be nice if it could play an instrument. Seems a shame to have this piano in the house and not play it. I’m gonna buy it a banjo. And a chew toy. And a cat cage!!! Oh, wait… Right…
Wow. I’m rambling like a kitten with a chew toy. Do they ramble?
Okay, focus up.
Oh yeah. True story. I, like you, stopped wearing pants ages ago. I never felt they went with my legs or genitals. Sorry to bring up my genitals on a Saturday morning. That’s not right. Let’s stick with my legs. Did you know they’re wooden? I can take them off and use them as crutches. Or when I’m in a small boat, I can use them as oars. Sometimes I use them as oversized novelty cutlery.
My point is… That guy you knew who those things that didn’t happen to, didn’t happen to. I use to go trolling for blow and squirrels with him. He owes me money. And he stole one of my legs.
Never much cared for him either.
If you see him, tell him I say “Bugs Bunny lives in a better house than he does.”
Makes him cry everytime.
Crikey!
The weirdness just got even more weirder…I honestly didn’t think that was possible!
I mean I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t cross my mind every once in a while, but then again, a lot of things cross my mind. Mind crossing is in my blood.
(*if you’d like to learn more about Bschooled’s blood, please see her previous comment)
Anyway, although I completely understand the cat-cage calamity, I strongly advise you against getting a cat. I’ve had one before, and let me tell you, he was nothing but trouble. He was lazy, fat, and selfish, and all he did all day was eat lasagna and complain about Mondays.
“I hate Mondays…”, he would whine, over and over to anyone who’d listen.
I just didn’t get it. I mean, he did the same thing every day anyway, whether it was a Monday or a Saturday. And it wasn’t like he had a job to go to or anything. I was the one who was always out pounding the pavement, trying to earn enough money so I could support the both of us.
Needless to say, that relationship didn’t end on good terms. In fact, he tried to add me as a friend on Facebook last month, but I rejected his request.
No sense living in the past…
My point is…I’m really sorry about what happened to your wooden leg, and if I see “that guy” again, not only will I say “Bugs Bunny lives in a better house than he does”, I will give him a “crooked arm lariat” followed by a “One man-con-chair-to”.
It’s the least I could do.
Alan has frightened me out of a “denial state”.
I often walk our hounds through an old moonshiner’s abandoned still, and tomorrow we’ll do an annual hike up Westford Hill to a distillery and store, which was actually another moonshine camp. The leaves are peaking, and my 7 yr. old daughter is very excited.
What am I passing on to her? What local character is she inheriting?
True, there’s no inbreeding (at least on the Boston end; Minnesota is always suspect), but what have we finally become? What will she take out of this teeny tiny deep woods hill town?
Hounds. Hikes to stills. Farms full of nervous llamas, and my failed corn crop (see blog next week). LOTS of shotgun sounds, and speed limit signs peppered with holes.
I see the light now. Thank-you Alan. Thank-you for saving my daughter.
I have to go and make sculptures with chainsaws, and a couple of garden tools.
You’re not alone, Invasive1. Alan has been frightening people out of their “denial states” for years now, it’s just one of the many hats he wears. He also wears a creative hat, a witty hat, a hilarity-ensuing hat, and a cute little furry hat with matching stole that his owners make him wear on special occasions. Similar to this one, in fact- http://spoilurpets.com/images/Anastasia%20Dog%20Hat%20and%20Stole%20Set.JPG .
Only his is teal blue. (it really brings out his eyes)
If you ask me, which really, you didn’t (my blog my feedback), it sounds like your daughter will grow up to be a very “well-characterized” woman. And if she has one-tenth of the flashbacks her father has, there’s no telling where she’ll end up.
Anyway, I have to say that I’m really looking forward to your nervous llamas/failed corn crop blog, Invasive1. Hopefully we can all learn from your mistakes…
Thanks bschooled!
You’re a scholar and a comedian.
Invasive1, while I shall continue to live in a blissful state of denial myself, I’m always happy to frighten people out of their denial. Like our always hilarious friend would say “It’s my schtick.”
Now I’m off to buy a new hat!
Thanks alantru,
As we all know, dogs love to fetch schticks and Bring It.
Sorry . . . I really am. Terrible joke from one who really needs some sleep, but since I mispelled the word “daughter” in my reply to B, “schtick” isn’t a far cry from “stick.” Back to the failed lore and aggressive commas . . .
Thanks B! The colors clashing on that dog were a crippling blow to my bloodshot eyes, but at this point, a blank white movie screen would have the same maddening effect.
It is truly amazing to hear my dughter’s sudden outbursts, reliving events like the nap periods she endured during a brief spell in daycare, at the tender age of 2:
“There’s no pillow at nap time! The floor is hard and the sleeping bag smells bad!”
If only I were joking! But alas, all we can do now is try to supply her with pleasant experiences for the rest of her sheltered life, starting with long hikes to that bootlegger’s hideout, and the sight of several adults throwing back shine while discussing the latest backwoods lynching.
Thank God I’m more aware of quality education these days, and our rough-hewn environment. I quickly pointed out the crass nature of their talk in front of my little angel, and they took my remarks rather seriously, apologizing for not defining the word “lynching” to her young, curious mind.
My neck still hurts, but their joyous, drunken laughter makes everything alright!
Back to the failed corn and aggressive llamas . . .
Ha!
Made me laugh, Invasive1.
“Fetching Schticks” will be the name of my next comedy Cd. I’ve got a title… Now all I need are jokes.
Nice! Glad to be of help, alantru!
Ah, bschooled. Another wonderful set of sculptures and a crippingly funny backstory to boot. And all of it collecting dust by the time I leisurely stroll in.
I thought I recognized those so-called “dimes” of yours. The Canadian beaver nickel. Many a time I have stood in front of a vending machine pushing the same useless coin in over and over before finally thinking, “Hey. Maybe it’s the coin.”
Sure enough. It is.
So the question is: do you often have the same problem across the border? Coins with some old dude’s head on it that fail to trigger the Pepsi/cigarette/health care vending machines?
If so, perhaps an exchange could be made at the DMZ between our two countries. We could both lay our coins in the middle and walk back slowly while being covered by our respective posses.
Tensions will rise when I turn around and I’ll hear the sound of hammers being cocked. I’ll yell something like, “I just want to make sure our guys are OK.”
There will be a lot of discussion and swearing and cocks being hammered (?) before the exchange is finally over.
Whew. I never knew there was so much friction between our countries. Perhaps someone could write a song about how to fix it. Maybe the ghost of John Lennon with assistance from Michael Moore.
CLT,
You should know by now how much I covet your compliments and highbrow words of praise. In fact, it’s like getting a virtual pat on the back from the Lexicon God himself…
But I’m sure you hear that a lot.
Anyway, to answer your question, it depends.
To answer your question in more detail, it depends on the vending machine and/or educational level of the cashiers working at the establishments we frequent. Most of the time they flock to the American “quarter-dollar” (is that what you kids are calling it these days?) like an inebriated Hasselhoff to a burger, because they know it’s only a matter of time before it will once again be worth around $42.67CDN.
Well, I guess they don’t know that for a fact (understanding currency fluctuations isn’t really our schtick), but better to be safe than sorry.
(they also like the fact that your coins are so much shinier than ours)
However there will always be the odd naive contraption (machine and human) who will single out the sole US nickel (surrounded by a handful of beavers, maple leafs, common loons and even the occasional wheelchair curler- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wheelchair_curling.jpg ), and say, “I’m sorry, but we only take Canadian money here”.
Far be it from me to argue with that kind of logic.
Anyway CLT, I look forward to our upcoming exchange. I do hope you can meet me near the Seattle/Vancouver DMZ though, there’s a Target close to the border and I figure if I’m going all that way, I might as well stock up on Cherry Pepsi and Olestra Pringles while I’m at it.
Thank-you for your brilliant comment, CLT. Your attention to detail is just part of what makes you so fascinating…
Listen . . . you won’t take my calls, emails, pages, texts, or telegrams, but I just want to let you know that I’ve made a decision on who I want to have as my blog boyfriend (apparently it’s all the rage, and everyone’s been pressuring me to choose). I’ve selected you. I know you’re not male, but that’s beside the point.
Wow. That took a lot of courage on my part.
Now then. The sculpture of “The Hand that Rocks the Ladle” was really emotional for me. I don’t know why. It just reminded me of soup and honor.
This line also resonated with me: “She would continuously try to coerce me into doing illogical things, like contributing financially to the household, or performing chore-like duties in such a way as to belittle my skills.”
Why don’t parents understand that our bachelor degrees = we’re done doing stuff for others.
I don’t get older people at all.
I agree, Vodka. Whenever my parents start lecturing me on my four years of post-secondary that left me with nothing but a diseased liver and lifetime debt, I feel like rapping “DJ Jazzy Jeff and Fresh Prince” style.
It’s safe to say that soup and honor is the second cousin to chili con carne and respect. It’s all relative.
ps. I sent you a reply via carrier pigeon doing morse code, but in case you don’t get it, the answer is “yes”.
Wow. That was even more courageous on my part. (But really, who’s counting?)
GENIUS, bschooled, SHEER GENIUS.
;-D
Thanks, TSIB.:)
ps. Oddly enough, SHEER GENIUS is the name of my hair salon. (I wanted to tell them it should actually be spelled “SHEAR GENIUS”, but the last time I questioned the owner I ended up with an unsightly mullet.)
there’s a great deal of suppressed sexuality in Tongs For Nothing
Haha! Tongs for noticing, NM!
Tongs for Nothing just looks so angry. And it reminds me vaguely of going to the gynecologist: cold metal.
Magic 8 balls are always right. Always.
I strongly suggest you don’t see the movie “Dead Ringers”.
Trust me, you’ll never look at a steel utensil the same way again.
Dang I missed all the fun.
So did I, desk49.
*slowly removing sunglasses*
So…did…I.
(That was my Horatio Cane impression, in case you were wondering.)
I always thought you got stunniligus from licking electrical outlets.
Actually Cooper, that’s stunnellatio.
Or, so I’ve heard.
“Ever since the Doctors severed the ambilical cord that at one time had connected us, it felt as though we no longer shared the same mindset”
I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing about my own son (as a childless Mommy Blogger, you may, or may not, totally understand). I mean, what’s with the poor sense of balance, lack of bladder control and senseless risk taking? Its really starting to get on my nerves, even if he is “just a toddler”. I can’t help but feel that we have ‘grown apart’. Unsurprisingly, your sculptures, and the stories they tell (aided by the blatant but skillful addition of words) really touched me emotionally (which felt a little bit weird when it came to the Tong one……)
Of course I understand, Ruby. It’s not in my nature not to understand. (It is in my nature, however, to not not use double negatives as often as possible.)
Just a toddler? What’s going to happen when your son gets older? Will he become “Just a delayed adolescent” followed by “Just a socially-inept Teenager” and then finally “Just a Fully Grown Man who suffers from incontinence”?
I suggest you let go of his safety leash now, Ruby. If he comes back, then it was meant to be.
It is rumored that Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis would taste a few crumbs of dessert while dining at a favorite restaurant, Le Cirque, declare “isn’t that wonderful!” and call it quits in order to maintain her svelte figure. Not me…not here. You rolled in the whole dessert cart and I dove right in. No filler bread, no sissy-ass crudités, no need even for an entrée. This was pure crème-filled pastry, mousse cakes, tarts, and truffles. I drunkenly indulged in it all, bschooled. It was a food-orgy Christmas fest. Delicious!! No regrets!! Sky high endorphin levels from chocolate frenzied indulgence. You have a God-given talent to entertain us all and right now I am on my feet shouting “Bravo!” louder than my neighbor Mr. Little (who is still off his meds) after an orchestral piece that he particularly enjoyed. Make that stamping my feet. Funny-as-all-get-out.
P.S. Jesus, you even got TL out of retirement. :-)
I loved this comment, Elizabeth! So much so that I plan on using it in my upcoming “Gluten-Free (but not in a bad way) Boston Cream Pie” sculpture gallery.
Sadly, TL is still in retirement. This was actually an old post that I dusted off, added the odd “stunnilingus-bomb” to (for dramatic effect), and re-posted. But you did give me an idea for a potential cash cow.
I’m thinking that if I publish the photos of my sculptures, then copy and paste the comments I’ve received from you and TL (the above comment being the centerpiece, of course) I’ll have a best-selling coffee table book/humor novel on my hands!
I might have to edit out TL’s Sarah Palin/”Salma Hayek’s breasts” references, though. (You know, for the children’s sake.)
I’ll keep you posted, E. If this works out, you might find yourself living next to an even richer crazy man!
(And no. In case you were wondering, I have no idea what any of this means either.)
The litter tray of life
An internship has just come open at the DelVecchio Art Institute for Greater Phoenix.
Please send headshots (at least three angles) and an essay on your internet superhero Denny Dance–and the admissions committee will get right to work.
Headshots? As if I would let anyone take pictures of me doing that! (What can I say, I’m shy.)
Does this essay have to be in writing? Or can I do it via interpretive dance? I’m worried that I won’t be able to find the words to express my feelings for D-squared.
Or maybe I’ll do it Rapsay style. (Rap + Essay = Rapsay)
Yes! That’s exactly what I’ll do!
How on earth do you come up with this stuff??? Wow! This is so great. I’d never be able in a lifetime to come up w/ a post as funny as this. You rule!