Just when I think these artists can't get to me, an email comes in that amazes me to no end.
We got a submission from a woman a while back and unfortunately can't do much with her work, so we sent a perfectly succinct rejection letter that read:
Dear [Cray Lady],
Thank you for submitting your artwork to our magazine. We don’t currently have an opening to feature your artwork. But the drawings are most impressive, and if the appropriate occasion arises, we will be in touch.
Sincerely,
[A respectful and competent adult who serves as the editor of this magazine.]
Maybe that was a bit impersonal, but we don't have all day to be buttering up egos.
Apparently, we're also mentally ill. Her response:
Look at my web site I am included in every major museum collection in the country you do not think you can do an article ? What are you thinking [Cray Lady]. Connection
Sent from my iPhone
I have no idea what "connection" means. I also don't think that you can be that bitchy when you seem to lack a grasp of basic punctuation and grammar. I swear, they are TOO MUCH.
Showing posts with label crazy artists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy artists. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2012
Monday, December 12, 2011
An Older, Bloggier Blacktress
I’m typing this post while waiting for the Time Warner Cable employee to come back from putting me on hold. That’s how long we’ve been doing this. I mean, I’m cool with it. It’s gotten so ridiculous that when he asked if he could put me on hold, I told him to “grab a sammie, drop the kids off at the pool, whatever. We’re really just hanging out at this point.”
So, I think my birthday can be best summed up by this ecard from my mom:
I must say, I'm glad the birthday is over--Although I did have a tender evening with Jewboo, complete with cupcakes and compromise. We’re thinking Brooklyn for a year or so and then back to Harlem once it’s all renovated and fit for a new couple to make a life. See, I figure once the lines are clearly drawn—and mounted in the form of walls—the lines between mom and I will be equally clear and strong.
I don’t know if that made sense, but I think you feel me.
Ugh, I haven’t posted in so long, I don’t even know where to begin. There’s been so much to discuss. I guess I’ll stick to highlights:
Of course, I’ll take any excuse to post the “Black Barbie” music video:
It was a bit too cartoony and self-referential at times, but the actors had great comedic timing in addition to all their NYU BFA training.
Oh yeah, and everyone was really, really attractive. There was a lot of sexuality. Basically, by the end, the show made me wanna do 500 crunches and make out with a girl.
Favorite line: “Oh my god / it’s a sexual jihad.”
Of course, it was made better by the fact that it was sung by a rotund black woman (a show can have no gravitas without one).
There was even a relationship between a strong black woman and a nerdy Jewish boy!!!
Guys, the blacktress’ story is on Broadway.
The show was irreverent (best critic word ever) and ridiculous. I do think, though, that it can be hard for theatah enthusiasts to see something so sassy, sexy, and silly going for $100 a seat (and perhaps if I’d paid for it, I’d be singing a different tune). But it’s also just nice to see something original and sharp that has memorable songs and great performances. Plus, there was a hot Asian and tons of interracial love.
And here's a new soon-to-be series-- Gchat Quote of the Day!
So, I think my birthday can be best summed up by this ecard from my mom:
You and me both, girl.
I must say, I'm glad the birthday is over--Although I did have a tender evening with Jewboo, complete with cupcakes and compromise. We’re thinking Brooklyn for a year or so and then back to Harlem once it’s all renovated and fit for a new couple to make a life. See, I figure once the lines are clearly drawn—and mounted in the form of walls—the lines between mom and I will be equally clear and strong.
I don’t know if that made sense, but I think you feel me.
Ugh, I haven’t posted in so long, I don’t even know where to begin. There’s been so much to discuss. I guess I’ll stick to highlights:
- My boss keeps referring to everything as “gay-cute” and it’s getting weird. He’s constantly brainstorming new ideas and starts with, “you know what would be really gay-cute? If we had, like, a ‘best of’ section.’ What?
- He’s also taken to calling me “Black Barbie” whenever I wear a ponytail. Of course, in glasses and a ponytail, I think I look like the nerdy girl before the makeover in every 80s movie. Massa then explained, “No! Do you know what the most coveted Barbie is? Black Barbie, no bangs. She’s, like, $5,000.” Apparently, I am a high-end lady.
Of course, I’ll take any excuse to post the “Black Barbie” music video:
- I don’t know if you guys know this already, but I have a wife. Her name is Meara and she is wonderful. She recently scored free tickets to previews of Lysistrata Jones on Broadway and invited a blacktress. We’d heard negative reviews of the show, but that didn’t stop our excitement of being in the fourth row of the orchestra. Once it got underway, we realized that everyone we know who has opinions is wrong. The show was really, really funny. Like, actual funny and not comedy-of-manners type of funny.
It was a bit too cartoony and self-referential at times, but the actors had great comedic timing in addition to all their NYU BFA training.
Oh yeah, and everyone was really, really attractive. There was a lot of sexuality. Basically, by the end, the show made me wanna do 500 crunches and make out with a girl.
Favorite line: “Oh my god / it’s a sexual jihad.”
Of course, it was made better by the fact that it was sung by a rotund black woman (a show can have no gravitas without one).
There was even a relationship between a strong black woman and a nerdy Jewish boy!!!
Guys, the blacktress’ story is on Broadway.
The show was irreverent (best critic word ever) and ridiculous. I do think, though, that it can be hard for theatah enthusiasts to see something so sassy, sexy, and silly going for $100 a seat (and perhaps if I’d paid for it, I’d be singing a different tune). But it’s also just nice to see something original and sharp that has memorable songs and great performances. Plus, there was a hot Asian and tons of interracial love.
And here's a new soon-to-be series-- Gchat Quote of the Day!
Litsa: My mother has suggested an officiant who is a gay Jew who also was a cross-dresser when I was a child.
Should I be offended?
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Just Checkin' In
Hey gang!
Today’s been super busy. I had a show last night in the East Village and didn’t get home until after midnight. I didn’t eat dinner until 30 minutes after that, and, well, let’s just say that this morning I got to the plantation long after I was supposed to.
The show last night went well, although I was a bit rusty—hadn’t been on stage in a couple of weeks. I did, however, have a great time at the voiceover. My one line was:
I couldn’t find a hospital—forget about how I was going to get there.
I said this 50 times. I am not exaggerating.
Everyone was nice, but very brusque—they were just trying to get it done and move it on. The producer who booked me looked like the seamstress in The Incredibles, but was really nice.
I got there 10 minutes early, thinking that would give me time to get settled in, check my face, etc, but they were waiting for me when I got out of the bathroom! I got the “script” and went right into the booth. A lovely woman named Paula sat in the booth with me, giving me “a person to play to.” She looked just like Gena Rowlands, and I felt like I could trust her.
As I said the line, emphasizing different words each time, Gena Rowlands mouthed direction, such as “Slllooooooooowwwww,” when I needed to not talk so fast; “Toss it!” when she wanted me to ‘let go’ of a word; and leaning in when I reached a word that need emphasis. It ended up only taking 15 minutes, and when I told her this was my first job, she said, “Oh, you’re great!!!”
Today I got a call from an artist who is kind of obsessed with me. I met him over a year ago, and ever since, he likes to randomly call up and try to get published in the magazine. But instead of just selling himself, he insists on trying to inflate my ego. The thing is, he does so by saying things that are vaguely insulting and overtly lascivious. A couple weeks ago, during our painting event, he stopped by the opening reception. I tried to avoid him, but he made a beeline for a blacktress.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, pulling me away from the safety of my fellow staff members before I could even respond.
“Did I do something to offend you?” he asks. “Because you seem angry with me.”
“What?” I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Um, are we sharing a bunk at summer camp? Why is he trippin’ like we have some bond?
“You always call me ‘sir’ and seem to be so formal,” he explained.
“No, [Carl,]” I said. “I enjoy calling people sir, and I tease you because your ego can handle it.” [The man insists being called by his full name in all correspondence—middle initial and all.]
“Oh, I see. Well, you’re good. You’re a funny one.”
He then proceeds to introduce me to every artist that passes by, whispering to them after we shake hands. Finally, I call him out. One artist explains, “Oh, he just said how beautiful you were.”
Um, HR violation!
When the other guy leaves, Carl proceeds to tell me about a “Stunning, brilliant black woman,” I should get to know. “She’s just like you,” he says, leaning in. “I love a smart and beautiful woman.”
[Note: Carl wears large round glasses and looks like a science teacher from the 1980s. He is a close talker and his breath often smells of red wine and patchouli.]
So, when he calls me up today, he begins with a discussion of how talented I am. “I recently saw Robin Williams on Broadway,” he says. “And he’s got 5 speeds. You, you’ve got 10. Whoopi’s got 20, but you’ll get there.”
This man has never seen me perform. I am not at all interesting at work functions. I certainly don’t think comparing me to either Robin Williams or Whoopi Goldberg is appropriate or even flattering, because it’s so far off and based on so little information.
He ended the conversation the way he always does--by telling me how “impressed” he and his wife are with me. I think this has something to do with being “well spoken.”
Today’s been super busy. I had a show last night in the East Village and didn’t get home until after midnight. I didn’t eat dinner until 30 minutes after that, and, well, let’s just say that this morning I got to the plantation long after I was supposed to.
The show last night went well, although I was a bit rusty—hadn’t been on stage in a couple of weeks. I did, however, have a great time at the voiceover. My one line was:
I couldn’t find a hospital—forget about how I was going to get there.
I said this 50 times. I am not exaggerating.
Everyone was nice, but very brusque—they were just trying to get it done and move it on. The producer who booked me looked like the seamstress in The Incredibles, but was really nice.
I got there 10 minutes early, thinking that would give me time to get settled in, check my face, etc, but they were waiting for me when I got out of the bathroom! I got the “script” and went right into the booth. A lovely woman named Paula sat in the booth with me, giving me “a person to play to.” She looked just like Gena Rowlands, and I felt like I could trust her.
As I said the line, emphasizing different words each time, Gena Rowlands mouthed direction, such as “Slllooooooooowwwww,” when I needed to not talk so fast; “Toss it!” when she wanted me to ‘let go’ of a word; and leaning in when I reached a word that need emphasis. It ended up only taking 15 minutes, and when I told her this was my first job, she said, “Oh, you’re great!!!”
I wanted to tell her that I loved her in The Notebook, but I didn’t think it was the right time.
Today I got a call from an artist who is kind of obsessed with me. I met him over a year ago, and ever since, he likes to randomly call up and try to get published in the magazine. But instead of just selling himself, he insists on trying to inflate my ego. The thing is, he does so by saying things that are vaguely insulting and overtly lascivious. A couple weeks ago, during our painting event, he stopped by the opening reception. I tried to avoid him, but he made a beeline for a blacktress.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he said, pulling me away from the safety of my fellow staff members before I could even respond.
“Did I do something to offend you?” he asks. “Because you seem angry with me.”
“What?” I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Um, are we sharing a bunk at summer camp? Why is he trippin’ like we have some bond?
“You always call me ‘sir’ and seem to be so formal,” he explained.
“No, [Carl,]” I said. “I enjoy calling people sir, and I tease you because your ego can handle it.” [The man insists being called by his full name in all correspondence—middle initial and all.]
“Oh, I see. Well, you’re good. You’re a funny one.”
He then proceeds to introduce me to every artist that passes by, whispering to them after we shake hands. Finally, I call him out. One artist explains, “Oh, he just said how beautiful you were.”
Um, HR violation!
When the other guy leaves, Carl proceeds to tell me about a “Stunning, brilliant black woman,” I should get to know. “She’s just like you,” he says, leaning in. “I love a smart and beautiful woman.”
[Note: Carl wears large round glasses and looks like a science teacher from the 1980s. He is a close talker and his breath often smells of red wine and patchouli.]
Oh, and did I mention that he also told me he has “an honorary brother card”? Of course, I demanded he take out his wallet and show it to me. All he could scrounge up was his discount card to an art-supply store.
So, when he calls me up today, he begins with a discussion of how talented I am. “I recently saw Robin Williams on Broadway,” he says. “And he’s got 5 speeds. You, you’ve got 10. Whoopi’s got 20, but you’ll get there.”
This man has never seen me perform. I am not at all interesting at work functions. I certainly don’t think comparing me to either Robin Williams or Whoopi Goldberg is appropriate or even flattering, because it’s so far off and based on so little information.
He ended the conversation the way he always does--by telling me how “impressed” he and his wife are with me. I think this has something to do with being “well spoken.”
Monday, June 27, 2011
I Don't Even Know What This Post Is About
I’m so damn tired, I feel like a shell of myself. I’d love to write a lengthy post about my latest obsession, but I just don’t have my usual joie de vivre. I’m worried I’m slipping into a depression, as evidenced by the fact that I spent time looking through my facebook friends to see who was married or engaged. I don’t look at the wedding photos (feels a bit too Rear Window for my taste), but as I sit at my computer, wasting time by focusing on other people’s lives and seeming bliss, I also start asking myself things like, “how do they do it?” and “why is my existence a sham?”
See above, re: depressed. I think a humorous comedian—and a true gay visionary—is in order.
I will, of course, share in the excitement over the legalization of gay marriage in New York City. I have been prepared for this day for quite a while, and have already sent my main gays a list of songs I am prepared to sing at their nuptials. For those who I was unable to text, please review the choices below.
At Last, by Etta James
Somewhere Over the Rainbow, by Judy Garland
Love Game, by Lady Gaga
The Boy is Mine, by Brandy & Monica (note: will not be sung as a duet)
Anything by Ben Lerman
See above, re: depressed. I think a humorous comedian—and a true gay visionary—is in order.
I will, of course, share in the excitement over the legalization of gay marriage in New York City. I have been prepared for this day for quite a while, and have already sent my main gays a list of songs I am prepared to sing at their nuptials. For those who I was unable to text, please review the choices below.
At Last, by Etta James
Somewhere Over the Rainbow, by Judy Garland
Love Game, by Lady Gaga
The Boy is Mine, by Brandy & Monica (note: will not be sung as a duet)
Anything by Ben Lerman
In other news: I just got a glorious hand-written letter from a subscriber to the mag I work for. Please see the excerpt below:
"This issue was a let-down from start to finish. ... All I can say about this issue is that it made me feel nauseated. How spiritually depressing can you get? .... I finally got to the portrait. This was the crowning blow. This painting really takes the cake for horror image of the century. Again, dark and heavy, and that one distorted, wet-looking eye made it even more scary."
She closed the letter with her web address and attached a business card. As much as I'd love to link you up, I can't let a woman named Esther get me fired. If you email me at madblacktress (see top right), I'll send you a link.
This is almost as good as the psycho who emailed last week about a link to a free download:
Would someone care to send me the link for the "free" tips? Or is this a scam since the only links here lead to a "buy a subscription form" which gives you the first issue for free provided you can cancel in time.
I don't play these bullshit games. Give me the damned link directly.
No, I will not go away. Yes, I will be a pain about this. These are money games that I detest. If it's something free you want to give to people, damn well give it to them, don't play these damned games. The only way you're going to get me to stop bothering you is to give me the link to the "free" product.
I don't play these bullshit games. Give me the damned link directly.
No, I will not go away. Yes, I will be a pain about this. These are money games that I detest. If it's something free you want to give to people, damn well give it to them, don't play these damned games. The only way you're going to get me to stop bothering you is to give me the link to the "free" product.
HOLY SHIT. How can you get this angry over some painting instruction? Guys, if I fall off the blogsphere for more than a week, send out the dogs--one of these crazy artist bitches has me in their basement and is using my skin to extinguish cigarettes.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Tales from the Crypt Vol 1
Hey friends!!
I must apologize for my lack of bloggery. I had little to no internet access during my work trip (those northern NY bitches are territorial when it comes to their WiFi) and had to settle for tweeting the madness from my phone. Now back from my upstate painting "expo," I don't even know where to begin. Do I start with the newly widowed diva who loved to use jazz hands or her sister, who's coming to NYC next week and wants to meet up with me? What about the asshole artist who disrespected me several times in public settings? Or what about the high school girl's lacrosse team who took up all the rooms on the floor of the hotel that I was on?
Maybe I'll just start with the easy stuff for this installment: the racism of AARP artists!
Quick quiz: Which of the following was said in total seriousness during this weekend's work event?
a) "These are the top dogs in watercolor."
b) "White is the most powerful thing we have--we never want to lose that power."
c) "It's a challenge to paint anything that's dark."
d) "With 1 being stark-white and 10 being black, we'd agree that we're a 3 or 4." [followed by resounding murmurs of agreement]
e) All of the above.
I'll give you 30 seconds..........
If you guessed E, give yourself a gold star!!!!!
This event was out of control. As expected, I was the youngest person by at least 25 years (there were two 40-somethings) and the only person of color. "You're the editor of [insert name of magazine that won't get me fired]?" attendees said no less than 40 times over the weekend.
"I KNOW!!" was my standard response.
Okay, I will say that the weekend wasn't as painful as I thought it would be--in some ways. The attendees/grandparents were very nice and had very positive things to say about the magazine and my work. The panel discussion I led at 8am on Sunday was well-received and the artists were great (except for the asshole). People liked my questions--which included such hard-hitters as "If you could paint only one subject for the rest of your career, what would it be?" and "What makes a painting done from a photograph a work of art?"--and one woman even said I had a future as a news anchor. Positives.
Negatives: I had zero control of when I came or went, being fetched as early as 7:45 am and getting back way past my work-event bedtime. Friday night I sat in a painting demonstration that lasted until 9:30pm and didn't get back to my room until 10:30--at which point I had no choice but to get over-priced food from the hotel restaurant because I hadn't eaten since the protein bar on the plane at 2pm and they weren't providing food.
The elderly are hilarious, however, and I did my best to stay entertained. The moment I arrived at the venue, I was accosted by Midge, a local artist who helped organize the event. She knew how to pronounce my last name all on her own, which immediately made me love her (for those who don't know, it's very ethnic and intimidating). After introducing herself, she went right into TMI territory, leaning in and taking a conspiratorial tone as she said, "My husband up and died on me last month, so I'm not myself."
I was told that Midge's husband "up and died on her last month" upwards of 9 times throughout the weekend by both Midge and her sister, Gail. Gail kind of took to me and stuck to me like glue all weekend. She kept saying--in her raspy smoker's voice that I loved-- "I don't want to participate, I like to watch. Really, I'm just here for Midge. She's just a saint. Husband up and died on her! Most women would be in the shadows, but she's out in the thick of it. Just a saint. Have you ever seen such a saint? I haven't, that's for sure."
Gail applied this type of repetition and hyperbole to everything.
Gail on the finger foods at Saturday night's event: "This is just the best little snack ever. Isn't it? Couldn't you just eat it all up all night? I could eat it up all night, that's for sure. Just the best in the whole world."
Gail on her granddaughter, who I have to meet when they're in town next week: "She's a real knockout. She's a blonde, smart as a whip. Just the prettiest, best knockout you've ever seen. She's a writer, Sojourner. She's one hell of a writer. Her short stories would knock your socks off, I mean it. Just the best in the whole world, that's for sure."
Gail on the meal she and her sis had before the event: We went to Wegman's and it wasn't even good, Sojourner. It was just me-di-o-cre. Just the most simple thing you've ever had in your life, I tell ya. Let's go get some more of those little snacks--aren't they the best ever? Come on, let's get some of those. I could eat those for dinner--that goat cheese in the dough is the best ever!" [At this point she would grab me by the arm and drag me to the food table with her.]
It wasn't until I met a dynamic lesbian who worked at the venue that the weekend started to look up. She and her partner Dana picked me up from the Saturday night event and I went with them and Leslie, the dyna-lez's daughter, to a vegetarian restaurant for dessert.
As always, gays save me from the darkness.
I gotta run now, but I'll be back with tomorrow installment of Tales from the Crypt!!!!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Mondays With Artists / National Treasure 3: Horses, Flowers, and People
It’s back, guys!!!!
When my mother shamed me into thinking I was a talentless whore (I won't go into it), I ended up taking down my Mondays With Artists posts, but I will no longer hide my light under a bushel! I just got a letter in the mail—complete with Polaroids—that was too good to keep to myself.
To Whom It May Concern:
I have the honor of knowing [An Old Lady Name]. Her gifts deserve worldwide recognition. I think an article on her would be a great human story. Here’s a bit on her life and work. I’d bet you’ll agree she is one very interesting gal.
[Okay, we go from referring to her as an ‘honor to know’ then get all folksy and warm, saying she’s a ‘gal’…I’m not sure what to make of this.]
A treasure, a living, breathing, treasure…how else to describe a woman who has lived a inspiring life for 76 years.
[Because there’s no question mark at the end, I assume this is not up for debate.]
As a youngster, she was clearly out of the box. She resorted to drastic measures to defy a school system that couldn’t respect her gifts, such as putting red dots on her face to feign chicken pox. Her candid portraits of people and horses and flowers are distinctive*.
[* Isn’t that a word you use when something is ugly, but you want to be nice?]
To my mind she is a national treasure, a strong independent, dutiful artist, doing her art of living for anyone lucky enough to know her to witness.
[I don’t know what to make of this last sentence.]
Guys, when I’m old and random and talking about my glory days, will you write to Comedy Central and tell them that I’m a treasure? A living, breathing, national treasure?
To Whom It May Concern:
I have the honor of knowing [An Old Lady Name]. Her gifts deserve worldwide recognition. I think an article on her would be a great human story. Here’s a bit on her life and work. I’d bet you’ll agree she is one very interesting gal.
[Okay, we go from referring to her as an ‘honor to know’ then get all folksy and warm, saying she’s a ‘gal’…I’m not sure what to make of this.]
A treasure, a living, breathing, treasure…how else to describe a woman who has lived a inspiring life for 76 years.
[Because there’s no question mark at the end, I assume this is not up for debate.]
As a youngster, she was clearly out of the box. She resorted to drastic measures to defy a school system that couldn’t respect her gifts, such as putting red dots on her face to feign chicken pox. Her candid portraits of people and horses and flowers are distinctive*.
[* Isn’t that a word you use when something is ugly, but you want to be nice?]
To my mind she is a national treasure, a strong independent, dutiful artist, doing her art of living for anyone lucky enough to know her to witness.
[I don’t know what to make of this last sentence.]
Guys, when I’m old and random and talking about my glory days, will you write to Comedy Central and tell them that I’m a treasure? A living, breathing, national treasure?
Monday, March 21, 2011
I Am Not Limitless
Happy Monday, guys!
I’m really trying to blog more regularly, but sometimes I just don’t know where to begin. At the risk of ranting, I must share my latest un-handle-able truth:
We should have been the ones hit by a tsunami. Let me explain.
Reason 1:
On Friday afternoon I got an e-mail from Ticketmaster.com, alerting me to the availability of tickets to Charlie Sheen’s “My Violent Torpedo of Truth” tour. Apparently, for just $575 I can get a seat in the first 10 rows, an autographed photo of the CauCRAYsian, and shake his chapped, cracked, Gollum-like hand (I’m just assuming).
Why on earth would I want to do this? What skill does Sheen have that would warrant a live tour? Is he just going to get on stage and yell at people? Will he be offering to leave angry messages in the voice mailbox of audience members’ exes? Apparently this tour is already sold out.
Punto Numero Dos:
Half an hour later, I was sent a “music” video of “Friday Night,” by tween sensation Rebecca Black (I’d hyperlink you to it, but I don’t want to give her the press). With such lyrics as “Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday / Today i-is Friday, Friday … / Tomorrow is Saturday / And Sunday comes after ... wards,” I feel as though society is getting dumber, and can no longer tell the difference between talent and delusions of grandeur. Sadly, today’s tweens have very few options, as the covers of “Celebrity” magazines often feature teen moms from the MTV series. We all know I love the 16 and preggos, but since when has being a teenager mother warranted several magazine spreads? Do note that these headline-grabbing moms are CauCRAYsian. When one can be equally famous for having rich parents, winning an Oscar, or getting knocked up by a 16-year-old who works at StopNShop, I think it’s time to reassess our priorities as a nation.
Point the 3rd:
I left work on Friday to meet up with my girl Scribe to see Brad Cooper's latest flick Limitless. I hadn’t been to a movie in ages and was ready to be entertained--even though I do find Cooper to be a bit slimy (doesn't he seem like, before he was famous, he was the guy who'd corner you in a bar, going on and on about his "eye-opening experience" helping Hurricane Katrina victims, and then after bedding you that night, tells you "I've gotta get up really early tomorrow for a life-drawing class, so you might want to get a cab home now"?).
He then gets dumped by his boo, which we don’t even care about because we never see them together. This makes him good and vulnerable when he’s offered a clear little pill that makes everything…. LIMITLESS. Suddenly the slacker can remember everything he’s ever heard, learn languages in a day, and learns the stock market (Move over Shia Leboeuf! I bet the ink's still wet on the script for Wall Street 3: Coop Never Sleeps!)
I won’t go into more detail, but basically he goes from zero to hero in three days, becomes a billionaire, and then starts to feel the side effects of this non-FDA-approved black-market drug. Without it in his system, he doesn’t remember a damn thing, and he’s basically an addict in need of 12 steps within the first 30 minutes of the film. At one point, he’s in such a bind that the only way he can save himself is to drink the blood of a Russian mobster that pools outward from his dead body.
Ew.
As Scribe and I walked to a post-movie dinner, we were so busy chatting we momentarily forgot about traffic laws. We almost stepped out in front of on-coming traffic, but I looked up and put my arm out. “We are not limitless,” I said. “But we do have options.”
And that, folks, is where I’m at today. I am not limitless like Sheen and Rebecca Black and Cooper’s latest character, but I do have options. The world is not owed to me (and oftentimes behaves as though I took out a loan and am in forbearance) but I know on which side my bread’s buttered—the worlds of blackting and blogging.
Was this a rant? I don’t know. My brain feels a bit fuzzy because I just spent 15 minutes on the phone with an elderly reader who mailed in a printed page of her Google search for a book from our online store—she made sure to underline “YOUR SEARCH DID NOT MATCH ANY DOCUMENTS” before writing, “I followed the instructions in the issue with NO SUCCESS. PLEASE HELP!”
It took me 12 minutes to explain to her—and then her husband, who she put on the phone—that she can’t type the URL into a search engine, but must instead type it into the nav bar. The call ended rather oddly:
Do you think he'd been sitting in the dark with his wife for days, wondering what season it was?
I’m really trying to blog more regularly, but sometimes I just don’t know where to begin. At the risk of ranting, I must share my latest un-handle-able truth:
We should have been the ones hit by a tsunami. Let me explain.
Reason 1:
On Friday afternoon I got an e-mail from Ticketmaster.com, alerting me to the availability of tickets to Charlie Sheen’s “My Violent Torpedo of Truth” tour. Apparently, for just $575 I can get a seat in the first 10 rows, an autographed photo of the CauCRAYsian, and shake his chapped, cracked, Gollum-like hand (I’m just assuming).
Why on earth would I want to do this? What skill does Sheen have that would warrant a live tour? Is he just going to get on stage and yell at people? Will he be offering to leave angry messages in the voice mailbox of audience members’ exes? Apparently this tour is already sold out.
Punto Numero Dos:
Half an hour later, I was sent a “music” video of “Friday Night,” by tween sensation Rebecca Black (I’d hyperlink you to it, but I don’t want to give her the press). With such lyrics as “Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday / Today i-is Friday, Friday … / Tomorrow is Saturday / And Sunday comes after ... wards,” I feel as though society is getting dumber, and can no longer tell the difference between talent and delusions of grandeur. Sadly, today’s tweens have very few options, as the covers of “Celebrity” magazines often feature teen moms from the MTV series. We all know I love the 16 and preggos, but since when has being a teenager mother warranted several magazine spreads? Do note that these headline-grabbing moms are CauCRAYsian. When one can be equally famous for having rich parents, winning an Oscar, or getting knocked up by a 16-year-old who works at StopNShop, I think it’s time to reassess our priorities as a nation.
Point the 3rd:
I left work on Friday to meet up with my girl Scribe to see Brad Cooper's latest flick Limitless. I hadn’t been to a movie in ages and was ready to be entertained--even though I do find Cooper to be a bit slimy (doesn't he seem like, before he was famous, he was the guy who'd corner you in a bar, going on and on about his "eye-opening experience" helping Hurricane Katrina victims, and then after bedding you that night, tells you "I've gotta get up really early tomorrow for a life-drawing class, so you might want to get a cab home now"?).
Alas, I found myself uncomfortable and confused much of the time. (SPOILER ALERT!)
The movie starts off with Bradley Cooper (or, as I like to call him, Coop) playing a struggling writer—not struggling because he can’t catch a break or because his work was plagiarized on Wikipedia, but because he just can’t seem to get anything written!!! AAAHHHH, SO HARD BEING A CAUCASIAN MALE!!! What to do with my book advance? Writer’s block is sooooooooooo hard to overcome! Maybe I’ll use it to buy pizza and grow my hair out really gross and scraggly.
He then gets dumped by his boo, which we don’t even care about because we never see them together. This makes him good and vulnerable when he’s offered a clear little pill that makes everything…. LIMITLESS. Suddenly the slacker can remember everything he’s ever heard, learn languages in a day, and learns the stock market (Move over Shia Leboeuf! I bet the ink's still wet on the script for Wall Street 3: Coop Never Sleeps!)
I won’t go into more detail, but basically he goes from zero to hero in three days, becomes a billionaire, and then starts to feel the side effects of this non-FDA-approved black-market drug. Without it in his system, he doesn’t remember a damn thing, and he’s basically an addict in need of 12 steps within the first 30 minutes of the film. At one point, he’s in such a bind that the only way he can save himself is to drink the blood of a Russian mobster that pools outward from his dead body.
Ew.
How does this relate to my rant? Well, quite frankly, Coop’s insistence that he have skills he was too lazy to cultiviate is an example of CauCRAYsian hubris! He’s no better than Charlie “I am the warlock of your destruction” Sheen. Who said you get to be limitless, Bradley? So what if you’ve got baby blues that I could drown in and a devilish smile that’s probably concealing herpes simplex I? If he was down and out at the start of the film and needed the money for, let's say, a liver transplant, or to get his mom in rehab, I might have rooted for him. As it was, when he laid there lapping up the dude’s blood I wondered why it was okay for Bradley Cooper to drink AIDS.
As Scribe and I walked to a post-movie dinner, we were so busy chatting we momentarily forgot about traffic laws. We almost stepped out in front of on-coming traffic, but I looked up and put my arm out. “We are not limitless,” I said. “But we do have options.”
And that, folks, is where I’m at today. I am not limitless like Sheen and Rebecca Black and Cooper’s latest character, but I do have options. The world is not owed to me (and oftentimes behaves as though I took out a loan and am in forbearance) but I know on which side my bread’s buttered—the worlds of blackting and blogging.
Was this a rant? I don’t know. My brain feels a bit fuzzy because I just spent 15 minutes on the phone with an elderly reader who mailed in a printed page of her Google search for a book from our online store—she made sure to underline “YOUR SEARCH DID NOT MATCH ANY DOCUMENTS” before writing, “I followed the instructions in the issue with NO SUCCESS. PLEASE HELP!”
It took me 12 minutes to explain to her—and then her husband, who she put on the phone—that she can’t type the URL into a search engine, but must instead type it into the nav bar. The call ended rather oddly:
Husband: What's your name?
Me: Sojourner
[I have to say it three times before he gets it, spells it back to me, and tells me to go on. I have nothing left to add.]
Husband: And this is about the flowers?
Me: I believe so, that's what your wife said.
Husband: And today's date is?
Me [silent. I'm not sure if he's testing me or what]
Husband: Hello? Today's date is?????
Me: March 21.
Husband: And the time is now????
Me: 3pm.
Husband: Okay, thank you, bye-bye!
Do you think he'd been sitting in the dark with his wife for days, wondering what season it was?
******TIME LAPSE******
AAAHHH, sorry to be so all over the place, but I just got a call from the agent, sending me in for an audition tomorrow!!! EEEPPPSSS.
I better go get my hair did. Blacktress out!
AAAHHH, sorry to be so all over the place, but I just got a call from the agent, sending me in for an audition tomorrow!!! EEEPPPSSS.
I better go get my hair did. Blacktress out!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Just Another Manic Monday
Good lord, I am so behind on bloggery. Last week was straight-up cray cray, with the overseer from our Colorado office in two for two days, the news that my favorite coworker (well, his kids and wife are my favorites--you know, the ones I've babysat for in Queens) is being transferred to Colorado, and that a staff member who'd been on deck 31 years was "dismissed, effective immediately," for no substantive reason.
I could barely get a blog in edgewise, and the next thing you know, it's August 23!
So, for those of you who missed it, my television debut was 20 seconds of pure magic. They indeed used the part where I called Matthew McConaughey a sexy rotisserie chicken.
I don't know what's worse--that I also cupped my breasts for emphasis on national television, or that the Jewboo's parents also watched this.
Speaking of Jewboo, we had dinner with his parents on Friday, and his mother is revealing herself to be quite the strong black woman. Not only does she always have her nails did (red tips), but she's a teacher who has no tolerance for foolishness! Jewboo actually left me alone with them for 40 minutes when he had to skidaddle post-dinner for his show.
Suddenly, I became terrified of being super awkward and saying something inappropriate like, "I've planned my wedding to your son. Do you need me to convert?"
Luckily, I kept it cool and PG, and they mostly just asked me why he's FUNemployed.
They even asked me if I wanted to come over for Yom Kippur to break the fast with them--they are totally making me a member of the tribe. Unfortch, that's a crazy time at work and there's no way massa will let me off the plantation--even if it is on a Friday.
What I like about them is that they are super welcoming, and although they are older members of Caucasia, they don't say things like, "I didn't think you'd be black because you didn't sound black over the phone!"
Which is what was said to me BY AN ARTIST I INTERVIEWED LAST WEEK.
Yes, child! In 2010!
And what's the real kicker is that he's all about painting brown people and doing social-realist work. He even used to illustrate books for African-American authors. And homey had the nerve to sit next to me and basically tell me that he didn't think I was black because I sounded educated.
I swear, if we weren't in a shitty economy, I'd be out of here. Fortunately, momma didn't raise no fool, so I know to keep my bitterness to myself--unlike a certain scientist who works at UC Berkeley.
Dr. Tyrone Hayes (no relation to singer Isaac) was called out for sending a series of angry, misspelled emails to employees at Syngenta, a chemical company that manufactures atrazine. He's been against the use of atrazine (an herbacide used by corn growers) for years, but there's no change in legislation and use. So, finally fed up, he decided to take his beef to the streets--via email, the way all scientist thugs do. Featuring quotes from various rap songs, these emails really "sounded black"--so those Syngenta scrubs knew who they were messing with. Dr. Hayes' PhD must be a Playa-hating degree!!
First of all, look at this man's hair:
I can't handle this truth!!! He needs to at least deep condition his jam if he's gonna let it all out like that!
Then he sends the following emails (just two of many many more):
On Feb. 13, 2009, he says:
aww shucks … I’m bouta’ handle my biz right now
see you bucked…wondering…”what it is right now?”
ya outa’ luck…bouta show you how it is right now
see you’re ****ed (i didn’t pull out) and ya fulla my j*z right now!
In another from 2008, Hayes writes (apparently in response to a public statement from a Syngenta spokesman):
tell your little lap dog to wear knee pads next time and wipe the *** from
his mouth before he steps up to the mic.
"Steps up to the mic"? Are they in some sort of rap battle? Is Syngenta aware of this? I highly doubt it.
You can read all the emails he sent here. He quotes the greats, you guys--Luda (my mom's fave), Tupac, and HIS OWN FATHER (Romeo Hayes).
Thanks to his antics, black folks won't be getting PhDs at Berkeley for a good three years!
WHO ON EARTH QUOTES RAP LYRICS ABOUT HIS JIZ???
I could barely get a blog in edgewise, and the next thing you know, it's August 23!
So, for those of you who missed it, my television debut was 20 seconds of pure magic. They indeed used the part where I called Matthew McConaughey a sexy rotisserie chicken.
I don't know what's worse--that I also cupped my breasts for emphasis on national television, or that the Jewboo's parents also watched this.
Speaking of Jewboo, we had dinner with his parents on Friday, and his mother is revealing herself to be quite the strong black woman. Not only does she always have her nails did (red tips), but she's a teacher who has no tolerance for foolishness! Jewboo actually left me alone with them for 40 minutes when he had to skidaddle post-dinner for his show.
Suddenly, I became terrified of being super awkward and saying something inappropriate like, "I've planned my wedding to your son. Do you need me to convert?"
Luckily, I kept it cool and PG, and they mostly just asked me why he's FUNemployed.
They even asked me if I wanted to come over for Yom Kippur to break the fast with them--they are totally making me a member of the tribe. Unfortch, that's a crazy time at work and there's no way massa will let me off the plantation--even if it is on a Friday.
What I like about them is that they are super welcoming, and although they are older members of Caucasia, they don't say things like, "I didn't think you'd be black because you didn't sound black over the phone!"
Which is what was said to me BY AN ARTIST I INTERVIEWED LAST WEEK.
Yes, child! In 2010!
And what's the real kicker is that he's all about painting brown people and doing social-realist work. He even used to illustrate books for African-American authors. And homey had the nerve to sit next to me and basically tell me that he didn't think I was black because I sounded educated.
I swear, if we weren't in a shitty economy, I'd be out of here. Fortunately, momma didn't raise no fool, so I know to keep my bitterness to myself--unlike a certain scientist who works at UC Berkeley.
Dr. Tyrone Hayes (no relation to singer Isaac) was called out for sending a series of angry, misspelled emails to employees at Syngenta, a chemical company that manufactures atrazine. He's been against the use of atrazine (an herbacide used by corn growers) for years, but there's no change in legislation and use. So, finally fed up, he decided to take his beef to the streets--via email, the way all scientist thugs do. Featuring quotes from various rap songs, these emails really "sounded black"--so those Syngenta scrubs knew who they were messing with. Dr. Hayes' PhD must be a Playa-hating degree!!
First of all, look at this man's hair:
I can't handle this truth!!! He needs to at least deep condition his jam if he's gonna let it all out like that!
Then he sends the following emails (just two of many many more):
On Feb. 13, 2009, he says:
aww shucks … I’m bouta’ handle my biz right now
see you bucked…wondering…”what it is right now?”
ya outa’ luck…bouta show you how it is right now
see you’re ****ed (i didn’t pull out) and ya fulla my j*z right now!
In another from 2008, Hayes writes (apparently in response to a public statement from a Syngenta spokesman):
tell your little lap dog to wear knee pads next time and wipe the *** from
his mouth before he steps up to the mic.
"Steps up to the mic"? Are they in some sort of rap battle? Is Syngenta aware of this? I highly doubt it.
You can read all the emails he sent here. He quotes the greats, you guys--Luda (my mom's fave), Tupac, and HIS OWN FATHER (Romeo Hayes).
Thanks to his antics, black folks won't be getting PhDs at Berkeley for a good three years!
WHO ON EARTH QUOTES RAP LYRICS ABOUT HIS JIZ???
Monday, December 7, 2009
Birthdays With Artists
Today is the day of my birth. I have no plans, but I’m doing fine with it – mostly because I received a crazy artist email today, the first since I've been back on this plantation. It made me quite happy, to know that some things haven’t changed. Here it is (completely unedited, except for identifying info- in other words, the typos are all real):
SOJOURNER--- I am contacting you because I think you are a 'brilliant 'writer'.I read a few of you artist-of -the- month-essays.I was deeply impressed.You see, SOJO, I am a artist/author.My name is S___.As I mentioned to [your boss] I would be elated if you would write an article about my art/lit life.
My urban sci-fi-novel [INSERT VAGUELY SEXUAL TITLE HERE] was published in 2008. There are 52 illustration in the novel that I created .(Would love for you to post a review about the book at Amazon.com).
I almost forgot: I am a African-American male.I told [your boss] my bucket list is to be featured in [your] magazine before i die.(Maybe you can help?)
Sojourner go to my website:www.I AM CRAZY AND INTENSE.com to see myart work.My genre is sports,jazz and Americana.I would love for you to do a story on my sports paintings.I think the one of Kobe and MJ----has the metaphysical energy of a Caravaggio(my favorite old master---not saying I,m that good).
You look about my daughters age.I am proud of you.I would be delighted in the future if we could do a joint-venture.Maybe a large coffee table book titled: "THE PAINTINGS OF ARTIIST/AUTHOR:HOT MESS.
SOJOURNER ---- in closing-I would be elated if you could do a featured piece on me in [your magazine].
I wish you a merry Christmas and Happy New year.
Artist/author
CRAY CRAY
Oh my god, this is the best birthday present ever! I have been called a brilliant writer – in quotation marks, implying that I’m not at all! He even puts writer in quotes separately, implying that maybe he thinks I don’t even write.
He almost forgot he was an African-American male, and I forget I’m an African-American female ALL THE TIME – we’re so close!
HE’S PROUD OF ME!!!! Oh my god, what if this is my dad, writing in disguise? Maybe he hasn’t been around cause he was writing urban sci fi? Holy shit, I smell my book deal.
Happy birthday to me.
Xoxo,
blacktress
Sojo's note: the guy's website has an 'erotica' section. ew!
SOJOURNER--- I am contacting you because I think you are a 'brilliant 'writer'.I read a few of you artist-of -the- month-essays.I was deeply impressed.You see, SOJO, I am a artist/author.My name is S___.As I mentioned to [your boss] I would be elated if you would write an article about my art/lit life.
My urban sci-fi-novel [INSERT VAGUELY SEXUAL TITLE HERE] was published in 2008. There are 52 illustration in the novel that I created .(Would love for you to post a review about the book at Amazon.com).
I almost forgot: I am a African-American male.I told [your boss] my bucket list is to be featured in [your] magazine before i die.(Maybe you can help?)
Sojourner go to my website:www.I AM CRAZY AND INTENSE.com to see myart work.My genre is sports,jazz and Americana.I would love for you to do a story on my sports paintings.I think the one of Kobe and MJ----has the metaphysical energy of a Caravaggio(my favorite old master---not saying I,m that good).
You look about my daughters age.I am proud of you.I would be delighted in the future if we could do a joint-venture.Maybe a large coffee table book titled: "THE PAINTINGS OF ARTIIST/AUTHOR:HOT MESS.
SOJOURNER ---- in closing-I would be elated if you could do a featured piece on me in [your magazine].
I wish you a merry Christmas and Happy New year.
Artist/author
CRAY CRAY
Oh my god, this is the best birthday present ever! I have been called a brilliant writer – in quotation marks, implying that I’m not at all! He even puts writer in quotes separately, implying that maybe he thinks I don’t even write.
He almost forgot he was an African-American male, and I forget I’m an African-American female ALL THE TIME – we’re so close!
HE’S PROUD OF ME!!!! Oh my god, what if this is my dad, writing in disguise? Maybe he hasn’t been around cause he was writing urban sci fi? Holy shit, I smell my book deal.
Happy birthday to me.
Xoxo,
blacktress
Sojo's note: the guy's website has an 'erotica' section. ew!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Best of Blacktress
So, I've started giving out my biznass card alot nowadays. With this card, the average random gets my full name, email addy, and blog address. Basically, they could use all these resources to become my double and be me for Halloween.
Clearly, my bloggery is hit or miss at times. I've decided that, for all those who come to the site seeking to hire me for their next major motion picture, I should be able to draw their attention to my funniest of funnies. Until this site gets hard core and has a ".com" URL, I'm going to just create this post.
Best of the Blacktress. Tell your friends.
- Stand up in Sydneytown (you know, so folks know about the international flava!)
- DUSK, a Twilight parody.
- The Original SCORNED WOMAN ECARDS!
- "Why Dawson's Creek Has Made It Impossible For Me To Have a Healthy Relationship. Ever."
(Um, you know it's true.)
- Mondays With Artists
- Heteromanese, Decoded!
Am I missing anything, gentle readers?
OH EM GEE, I'm about to see "Gentlemen Broncos," starring hottie Jemaine Clement from "Flight of the Conchords." Having seen Kristen Schaal (who plays Mel) last nigh, and after meeting Murray last year, I am on my way to collecting the whole cast! If only Brett would stop being so elusive..... Details to follow (and I don't mean the magazine! har har)
Clearly, my bloggery is hit or miss at times. I've decided that, for all those who come to the site seeking to hire me for their next major motion picture, I should be able to draw their attention to my funniest of funnies. Until this site gets hard core and has a ".com" URL, I'm going to just create this post.
Best of the Blacktress. Tell your friends.
- Stand up in Sydneytown (you know, so folks know about the international flava!)
- DUSK, a Twilight parody.
- The Original SCORNED WOMAN ECARDS!
- "Why Dawson's Creek Has Made It Impossible For Me To Have a Healthy Relationship. Ever."
(Um, you know it's true.)
- Mondays With Artists
- Heteromanese, Decoded!
Am I missing anything, gentle readers?
OH EM GEE, I'm about to see "Gentlemen Broncos," starring hottie Jemaine Clement from "Flight of the Conchords." Having seen Kristen Schaal (who plays Mel) last nigh, and after meeting Murray last year, I am on my way to collecting the whole cast! If only Brett would stop being so elusive..... Details to follow (and I don't mean the magazine! har har)
Monday, September 22, 2008
How to Draw a Portrait
Man, with just two days left on the plantation, I am chomping at the bit. As I finish up projects and answer phone calls from people who may or may not have metal plates in their heads, I don't know if I'll really miss much. But then I remember the wisdom that springs forth from these artists. The gems just keep coming. Take, for instance, one of my last assignments: I'm writing a review of this book on how to draw faces, and the artist-author is a real random. Such asides include, "One of the hardest part of drawing a children's portrait is getting the little beast to sit still. I think God will forgive us for working from photographs in this case."
And, in the section on how to capture facial expressions, he writes:
"Here we see a hint of a smile. I can keep a woman smiling until she realizes she despises me, but if you can't, try the following strategy. Ask the model to smile for 30 seconds..."
I'd been trying to ignore these random asides and focus on the instructional highlights, but the following, in the section on avoiding common mistakes, just could not go un-blogged:
"Here are some tips for dealing with criticism...Ask yourself, 'If the model is attractive, would you date your drawing?'"
W
T
F
?
!
And, in the section on how to capture facial expressions, he writes:
"Here we see a hint of a smile. I can keep a woman smiling until she realizes she despises me, but if you can't, try the following strategy. Ask the model to smile for 30 seconds..."
I'd been trying to ignore these random asides and focus on the instructional highlights, but the following, in the section on avoiding common mistakes, just could not go un-blogged:
"Here are some tips for dealing with criticism...Ask yourself, 'If the model is attractive, would you date your drawing?'"
W
T
F
?
!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
How to Set Up A Still Life
That's the title of the article I have to write for work.
I've been emailing various still-life artists, asking their advice for beginners. It's been a real snooze-fest....until now.
Here's a bit of advice one artist sent me this morning:
Very important: Put things together,which works well together,which create harmonies.Its not harmonious,when you paint a beautuful flower bouquet,and on the bottom near the vase you place a half full ashtray or a open package with condoms.
How true that is.
I've been emailing various still-life artists, asking their advice for beginners. It's been a real snooze-fest....until now.
Here's a bit of advice one artist sent me this morning:
Very important: Put things together,which works well together,which create harmonies.Its not harmonious,when you paint a beautuful flower bouquet,and on the bottom near the vase you place a half full ashtray or a open package with condoms.
How true that is.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Some People Really Don't Like Spam
One of my duties at work (not for much longer, though!) is checking the general email address and replying or forwarding all questions from artists, readers, and general randoms. As many of you already know, most artists are weird and crazy—and turn down no chance to share their “quirkiness” and “creativity.” Take, for instance, the following auto-replies I received from emails about our online survey:
Subject: Yahoo! Auto Response
Message:
I'm in LA visiting Lindsay.Thank goodness for AirTran's Crazy 8's sale on August 8!! Be back September 6. –Shelby
Okay, I need to know why this person would put so much extra information in their auto-response. Who is Lindsay? Am I supposed to care? Is it Lindsay Lohan? If Shelby is indeed visiting drunky/cracky/currently gay starlet Li-Lo, then I need way more details.
Oh, and is it just me, or does the second sentence read like some sort of sponsored content? Do you think AirTran makes you plug them in all emails until you’ve returned from your flight?
Subject: Re: Art Magazine’s Survey.
Message:
September 5th is my birthday, so wish me luck.
The artist wrote this because part of our incentive is a free subscription; winners for this freebie will be announced September 5.
Okay, I know, this isn’t an auto-reply, but isn’t it strange? Does she expect me to reply to this? Do I have to send her a birthday e-card now?
Here’s my absolute favorite:
Subject: This email address has been closed due to spam.
Message:
Regarding your message, RE: Your email requires verification Art Mag’s Mail:
You are trying to reach an email address which is no longer in use due to the deluge of spam I experienced a few years ago.
If you are a friend who is trying to reach me, check your email messages. I probably sent you a message giving you my new email address. If I didn't, type first and last name with a period separating the two. Then add @gmail.com to the end and your message should reach me. If not, give me a call.
If you are a business associate trying to reach me, read the above. I am very sorry for the inconvenience.
If you are a spammer: Bully for you. Your unsolicited garbage overran my email address and caused me all sorts of problems. You now have a private bungalow reserved in the very deepest darkest corner of hell.
OH MY GOD. THIS CHICK IS PISSED. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE “ALL SORTS OF PROBLEMS” WERE??????
Subject: Yahoo! Auto Response
Message:
I'm in LA visiting Lindsay.Thank goodness for AirTran's Crazy 8's sale on August 8!! Be back September 6. –Shelby
Okay, I need to know why this person would put so much extra information in their auto-response. Who is Lindsay? Am I supposed to care? Is it Lindsay Lohan? If Shelby is indeed visiting drunky/cracky/currently gay starlet Li-Lo, then I need way more details.
Oh, and is it just me, or does the second sentence read like some sort of sponsored content? Do you think AirTran makes you plug them in all emails until you’ve returned from your flight?
Subject: Re: Art Magazine’s Survey.
Message:
September 5th is my birthday, so wish me luck.
The artist wrote this because part of our incentive is a free subscription; winners for this freebie will be announced September 5.
Okay, I know, this isn’t an auto-reply, but isn’t it strange? Does she expect me to reply to this? Do I have to send her a birthday e-card now?
Here’s my absolute favorite:
Subject: This email address has been closed due to spam.
Message:
Regarding your message, RE: Your email requires verification Art Mag’s Mail:
You are trying to reach an email address which is no longer in use due to the deluge of spam I experienced a few years ago.
If you are a friend who is trying to reach me, check your email messages. I probably sent you a message giving you my new email address. If I didn't, type first and last name with a period separating the two. Then add @gmail.com to the end and your message should reach me. If not, give me a call.
If you are a business associate trying to reach me, read the above. I am very sorry for the inconvenience.
If you are a spammer: Bully for you. Your unsolicited garbage overran my email address and caused me all sorts of problems. You now have a private bungalow reserved in the very deepest darkest corner of hell.
OH MY GOD. THIS CHICK IS PISSED. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE “ALL SORTS OF PROBLEMS” WERE??????
Friday, August 1, 2008
Warning: These Images May Not Be Suitable For Children
So, one of my lovely duties on the plantation is sorting the mail—as you can guess, this is why I often get first dibs on all the great letters from cray cray artists. Today, I got the usual announcements for shows, press invites to openings, and random magazines. One such mag is called Arts & Activities, and contains all sorts of fun craft ideas for those who teach youngsters. The subscription was for a former employee, so I’m not even bothering to renew, but we just can’t seem to get off their mailing list.
What I wouldn’t give to get off this mailing list.
Today, instead of a magazine or renewal notice, they sent a piece of advertising so terrifying that it can only be described as pure evil. Look:
Why would a magazine about art projects for youngsters have such a hideous monster in its advertising? What kind of response do they expect to get from me by showing me the drawings of some twisted youngster who most likely sees dead people? This is why we have to stop "nurturing children's creativity"--they are dangerous, warped, and deadly.
So, what do you expect to come after the ellipsis when you flip over the card? a. …For the sweet silence death brings. b. …Or the grim reaper will come for you. c. …To let the glue dry on your papier mache watermelon. d. All of the above e. BOO!!
Ha, I tricked you!! The correct answer is:
...to show off your products this fall!!!
Um....
W
T
F
?
!
What I wouldn’t give to get off this mailing list.
Today, instead of a magazine or renewal notice, they sent a piece of advertising so terrifying that it can only be described as pure evil. Look:
Why would a magazine about art projects for youngsters have such a hideous monster in its advertising? What kind of response do they expect to get from me by showing me the drawings of some twisted youngster who most likely sees dead people? This is why we have to stop "nurturing children's creativity"--they are dangerous, warped, and deadly.
So, what do you expect to come after the ellipsis when you flip over the card? a. …For the sweet silence death brings. b. …Or the grim reaper will come for you. c. …To let the glue dry on your papier mache watermelon. d. All of the above e. BOO!!
Ha, I tricked you!! The correct answer is:
...to show off your products this fall!!!
Um....
W
T
F
?
!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Mondays With Artists
You know, I think I may just miss the cray-cray artists who contact my publication. Here’s the latest letter I got in the mail. It is two pages—SINGLE SPACED—so I’ve chosen to omit certain chunks of her life story, leaving what I think is the best and brightest. Hope you enjoy!
[I kid you not. Things to note: 1. she was “spawned,” much like a woodland animal, not “born” as we often think of ourselves; 2. she fails to tell us if the drawing she handed in on that first day was good—should she really be saying this is when she first became an artist?]
“…I have a misty watercolor memory of a public park where neighborhood children were taught arts and crafts…I owe a debt of gratitude to the powers that made that park program happen. From there came the spark that illuminated my young soul and ignited that unquenchable fire to express in watercolor what I see and fee. Thanks also to the coloring books and those books that require you to wet the darkened spaces that magically turn to royal blue and magenta. These were the building blocks, the first steps, and the activities that actually made me a visible person.”
[Um, is this some sort of twisted arts-and-crafts acceptance speech? Oh, and she's quoting song lyrics-- "misty watercolored memories..."--get original, lady! Also note the mixed metaphor of using watercolor to cause a fire. This woman is deep, and has a lot to share. Two pages worth, to be exact.]
“There were special people too who pulled me out of my shell by engaging me in that most fascinating of worlds, creativity-making something wonderful out of bits of nothing. I made a puppet out of strips of paper with flour/water glue. I named him Mortimer Snerd; he led to a phenomenal puppet show on the bay window of our first floor bedroom. What an incredible day that was...
“The people in my family are not plant people. Plants seem to be a luxuriant thing during those hard times when putting food on the table and a roof over the head were daily accomplishments. But, my sister was a teenager at last and she had a plant. I’m not sure what kind of a plant it was. I suspect it was some form of ivy in a clay pot. The first time I saw it was riveting; here was something non-essential, something growing-alive, something that needed to be recorded. My first real watercolor was of that plant. Then came a collection of flowers from a picture in a book. But the work that made me credible at last with my family (on my mother’s side, at least) was of a church in British Columbia. That watercolor will outlive me by many years and has been coveted by more than a few of my mothers relatives...
“Today I teach drawing to children. Some kids only want to draw ‘Mr. Underpants’ and they are happy, and I am glad they are happy. But, I look for the quiet one in the corner, the invisible one, and I search my bag of tricks for the right word, line, or color, that will light the spark that will allow the world to see the wonder that they truly are.”
[That is the very end of the letter. Some things to note in the last three paragraphs: (1) Mortimer Snerd, homemade hand puppet and actor, who debuted on the bay window for one night only, was an actual puppet in the 50s, popular among kids and adults alike. here he is:
How creepy is he?
(2) Perhaps the ellipsis from the hand-puppet to the plant seems jarring, and you’re wondering why I would have eliminated the transition sentence. Well, I didn’t. There was absolutely nothing that led from the good ol’ days of puppetry to plant people; (3) Note the bitter tone that exudes from the phrase “made me credible at last with my family (on my mother’s side, at least)—lord knows what dad’s side thinks of her wayward lifestyle; (4) Who is “Mr. Underpants”? Does she mean Spongebob SquarePants?; (5) That is the end of the letter. There is no request for an article to be written, no comments on our magazine and how it’s influenced her, no questions about our publishing process or recent issues. She just seemed to, you know, want to let us know a little bit about her. I really hope she has fellow artist elderly friends to share her stories with.]
Colors of My Heart
“If you asked me when I first became an artist I would have to say it was when I got my first box of Crayola crayons. I grew up in the 40s. I was spawned in the Edgewater in New Jersey. I remember the first day of kindergarten, I had to draw a picture, when I tried to turn it in too the teacher I was told I write my name on it. I couldn’t write my name, what a shame! That was the beginning of a long torturous journey through public education for me, a child of the 40s without a guardian, on a quest to find the artist in me.”[I kid you not. Things to note: 1. she was “spawned,” much like a woodland animal, not “born” as we often think of ourselves; 2. she fails to tell us if the drawing she handed in on that first day was good—should she really be saying this is when she first became an artist?]
“…I have a misty watercolor memory of a public park where neighborhood children were taught arts and crafts…I owe a debt of gratitude to the powers that made that park program happen. From there came the spark that illuminated my young soul and ignited that unquenchable fire to express in watercolor what I see and fee. Thanks also to the coloring books and those books that require you to wet the darkened spaces that magically turn to royal blue and magenta. These were the building blocks, the first steps, and the activities that actually made me a visible person.”
[Um, is this some sort of twisted arts-and-crafts acceptance speech? Oh, and she's quoting song lyrics-- "misty watercolored memories..."--get original, lady! Also note the mixed metaphor of using watercolor to cause a fire. This woman is deep, and has a lot to share. Two pages worth, to be exact.]
“There were special people too who pulled me out of my shell by engaging me in that most fascinating of worlds, creativity-making something wonderful out of bits of nothing. I made a puppet out of strips of paper with flour/water glue. I named him Mortimer Snerd; he led to a phenomenal puppet show on the bay window of our first floor bedroom. What an incredible day that was...
“The people in my family are not plant people. Plants seem to be a luxuriant thing during those hard times when putting food on the table and a roof over the head were daily accomplishments. But, my sister was a teenager at last and she had a plant. I’m not sure what kind of a plant it was. I suspect it was some form of ivy in a clay pot. The first time I saw it was riveting; here was something non-essential, something growing-alive, something that needed to be recorded. My first real watercolor was of that plant. Then came a collection of flowers from a picture in a book. But the work that made me credible at last with my family (on my mother’s side, at least) was of a church in British Columbia. That watercolor will outlive me by many years and has been coveted by more than a few of my mothers relatives...
“Today I teach drawing to children. Some kids only want to draw ‘Mr. Underpants’ and they are happy, and I am glad they are happy. But, I look for the quiet one in the corner, the invisible one, and I search my bag of tricks for the right word, line, or color, that will light the spark that will allow the world to see the wonder that they truly are.”
[That is the very end of the letter. Some things to note in the last three paragraphs: (1) Mortimer Snerd, homemade hand puppet and actor, who debuted on the bay window for one night only, was an actual puppet in the 50s, popular among kids and adults alike. here he is:
How creepy is he?Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Contests With Artists II
Here are some more gems from the artists you don't know and don't love.
Again, I must stress: I would LOVE to show you the images that accompany these titles and captions, but I'd hate to end up in the slammer just because I hurt an artist's feelings--and because I did something "illegal."
I really like these next two because the guy thought he'd submit two different portraits, to really up his chance of winning. I love his simple captions.
Again, I must stress: I would LOVE to show you the images that accompany these titles and captions, but I'd hate to end up in the slammer just because I hurt an artist's feelings--and because I did something "illegal."
|
Caption: Watercolor, 15" x 18" The idea of an artist painting the artist going beyond the typical portrait into portraying the actual process of doing the painting and having a conversation with himself seemed like an intriging story telling device.
[I think this is a run-on sentence]
Title: In My Realm
Caption: I have loved and collected iridescent glass for as long as I can remember. I also love science fiction, space and the supernatural. When I looked into my display of glass and saw the reflections of me and the art glass I felt as though I were in space......In My Realm. I knew this was my self portrait......this is me.
[Does this make anyone else a little sad?]
Caption: Acrylic. Me as my alter-ego Edward Scissorhands.
Caption: I have that dreamer type of personality that sometimes causes me to sally forth and tilt at windmills so I feel a kinship with the Quixote character of Cervantes.
[That's funny--I have a dreamer type of personality that causes me to sally forth to my computer keyboard and document this weirdness]
Caption: Acrylic. I am chartreuse...I feel unreal and conspicuous...I want to hide...and be noticed.
[Who doesn't, lady?]
I really like these next two because the guy thought he'd submit two different portraits, to really up his chance of winning. I love his simple captions.
Caption: I am looking intensely at my violin.
[In this painting, the artist holds his violin up to his face, obscuring half of him. Yes, he is looking at his violin]
Caption: As I am a violinist, I wanted to pose with my tuxedo.
[Naturally]
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Contests With Artists
The magazine for which I toil often holds art competitions, which allows us to make small amounts of money and gives artists one true shot at glory. We just finished holding a self-portrait competition, and, as you can imagine, some of these entries are a real doozy. (If you don’t yet know how cray-cray these artists are, please click here)
As the recipient of all general mail—letters to info@artmag.com; help@artmag.com; and contests@artmag.com – all come to me for screening. I usually ignore the weird ones, because I’ve learned it’s best not to engage with the delusional. For instance, when I contacted artists to let them know they were semifinalists in the last competition, I received this response from one winner:
Sojourner:
I'm embarrassed to ask which graphite piece it was I submitted since it was some time ago. I think it was my nude self-portrait with the bat hovering over my head?
I think I can say with complete certainty that it was not.
No, it was not.
Now we’ve begun judging entries for the latest competition, and while I can’t show you the images because it would be “illegal,” I can list some of the hilarious captions that artists have written to explain their self-portraits. We asked that they limit their responses to no more than 3 sentences, and as we review the paintings, we’re all thankful we did.
You’re welcome.
1. Title: Yes, 'tis I
Caption: Self-Portrait of the one and only Miriam Kenkelberg, inspired by a photograph taken by my husband, Stew. This is painted on 140 lb Arches watercolor paper, on the back of a failed landscape. It hangs in our bedroom for our eyes only.
[Trust me, we’re all thankful this portrait is for their eyes only. Oh, and who writes
“ ‘tis”?]
2. Title: The early years
Caption: Acrylic vibrant colors capture the essence of a very full life as Wife, Mother, Businesswoman, Artist, Cook and visionary
[I hope that, when I reach the winter of my life, I can refer to myself as a “cook and visionary.”]
3. Caption: I am orange...I feel indecisive...am I red?...am I yellow?...I am hot then fruity...someone lead so I can follow.
[This is clearly a cry for help. I’d offer to lead her, but she would probably be upset when we ended up outside of Promises Treatment Center.]
4. Title: Thank God for Shades
Caption: Here I am practicing the Great American Pastime. Sunglasses are so enabling!
[I know my description won’t do it justice, but we call this painting, “Portrait of the Artist as a Perv,” because it’s an image of a man on the beach, and through the reflection in his sunglasses, we see that he is looking at a woman in a skimpy bikini.]
5. Caption: 16”x20” framed Décor, stained glass, glass stones, feathers and a monarch butterfly He gave me butterflies even though he never had time, he let my love slip through his fingers and I finally realized… I was just another pet.
[We've all been there, sister!]
*******************OH GOD, THIS JUST IN***************
I am writing an article for one of our mags and have to set up an interview with an artist. I emailed him to see when the best time would be to contact him and he emailed me the following. PLEASE NOTE: there have been no changes to this email. I have not edited it for content or spelling or grammatical errors:
….It would not be a problem at all to do the interview thru pc.
I need to tell you something quickly because of your name:When I was about 25, I was a sportswriter at a big german newspaper..Another stuffmember and a close friend of mine was sent to the Olympic wintergames in Tokyo/Japan.
.In the Olympic Village a japanese hostess needs to take care for him - her name was Sojourner. Walter,the name of my friend, started to write article about the treatment and the interaction with Sojourner.
It was funny,it was charming,it was harmless - but more and more we got the feeling,he is interested in Sojourner much more than in any olympic winter disciplin. And since I knew him very well, I figured out between the lines: He has been falling in love with Sojourner.
Somebody even knew him better than I did: His wife.
So when he came back from Japan, he had a big scene at Home,
and his wife even started to take steps getting divorced.
Somehow they solved the problem,but later,whenever he was sent to another sport event,we adviced him: Make a big detour around any Sojourner.
So my big detour around you would just be,that we handle the interview via computer,
but nevertheless I will give you a call as soon as I am in an acceptable service-area.
all the best
-Cray-Cray Artist
I don’t even know what to say to that.
As the recipient of all general mail—letters to info@artmag.com; help@artmag.com; and contests@artmag.com – all come to me for screening. I usually ignore the weird ones, because I’ve learned it’s best not to engage with the delusional. For instance, when I contacted artists to let them know they were semifinalists in the last competition, I received this response from one winner:
Sojourner:
I'm embarrassed to ask which graphite piece it was I submitted since it was some time ago. I think it was my nude self-portrait with the bat hovering over my head?
I think I can say with complete certainty that it was not.
No, it was not.
Now we’ve begun judging entries for the latest competition, and while I can’t show you the images because it would be “illegal,” I can list some of the hilarious captions that artists have written to explain their self-portraits. We asked that they limit their responses to no more than 3 sentences, and as we review the paintings, we’re all thankful we did.
You’re welcome.
1. Title: Yes, 'tis I
Caption: Self-Portrait of the one and only Miriam Kenkelberg, inspired by a photograph taken by my husband, Stew. This is painted on 140 lb Arches watercolor paper, on the back of a failed landscape. It hangs in our bedroom for our eyes only.
[Trust me, we’re all thankful this portrait is for their eyes only. Oh, and who writes
“ ‘tis”?]
2. Title: The early years
Caption: Acrylic vibrant colors capture the essence of a very full life as Wife, Mother, Businesswoman, Artist, Cook and visionary
[I hope that, when I reach the winter of my life, I can refer to myself as a “cook and visionary.”]
3. Caption: I am orange...I feel indecisive...am I red?...am I yellow?...I am hot then fruity...someone lead so I can follow.
[This is clearly a cry for help. I’d offer to lead her, but she would probably be upset when we ended up outside of Promises Treatment Center.]
4. Title: Thank God for Shades
Caption: Here I am practicing the Great American Pastime. Sunglasses are so enabling!
[I know my description won’t do it justice, but we call this painting, “Portrait of the Artist as a Perv,” because it’s an image of a man on the beach, and through the reflection in his sunglasses, we see that he is looking at a woman in a skimpy bikini.]
5. Caption: 16”x20” framed Décor, stained glass, glass stones, feathers and a monarch butterfly He gave me butterflies even though he never had time, he let my love slip through his fingers and I finally realized… I was just another pet.
[We've all been there, sister!]
*******************OH GOD, THIS JUST IN***************
I am writing an article for one of our mags and have to set up an interview with an artist. I emailed him to see when the best time would be to contact him and he emailed me the following. PLEASE NOTE: there have been no changes to this email. I have not edited it for content or spelling or grammatical errors:
….It would not be a problem at all to do the interview thru pc.
I need to tell you something quickly because of your name:When I was about 25, I was a sportswriter at a big german newspaper..Another stuffmember and a close friend of mine was sent to the Olympic wintergames in Tokyo/Japan.
.In the Olympic Village a japanese hostess needs to take care for him - her name was Sojourner. Walter,the name of my friend, started to write article about the treatment and the interaction with Sojourner.
It was funny,it was charming,it was harmless - but more and more we got the feeling,he is interested in Sojourner much more than in any olympic winter disciplin. And since I knew him very well, I figured out between the lines: He has been falling in love with Sojourner.
Somebody even knew him better than I did: His wife.
So when he came back from Japan, he had a big scene at Home,
and his wife even started to take steps getting divorced.
Somehow they solved the problem,but later,whenever he was sent to another sport event,we adviced him: Make a big detour around any Sojourner.
So my big detour around you would just be,that we handle the interview via computer,
but nevertheless I will give you a call as soon as I am in an acceptable service-area.
all the best
-Cray-Cray Artist
I don’t even know what to say to that.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Artists Are Retardists
I found this email in our general office inbox, which I was cleaning out to make room for more ridiculous emails:
From:crazyartist@i'mcrazyandalone.org
To:info@artmagazinefuntimes.gov
Subject: Have a quetion*
Did you have a story on Vincent Van Gogh's nephew go* into insurance? Please get back to me as fast as you can.
Thank you for your time
Jammie
Okay, the to and from lines are made up (names have been changed to protect the Caucasian--and Sojo's job!), but the body of that email is pure, unadulterated madness.
Oh, and "Jammie???" Really?
*I like to leave in the spelling errors so you can feel what I felt.
From:crazyartist@i'mcrazyandalone.org
To:info@artmagazinefuntimes.gov
Subject: Have a quetion*
Did you have a story on Vincent Van Gogh's nephew go* into insurance? Please get back to me as fast as you can.
Thank you for your time
Jammie
Okay, the to and from lines are made up (names have been changed to protect the Caucasian--and Sojo's job!), but the body of that email is pure, unadulterated madness.
Oh, and "Jammie???" Really?
*I like to leave in the spelling errors so you can feel what I felt.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
A Letter from a Reader
Hi,
I live in India, and Im an artist, painting mostly in oils.
Most of my life I had this desire to come to the US and paint its lovely hills and deserts .
Unfortunately that has been fantasy so long.
But , just last week, I visited a shopping mall, and there in a bookshop I laid my hands on the very first ___________ magazine!
I have been seeing your mag online for so long, and have heard of your mag for decades , and it was a thrilling experience to lay my hands on your mag.
In life there are so many of these yet-to-be-experienced moments that you can't describe the joy and thrill when you come to these moments.
I thank you for your lovely mag! Im considering subscribing to it, as I have just applied for my first credit card.
Thank you , and please keep up your quality.
I must admit that this letter is only funny if you replace the 'm' in "mag" with a v.
Go ahead. Do it.
Now laugh.
I live in India, and Im an artist, painting mostly in oils.
Most of my life I had this desire to come to the US and paint its lovely hills and deserts .
Unfortunately that has been fantasy so long.
But , just last week, I visited a shopping mall, and there in a bookshop I laid my hands on the very first ___________ magazine!
I have been seeing your mag online for so long, and have heard of your mag for decades , and it was a thrilling experience to lay my hands on your mag.
In life there are so many of these yet-to-be-experienced moments that you can't describe the joy and thrill when you come to these moments.
I thank you for your lovely mag! Im considering subscribing to it, as I have just applied for my first credit card.
Thank you , and please keep up your quality.
I must admit that this letter is only funny if you replace the 'm' in "mag" with a v.
Go ahead. Do it.
Now laugh.
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