what is the matter with people?

seems that whenever i think that nothing done in the name of artistic self-expression could surprise me anymore, along comes something new.

i have hinted (ok, more than hinted) at my contempt for much of what has been pawned off as "art" over the past hundred or so years, as its most celebrated practitioners discarded the age-old tenets of beauty, virtuosity and elevation of humanity through their collective vision, and embraced something quite different.

all of a sudden, "good" art was no longer beautiful and able to stand on its innate merits--the new art was crude and ugly, and thus had to be explained in order to be understood.  and anyone who saw through the scam promoted by these clever hucksters and their apologists, or merely didn't get the sales pitch--or, god forbid, said something as eminently sensible as "my two-year-old coulda done that"--was immediately dismissed and ridiculed by the intelligentsia as an unwashed philistine.

and thus the public were intimidated into buying the big lie--and, before they knew it, offering up their tax dollars to subsidize the artistic "creation" of such masterpieces as crucifixes in jars of urine.

corollary #1 to the mkf unified theory of the evolution of art:  beauty is hard, but ugly is easy.  so, ugly it is.

corollary #2 to the mkf unified theory of the evolution of art:  if it has to be explained in order to be appreciated, it's probably crap.

all of which is merely a prelude to the subject of today's post--if you think i have strong feelings about such static creations as paintings, sculpture and photographs of sacred objects in jars of artistic piss, you don't even wanna get me started on the subject of that bastard love-child spawned by the modern art movement known as "performance" art.

seriously, what does it say about a civilization when some guy calling himself an artist can chop off his dick and balls, braise 'em up in a pan along with some mushrooms, and serve his creation garnished with a sprig of parsley to a group of art lovers who ponied up $250 a plate

god, i at least hope he was hung

in order to partake of his genius--oh, and have a waitlist of disappointed patrons lined up with checkbooks in hand on the off chance he can manage to grow, chop off and cook another set?

i guess the better question would be, why did this giant of the art world sell himself so short?  because god knows the right gallery coulda gotten him so much more.

letter to a disillusioned young architect

tonight i dropped by a blog i hadn't visited in awhile, written by a very thoughtful young architecture-school graduate who articulates well many of the same thoughts and emotions i might have expressed when i was at his stage of life (had i then been able to write as well as he does, of course).


he's currently experiencing that "should i throw in the towel?" angst i remember so well, so i thought i'd share with him my thoughts (and they're very inside, so you may wanna skip this one).

back when i was a regular reader of your blog, tracking your gradual awakening from the lies your teachers told you was a subtle thing, kinda like watching a kid grow. but, coming back cold after after a year or so, the change is easy to see.

and i can totally understand why.

after my first year at university of texas SOA (and two semesters of the standard "introduction to architecture" indoctrination), i was one of the pod people, too--convinced beyond doubt that "we" were special beings who saw things differently than the unwashed masses. we studied only the 1% and their immortal creations, with rarely a mention of the bread-and-butter work that would be the destiny of most of us.

my small class of '84 would produce not one, but two superstars: craig dykers, and mehrdad yazdani (one of whose success came as no surprise; the other, as an utter, jaw-dropping shock. i'll let you figure out whom is who).

as for the rest, all i know for sure is what happened to those who are still my friends: two still tenuously employed and as-yet unpublished, another who operates a rather successful headbanging nightclub in austin, and the fourth of whom found the golden ticket--he became the office IT/CAD guru who never picks up a pencil, but can rest assured that (in his own words) "they'd dump a partner before they'd fire me".

me? i left long ago, and get my architectural gratification from doing the occasional house for myself, and sketching out quick, on-the-fly remodels for friends, co-workers and acquaintances (for which they're invariably blown away and grateful, though never to the point of being moved to actually pay me).

these days, i work not for architects but for lawyers, and watch a never-ending stream of smug pups with mostly-mediocre minds sailing straight outta law school into six-figure jobs--entitled beneficiaries of a profession which has convinced the public of its indispensability to society (the AIA could learn a few things from the ABA, all i'm sayin').

my advice to you (since you don't ask)? carve out your own niche, and make of the profession what you want it to be--utilize your talents in ways which please you and you alone, and do great things. whatever you choose to do (and my previous words notwithstanding), your education will prove invaluable to you throughout your life--i wouldn't trade mine for the world.

[oh, and the easiest way to do that? your inner voice is telling you already: get the hell outta here while you're still young (and it's still possible)--find a country that's vibrant, growing and debt-free, and where you won't have to spend the rest of your life paying for my generation's mistakes.]

that's all.

i had more to say, and thought about pouring another cocktail in order to facilitate doing so, until i remembered it was late and i have stuff to do in the morning.

so that's all. 

the art of the deal

[why this post?  because sometimes it's fun to try and see if i can turn the little everyday nothins' into somethin']


one of the problems with being a middle-aged boyhound is that the really choice targets tend to suffer from the misconception that they hold all the power, a delusion which is only reinforced by all the desperate daddies out there, and one which must be broken if (for me, anyway) full enjoyment is to be gained from the experience.

the truth is, daddies, they need you just as much as you need them--it's just a matter of getting them to understand this.

in gaining the necessary upper hand, i've found the guttermorality indifference technique to be invaluable, coupled with a little advice i once got from good ol' uncle don way back when i was a lad:

"when it comes to any deal, mike, you gotta care, but not too much."

of course, uncle don would be rolling in his urn if he had any idea how i'm using that advice today, but whatever--here's a recent case in point.

now, right off the bat, there are at least two things in the above that would normally disqualify this boy from consideration, but the accompanying picture tells me he is so totally up my alley in every possible way (and yours too, trust me)--plus he's far away, short on time and lives with roommates--that i'm willing to give him the car.

the blindfold?  that's something else entirely, because it implies a degree of anonymity that's generally a dealbreaker for me, no matter how hot they are.  so i ask him.

and, sure enough

i do the pleasure/pain equation.  he's hot and wild enough that it'll probably be good even without my mouth getting anywhere near his.  but he's also obviously used to calling the shots with the old guys, and i decide if i can't change that--put a dent in his bubble, alter the balance of power a little--i'm willing to walk away.  plus, his replies are coming back so quick, i sense a weakness in his position.  i wait five minutes, hit him back with

well, you can practically hear the howls of disbelief all the way from torrance--this is not a boy who's accustomed to being turned down, especially by the likes of me.

mercy kissing?  i don't think so.  besides, kid's tipped his hand--he wants it more than me.

and, just like that, he gives it up.

i magnanimously agree to come down, just so long as he understands that i expect him to hold up his end of the deal.  but he can't resist one more try for the upper hand.

nope.

and, you know what?  he did.

sorry, readers--if i have to suffer, then so do you

because, really, following a blog is all about living vicariously through its author as he traverses the ups and downs of his endlessly glamorous and fascinating life, right?

yeah, unless you come here--then, all you get is another installment of the mistake who will not die.

i'm thinking if i could figure out a way to connect with my fellow victims (because they have to be legion), maybe between us we could scrape up enough cash for the coffin and silver dildo it'd take to put this beast to rest.

a craigslist ad should do it, complete with picture and vivid description.

could i be that mean?  at this point, i'm thinking yeah, i could.  i'll keep you posted.

my magic wand opens many doors

so tonight i'm doing a little mild surfing of one of my favored hookup sites preparatory to heading off to bed, and, there amongst the tired regulars, i spot a fresh new face.

what's extra-adorable about this 24-year-old's profile is that he's got it all done up in a harry potter motif, which totally complements his insistence that, unlike all us depraved sex pigs, he's new to the game and is just looking to chat and make friends.

uh-huh.

so, consistent with my duties as self-appointed welcoming committee for the newbies, i fire off a quick, friendly email warning him that no one on the site is to be trusted but me, and move on.  (this little gambit is generally ignored about 90% of the time, but i persist because it's the 10% who reply that keeps things interesting--god, i really should be an insurance salesman.)

this one hits me back, we chat innocently a few minutes, and, outta several face pics i keep on hand, i text him the one i figure will most closely fit his needs, and the following exchange occurs:

yeah, looming over him.

and outta the mouth of this babe in his lil' dumbledore t-shirt, here it comes, pretty much as i'd expected:

he's far away so he probably won't, and if he does we won't do most of the above, but it just goes to show that when it comes to boys these days, a top who's been around can almost always can judge a book by its cover.

and really, i should probably stop bitching about the decline of the american family and thank the sexual revolution for sending all these lost, daddyless boys my way.

but i can't quite bring myself to do it.

quote of the day

. . . some of this is also generational. You know, when I go to college campuses, sometimes I talk to college Republicans who think that I have terrible policies on the economy, on foreign policy, but are very clear that when it comes to same-sex equality or, you know, sexual orientation, that they believe in equality. They are much more comfortable with it.

while everyone else is either jumping for joy or rending their garments, depending on their own views, i'm looking at the political calculus that went into the president's decision to come out in favor of gay marriage at this point in time.

he's been holding this card for a long time, after flip-flopping on the issue more than once [a bit romneyesque, that, dontcha think, barry?] and i dunno whether it was because his hand was forced by his idiot VP or because he decided it was time to rally the base, but whatever motivated this move, it sure as hell wasn't conscience.

he had to know he'd piss off the black folk, who tend to be very conservative as regards the homos, but then he also knows he could leave michelle and marry rielle hunter and they'd still be behind him in 90%+ numbers, so he figures he's probably safe there.

and, of course, he's right about young people.  whether lliberal or conservative, they increasingly don't see gay marriage as an issue; and their elders--the ones who do--will be dead soon enough.

so this may win him a few votes from the young'uns, but those old folks?  for now, they're still with us.  and boy, do they vote.  and this may prove to be the lever his opponent has been looking for to pry the evangelicals away from their fear and loathing and into his camp.

so did he do the right thing or the wrong thing in taking this uncharacteristically bold and risky stand (politically speaking, of course, which is all that matters to this guy)?  i dunno, but of one thing i'm fairly certain.

i smell fear.

a little taste of what competent tops in this town have to deal with

presented for those among you who think i am prone to exaggeration--i swear to god, getting rid of this boy is harder'n snappin snot off a fingernail (that's a texas expression).

after months of ignoring his incessant emails and texts, and against my better judgment, i finally relented the other night, answered him, and--well, read from the bottom.  i'll let you figure out whom is who.

and there you have it--a classic specimen of the genus bottomus pushyolus* if ever there was one.

if i was even slightly more of an asshole than i actually am, i'd post his picture, too, over a big "warning--cute but deadly" sign.

[and in case you're wondering:  no.  no, i didn't.]
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*colorful plumage designed to lure the unwary; hardy, bulletproof, impervious to insecticides, hints and downright insults in pursuit of its eternal goal.  once has its prey firmly ensnared in its web, will extract every last drop of its juice, leaving nothing but a worn-out little stub.