Sunday, January 26, 2014



  I get my art news from the Yahoo feed. Been a long time since I've picked up an art magazine and I guess it doesn't factor much into my life conversation anymore (unless, of course, you want to talk about what I'm doing in the field). This kind of art news tends to be of the sensational realism school. Some guy makes realistic cadavers and places them around town, another artist carves super realistic cardboard boxes of cash, out of wood, and someone else makes paintings come to life get the idea. There's got to be an angle. But today's news is a little different, actually right up my alley. It brings up issues of intellectual property, that a lot of us deal with these days. Want to talk about an artist's right to fuck with a fellow artist's work? I'm on board.
    Everyone's favorite sad, little vigilante- George Zimmerman has taken up the brush. In between his bouts of gun wielding paranoia and girlfriend abuse, George has decided to make art, inspired by his ongoing travails. A recent work copies an AP photo of the Florida prosecutor ,who lost the Trayvon Martin case. The photographer, as well as AP, is all up in arms over it. I don't think the prosecutor cares. I'm sure she's had enough of Mr. Zimmerman. And to make sure that there's no chance George may be a real artist, the intrepid Yahoo reporter contacted the critics of record for The Village Voice and Time. Yahoo did not contact a lawyer for comment.
    The critics don't do George any favors, but when do they do anybody any favors? They dismiss his brush work, his ham handed technique. It's hilarious. Since when has art been about any of this? They compare him to John Wayne Gacy and Charlie Manson. That's pretty heady company for someone just starting out to make enemies. No championing of George Bush by Jerry Salz here. The critics are about a clueless as Zimmerman. Sure it's a bad painting. Who cares? The only real issue is does anybody have the right to take an image that is all over the internet and make a bad painting of it......even George Zimmerman? I say YES, YOU ASSHOLES! George Zimmerman has the right to paint bad paintings, that are direct copies of anything he sees in the paper, or on the internet, (whether it concerns him or not) til the cows come home.....just like any other artist. Over the years I've painted over plenty of other artists' original work, glued plenty of porn to the front pages of news papers and most recently photographed and purchased the work of Ethelbert B. Crawford, manipulating his images with paint and blood. It's my right, nay duty, as an artist. That's why they call it real estate. Keep painting George, the brush is mightier than the 9mm. I invite you to rip off any of my work and make it your own. I hope to hell your new vocation keeps you off the streets........for all our sake.    


Wednesday, January 8, 2014



  The polar vortex not only sent Dennis Rodman off to Korea for Kim's bday, it stopped up my kitchen sink. My kitchen usually stays a balmy 38 degrees, but with this wind and minus five, even the most trusty hillbilly cob job can fail. First I tried pouring boiling water down the drain. No go. All it did was fill up the dirty dish filled cavity with soon cold water. Then came the brilliant white, flexy plastic, inverted sawtooth gadget. I plunged it in the drain and came up empty. Thankfully my hair was not falling out while doing the dishes (to any degree).  This tool had previously dislodged a hair clog, the size of a big shrunken head, from the tub. Still, no go in the kitchen. Then I went for the chemicals. The caustic slime only foamed obscenely and the drain remained clogged. Did I dare take it apart?
   I should never touch a car's engine, wire a light.....or do anything remotely called plumbing. The ancient p-trap came apart in my hands. I won't bore you with the play by play. Suffice it to say, nobody on earth stocks the part that I broke. So for now I have a plastic dish basin to wash dishes and a bucket under the drain to catch the over flow. When I throw the soapy water out the door, it freezes in mid air and clatters to the ground. The cats run for their lives, as tiny razor blades of ice come at them from all sides. If I can only remember to tell my guests to change the bucket when they feel their feet get wet, the whole thing should work perfectly until spring. Shewho says it will probably remain this way until I die. Fuck it. Let the next guy worry about it.
   Down at the shul Pigpen and I discovered that my drainage solutions did not solve anything, as we slooshed through 4 inches of water, after that freak rain storm on Monday. Luckily it drained out of the building, before the 50 degree drop turned the basement floor into a skating rink. As I bitched, Pigpen put things in perspective. "You didn't think it would be easy, did you?" I confess, I did. And it was then I felt the vortex pulling me towards White Sulphur Springs. I needed a conjugal.
    When you heat by wood you are trapped at home. Even my mammoth "Mighty MO" woodstove will not keep the hawk at bay when the temps drop this low. I need either the ker-o-sun or the propane to take up the slack. If I leave I keep my fingers crossed that the place doesn't burn down or freeze solid....if fuel runs out. Nonetheless, sometimes a guy needs company. WSSP is a port in the storm. When I'm not around Shewho turns off the TV, doesn't drink and gets her work done. But I could tell by the tone of her voice, that she needed my enabling as much as i needed to enable. I brought wine, split wood on the way in the door and didn't insist on TV. (Take note kids. It's a good balance. Leave the Molly and earwax at home.)  Sometimes a little cold weather is just what the doctor ordered. If I was the CIA I'd be waterboarding Dennis Rodman as soon as he lands.    

Monday, January 6, 2014



Finally the potlight has shown on NYS. I know Andy reads this blog- so kudos Gov.bro. As all the wire services report Gov. Andrew Cuomo will announce in his state of the state address, later this week, his plan to allow 20 hospitals in NYS to prescribe marijuana to seriously ill patients residing here in the empire state. I, for one, have been illin' for quite some time. About 15 years ago, when i was first diagnosed with glaucoma, I was unwilling to accept it. "How could I possibly have glaucoma." I asked the eye doc. "I've smoked pot almost all my life." He looked at me and smiled. "I'm not supposed to say this, but if you hadn't you'd probably be blind by now." Even today, no eye doctor in NY will seriously discuss marijuana as treatment for glaucoma. They'd rather prescribe tiny $100 bottles of drops. I take three different types twice a day. My eye medicine (legal and illegal) costs me about $600 per month. Insurance? Ha! Even if I had it, it's not covered.

   This past holiday I went over to my sister's place in Ct. to enjoy a family gathering. At some point brother Duke (the only other stoner amongst my sibs.) and I went out on the deck to blow one. I brought the roach back inside and about a half hour later absentmindedly lit it up at the table, where we were all gathered. No kids were around. Well, you'd think I'd heated up one of mom's silver spoons and mainlined a bag a dope. All hell broke loose. In years past I would've apologized profusely, tucked my tail between my legs and gone out to the car to blow another one. But WTF! What year was it anyway? Had I not tried to marry a gay guy, years before, and been applauded for my efforts? Why the pot paranoia? Instead I dug in my heels and fired back.
   The nurses in the family brought up second hand smoke and the danger of losing their jobs, if they were pee tested. OK. That's legit. But when pressed they all admitted that none had ever been pee tested. That blows that fear. Then I had to hear about the "stepping stone" gateway drug theory. Gimme a break. If this was a legitimate issue coffee and beer and masturbation should be outlawed way before pot. My one brother that I had gone toe to toe with concerning pot at the table in the past, Smokey, was not in attendance. Years previous I had torched one at his kid's high school graduation party. It was 3 am and once again no kids were around. I wasn't drinking at the time and rolled it right in front of him. I think he was too loaded to notice....... until the smoke drifted by the local football coach. I paid big time for that little faux pas.

But guess what? Smokey called me a couple of weeks ago and proudly informed me that the first medical marijuana dispensary in the state was approved in his little town of Simsbury, Ct. How times have changed. Gov. Andy's decision is the first step in total legalization of marijuana in the state. And as a chronic user of the chronic i just want to say that I am available as a consultant. The shul will make a perfect dispensary and the fertile Glen Wild river valley, given the opportunity, could produce some pretty good medicine. Thanks Gov. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. I just hope the state provides some decent legal weed. It would be tragic to legalize bunk.