Molly Goatwax

Help me out here

You've heard of " 'schadenfreud', the malicious satisfaction in the misfortune of others "*, but is there a word for when you take an instant dislike to someone and in your certain moral superiority, imagine them capering about an unfurnished flat clad only in chicken-skin underwear?

The Flim Flam Man

The bank on the farm has been graced with a new sales rep, whose accounts fall under my perview. The farmer wants me to give him "special attention" because of his stellar performance at the last company he worked, where, ahem, he unfortunately was having his clients stolen by an unscrupled colleague...no no no, not that kind of attention, get yer mind out of the gutter... Anyway, the special attention I must give him includes preparing, bundling up and overnighting to him custom sales packages, which I wouldn't mind, except it would be easier and cheaper to e mail him the forms so he could print them out himself. He claims that his printer won't handle them. He had previously been given blank masters to fill out for each customer, but he can't be bothered to copy the blanks and fill them out. The first time he came out he was driving an X type Jaguar and the last time, an H2 Hummer. Fancy wheels for someone who can't afford a decent printer. I am finding his whole persona highly suspect. So I do a little digging and, no, the entire internet has never heard of him. No phone listing. The reverse directories can't find anything on the phone numbers he's supplied. He doesn't own the house at the address he lists, it's listed with the tax office under the same odd last name as one of his clients. Strange for an experienced financial advisor, no? I'm not sayin' nothin'. He'll crash and burn on his own.

Uuuuh

My brain's full of cobwebs or rocks today. Perhaps if I go for a little drive it may clear. Maybe if the cobwebs (or rocks) get cleared out, there will be nothing in there at all...

More on statements

I have been researching Artists' Statements as well doing my bank monkey work today, and my Mother is right. They are generally painful to read. I am far too nice a person to link you to some of the fatuous meglomania I'm seeing on line, but I assure you, it's gag provoking. Yes, it's difficult for people who work with their hands to shift into language, but must we be reduced to the meaningless "I believe in dreams", "I create out of joy and this reflects in my work" or "I glimpse the 'essence of being' "? I actually kind of like this: "In previous exhibitions I used the doll body as a metaphor for human suffering. In this installation I am working with a new surrogate that carries with it similar symbolic and metaphorical implications. I am using rabbits; stuffed bunnies that were purchased at second hand stores and carcasses acquired through grocery stores and road kill. The bodies of the stuffed toy animals and the rabbit carcasses have been transformed into objects that function as reliquaries. They have been altered so that relics may be placed into their interior cavities." If this tickles your fancy, here's the link. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

Artists' Statements

My mother is a distingushed scholar of material culture whose field of study is ceramics. She has evolved from writing about pre-historic vessels and the cultures which produced them to modern ceramic art and the artists who make it. She has written a couple of books and catalogues for museum exhibitions as well as pieces on rising stars for the big monthlies. Last week she asked me if I had an "Artist's Statement". Well, I hemmed and hawed, told her I've written several, explained how they change for each body of work as well as where I intend to show it and otherwise evaded her request to get to read mine. I asked her why she needed it. She told me she was writing a piece on them and had never read a good one. I said it's hard to articulate what you're doing and where you're trying to take it without sounding like a fat headed lunatic, or it turning into a political manifesto or sounding just plain stupid. I told her how hard it is to assign a specific, academic meaning to my art when often I just want to paint something to laugh at. "Exactly!", she said. Now she wants to interview me. Great. Now I have to write another "Artist's Statement".

File under "Other Culture"

I have mixed feelings about beer swilling Russian children. It is widely regarded in that country as a normal, healthy beverage for youngsters restricted from drinking vodka and other spirits. On the one hand, there's no law against them having a few on their way to school. But as a card-carrying Mom, I wouldn't like to see my kids drinking beer or other inebriants before the age of discretion. ( It was 18 when I came of age. ) Speaking of the culture of Russian swillers, they have the highest per capita rate of drunken driving deaths in the world. Now that they've embraced capitalism, some clever entreprenuers have started a tow-me-home service (champagne included!) for the besotted in an effort to make money and reduce the stats. As for myself, if I needed one, I'd call a cab without the champagne. Right now I'm just so sick of driving that I'm not going anywhere after I get out of here except to pick up the 7 year old on the way home.
But you, you have yourself a merry little weekend and slurp away your work day cares in a responsible manner. I'll pop a couple at home.

154 miles of errands

Drop off kid in Cockysville, pick up Mom in Charles Village, take her to the visa office of the Chinese Embassy in Washington D.C., a lamb kabobbery in Bethesda, pick up tickets for me at BWI Airport with her frequent flyer miles, drop off Mom in Charles Village, out to Hubby's office and a bank in Randallstown, then the kid's school in Roland Park, Bolton Hill and home to Hamilton. O.K. So Bolton Hill wasn't exactly an errand (urrrrp...). 154 miles may not seem like much to those of you who live in bigger states, but by the time I was done with the congestion in the cities and the killer highways between, all I could do was stare at my art in progress cross-eyed. The highlight of the day was running Mom in a borrowed wheelchair through the crowded airport concourse yelling; "Outta my way!" (She's fine. This was for expediency's sake.) Thank you, Tucson Bloggers, for your nice e-mails in response to my breaking into your blog ring for info. I am getting a feel for your fair town and look forward to your Independence Day celebration. I know about the heat, I have been in the desert in July and find it refreshing in comparison to Baltimore's wilting humidity. Now I gotta suss out Albequerque, where the airplane will land.

Tucson

Photo courtesy Santa Theresa Tile Works.

Hubby and I are considering venturing over to look at Tucson, AZ, if for no other reason than that it's not Baltimore. We know nothing about it. Does anyone who has been there or (better yet) lives there have any helpful suggestions on what to see, where to go, what to eat? One time we went to Atlanta, GA similarly clueless and we followed this guy with a ski cap and tatoos into a section called Little Five Points 'cause he looked like he'd know what's cool and what's cheap and it was. This time, however, I'd appreciate some advance knowledge in case there's no hipster in sight when we land.

Carbs II

I apologize for my crankiness regarding the low carb craze and if I've offended anyone who's found success with avoiding starchy foods, but the lowly potato is near and dear to my heart (about 3 or 4 inches south). It is not enough for some that "an average potato contains only 100 calories, has no fat, is low in sodium and high in potassium, plus has some dietary fiber. It also has vitamins C and B-6." Now they've developed a low carb potato. Untill I taste it, I'll stick to my russets, reds and Yukon golds. Pass the gravy, please.

Seeking Balance

Has the whole world gone mad? (well, yes. In so many ways.) While I'm busily scarfing down bread, cookies, mashed potatoes and what have you, it seems that these foods are so far out of fashion I may have to eat them away from others like the sorry souls smoking on the sidewalks outside public buildings. Type "low carb" into the big search engine and choose from 2,130,000 sites. Even the men in my house are subscribing to this torture. Does it work? Some people swear by it, but like any other diet, losses may be temporary if you fall out of the discipline. Don't get me wrong, I eat plenty of chlorophyls and carotenes and a wide variety of proteins in addition to simple and complex carbohydrates, but life without "starch" and replaced with power bars just seems unnatural. I think the key here is balance and moderation. The biggest abomination? Low carb beer! What's the point? Why not just have scotch and seltzer?