Want to crawl into a man’s heart through his tummy?
March 23, 2007Miss Gemma knows a hell of a lot about food. Please visit her here:
Archive for the 'Art' Category
Poems of yesteryear
March 19, 2007While searching through my old notebooks I found several poems that I’d written in high school about, sigh, love. You can get the gist from the titles:
“Don’t break my heart, I’ve only got one”
“YOU’VE CRUSHED MY DELICATE SOUL”
“My heart is encased in cement and I won’t let it out again because the last time I encased it in ice and that didn’t work but I think cement is a stronger substance”
“I’m walking in a cherry blossom field, the cherry blossoms look like they are bleeding, like my heart.”
“If you crush me I won’t come back to you. Well…maybe I will.”
“Love is a superhighway and I’m stuck in a Volvo”
“If I give you pizza will you love me?”
The only one that still holds any legitimacy whatsoever is the one about Pizza. Men love pizza.
Fun things.
March 9, 2007So, for any of you who are interested, I’d like to propose a “My Many Breakups” essay contest. The winner will receive a free posting on “My Many Breakups.”
The Judge? Me.
The prizes include, you’re very own blog spot on “My Many Breakups” as well as a kiss from me (if you’re a cute guy) or a hug (if you’re a girl or a not so cute guy or a guy with a significant other).
The question to be answered in Essay Form?
“What was your worst date and why?’
Please cite any outside materials used. All entries can be emailed to:
Deadline? March 30, 2007.
Thank you and have a lovely weekend (and please go out on a bad date for me)!
Guess What?: I now realize a hug from me might not be the most incentive option. So, now, the winner will also receive a gift certificate to Starbucks. Start writing!
Smart Art.
February 26, 2007Well, I don’t usually do this. But I’m going to shamelessly promote a very very terrific Chicago-based company that specializes in (dare I say it, at risk of sounding annoyingly pretentious) uniquely inventive cards. (Think Andy Warhol meets Picasso meets Japanese silk art meets artistic Urban hipsters.) What can I say? I’m a sucker for originality. Especially when it occurs in a medium that is accessible to the masses.
I really hate museums, they’re way too elitist. Plus, G. dumped me in a museum.
So, instead of the MCA, go here: http://fivefoldink.com/
And Enjoy 
Our souls are locked and broken: A discussion about art.
February 14, 2007Today a friend and me had a discussion about art. He’s a painter. Unlike me, he is very talented. That and he actually puts a lot of effort into his work.
I asked him who is inspirations were. He said he was particularly fond of Roth, Michelangelo, Cezanne and Picasso.
“Hmm,” I said, “I’m not as organized as all that.”
“How so,” he countered.
“Well,” I answered, “most people can’t really get behind my ‘art.’”
“Who inspires you?”
“It’s not so much a ‘who’ as a ‘what,’” I mused. “I’ve always thought the key to great art was divine misery. So, I am inspired by black roses, single drops of blood on the lips of tuberculosis victims, people stomping on kittens, Ophelia drowning in the lilies, those types of things.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding genuinely relieved, “so that’s why you don’t stay in relationships. The broken heart thing really works for you, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve figured me out,” I said, “Nothing gets me going like heartache laced with anguish and caffeine. Ah, the vile depths of humanity. What would I do without you?”
DaVinci? No thanks. But I’ll take a cocktail.
February 9, 2007In college I was infatuated with a boy named G. G. was unbelievably handsome, incredibly intelligent, and underneath a blanket of cynicism a very kind and sensitive person. He fancied himself an artist (he did have a considerable degree of talent at his craft) and is, to my knowledge, currently teaching on the East coast and honing his skills on his chosen medium.
Like most young and gifted people, he was as pretentious as all hell. He considered the people of the Midwest “simple” and “un-stimulating.” Every conversation, it seemed, revolved around several inspiring trips that he had made to Europe. At the conclusion of each of these he would always ask me, “Have you ever been to Europe?’
Despite his genius, he never remembered the answer.
“No,” I would say.
“Have you ever wanted to go?” He would always ask next.
“I suppose, but I’ve never really gotten the opportunity,” was always my response.
Whatever he would always say then never varied much from the paradigm established by phrases like, “Wow, you really haven’t lived have you?” and “You’re really not very worldly are you?”
My refrain: “No, I really haven’t lived. No, I’m very sheltered. I obviously have no idea what’s going on in the world, etc. etc.”
His inquiries were innocent enough, and I don’t really think he had any intention to make me feel like I was inadequate in some way…at least not consciously. And, to some extent, he was right. I don’t know London, I don’t know France, the Tower of Piazza remains a mystery to me. I’m sheltered by my middle-American upbringing. Instead, I know The Beatles, French fries and Sophia Loren.
But I was always a little offended when he implied that I was totally niave to the ways of the world. I mean, I put myself through college entirely by myself, I was a democrat as a teenager, I fend off sexual predators on the street, I know how to cook (mind you, not well) for god sakes, and I was a bartender.
Sorry if I haven’t been to the top of the Eifel Tower.
But I do know how to make the best Bloody Mary you’ve ever had. And that has to count for something.
Right?
