Just bought this book, Artburn, the art & commentary of Robbie Conal. I ordered it from B&N as a sort of sentimental thing, because I remember his "guerilla art posters" from living in L.A. and Santa Monica. I was always mesmerized by the powerful images that were such in-your-face political commentary. Turns out to be an absolutely AWESOME book. Check it out or buy it for a friend who will appreciate the highly unique and artistic approach of bashing on all these old fucking politician assholios who so sorely deserve it.
From the Publisher of Artburn:
Artburn is a collection of the best pages from the last five years of Robbie Conal's satirical monthly column in the LA Weekly, updated with background factoids and secret war stories about his subjects, including the likes (and dislikes) of: Dubya, Dick Cheney, John Ashcroft, Rush Limbaugh, Bill, Hillary and Monica, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, even Bill Gates, among others. Artburn includes production shots of the original pages Robbie and his midnight deadline crew perpetrated at the very alternative LA Weekly, and a chapter of images and voices of the denizens themselves. We've even thrown in a dozen late-night remixes that were too hot for the Weekly to print.
Robbie Conal grew up in New York City and became a stone-cold Hippie in San Francisco, landing in a storefront in the Haight Ashbury district in 1964. He did time in Connecticut -- with time off for bad behavior in Soho -- then moved to Los Angeles, where he now makes street posters and caricatures for the LA Weekly, satirizing politicians of both parties, televangelists, media pundits and global capitalists. Robbie has gained national prominence as the country's premiere poster artist; his work has been featured on "CBS This Morning," "Charlie Rose," and in Time, Newsweek, New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Washington Post, Wall Street Journal and many other national publications. His first book, Art Attack: The Midnight Politics of a Guerilla Artist, was published by HarperPerennial in 1992.
It's the night before christmas, and all through the house
not a creature is stirring not even a--
Hey! You cats! Get the fuck away from that tree! And if I see you put your claw into one more present I am going to do that thing that yuppies do - yeah you know the thing -- where they have those claws yanked! No I did not hang all that shit up on that tree & wrap all those damn presents so you could go and destroy it all! Devils.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, not a creature was stirring, not even a --
CRASH! BANG! Meeeow.
fucking cats.
A Christmas song for America (I know it's obscure, but humor me):
MOTHER
By Pink Floyd
Mother, do you think they'll drop the bomb?
Mother, do you think they'll like this song?
Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?
Ooooowaa, Mother should I build a wall?
Mother, should I run for President?
Mother, should I trust the government?
Mother, will they put me in the firing line?
Ooooowaa Is it just a waste of time?
Hush, my baby. Baby, don't you cry.
Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true.
Momma's gonna put all of her fears into you.
Momma's gonna keep you right here under her wing.
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing.
Momma's gonna keep Baby cozy and warm.
Oooo Babe.
Oooo Babe.
Ooo Babe, of course Momma's gonna help build a wall.
Mother, do you think she's good enough,
For me?
Mother, do you think she's dangerous,
To me?
Mother will she tear your little boy apart?
Ooooowaa, Mother will she break my heart?
Hush, my baby. Baby, don't you cry.
Momma's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you.
Momma won't let anyone dirty get through.
Momma's gonna wait up until you get in.
Momma will always find out where you've been.
Momma's gonna keep Baby healthy and clean.
Oooo Babe.
Oooo Babe.
Ooo Babe, you'll always be Baby to me.
Boyfriend took me to see Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King, last night. Was not particularly excited about it because the first one put me to sleep and I didn't bother to see the second one. But LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING. The Return of the King was one of the absolute BEST motion pictures I have ever seen in my entire life. Exquisite scenery, deeply emotional, dynamic characters and a profound moral that might be lost on those of dim intellect but for one who interprets it the way I think it was meant, it is astounding. The whole movie is an intricately crafted metaphor about greed (and the horror which results), humbleness, selflessness and honor. What more could you want?
So when the movie was over, after three hours of relentlessly clutching Rob's arm and convulsing with excitement in my seat, I felt like I had just been through an amazing experience which can't be conveyed without seeing with your own eyes. So go see it. Really.
Before we walked into the theatre I said "what about seeing Mona Lisa Smile or Something's Gotta Give?" Thank god Rob deterred me, because when we walked out, he said "so are you bummed we didn't see one of those other movies?" And when I thought about it for a moment, those other movies just didn't seem like they could have possibly lived up to the imagery, dialogue and character portrayal of Return of the King. This was an epic. It made Gone With the Wind seem like a trifle. So there you have my two cents.
What is it about having a tree with a bunch of lights and colorful ornaments hanging from it, sitting in the corner of one's living room, that is so satisfying and joy inspiring? I'm greatful to whichever herr or frau came up with the idea of this "christmas tree." I didn't have one last year and so I was set to have one this year, but also determined not to get one so early that it would be a brittle fire hazard by the time that christmas arrived, which is what happened the year before last when my roommate and her boyfriend decided to go get a tree in the first week of December. What a wretched mess that was to clean up when all was said and done. I was just glad we had wood floors so that I was able to sweep up the piles of pine needles from the floor without having them sticking in carpet.
So this year I waited until I started to have anxiety about not having one in time and then, on a sudden impulse, ordered Robert to stop the car last night at 68th Street so that we could get a tree. I selected one about six feet tall, with minimal girth (I don't like em too bushy -- prefer the charlie brown style) and we tied it to the car and brought it home. Kathleen and Charles were with us so it was perfect timing. I had Kathleen to help me hang ornaments and Charles to string the lights and then sit on the couch with Robert and watch sports. Aah. Sports. Sigh.
Anyway, once lit and decorated, it was like every other domesticated christmas tree in the world, but somehow that didn't make it any less satisfying or provoking of oohs and aahs and feelings of warmth and happiness. I lucked out that when I moved into this apartment, the previous occupants had left behind a large shopping bag full of beautiful christmas ornaments and a stand. My roommate at the time (a/k/a an idiot of monumental proportions) proclaimed that she was going to throw them in the garbage. I stopped her then and put them aside and now I am glad because I didn't have to buy a single ornament. There were more than enough in quantity and variety to cover my tree with shine. We didn't have an ornament for the tip-top so I found a sparkly gold ribboned corsage with ribbon fashioned roses nested in gold mistletoe which had been wrapped on a present I received a few years ago and saved. I attached it to the top of the tree and could not have been happier with any other ornament in the world. It's perfect. The tree sits in front of the large closet in my living room with the two mirrored doors, so I bordered the entire closet with colored lights to kind of frame the tree. It looks so happy. And it makes me ridiculously happy to look at it.
So Kathleen and I exchanged presents. I gave her a pair of heavenly thigh high wool crocheted socks and a set of paints, pastels & colored pencils. She gave me a copy of Lolita, (because the copy I just read was hers) and also a copy of The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov, which I cannot wait to read. She also gave me a stack of blank cds and cd cases and loaned me her entire cd collection to burn for my very own while she is away for the holiday. I feel so lucky!
I know it's disgusting, but I am really into it this Christmas. I'm not even remotely Christian either, but my family always celebrated Christmas anyway and it's still one of my favorite times of the year, despite all the bullshit and consumerism associated with it. I still enjoy giving and receiving presents and having a big gaudy tree in my living room and eating lots of treats. It's the best.
I never knew that in Florida, a child of any age can be prosecuted as an adult. There are no age limitations. A child of any age can be prosecuted and sentenced to life in prison in Florida. I'm sorry, but that is just wrong.
In the case of Lionel Tate, who killed a 6 year old playmate (claiming it happened while he was imitating wrestling moves he had seen on tv), when he was only 12, he was tried as an adult and convicted of first degree murder. Sentenced to life in prison. At the age of 14. He has learning disabilities. He was ill informed regarding his plea options. Thank god an appeals court has ordered a new trial for this kid.
But there still remains the law. The law that allows for children of ANY age to be prosecuted as adults.
When the three-judge panel heard the appeal in September, Judge Martha C. Warner asked prosecutors what safeguards protect a young child from Florida's broad law that allows any person, regardless of age, to be prosecuted as an adult.
"There's no discretion exercised at all in this -- no societal judgment," she said then. "Age is not a consideration. That is what was argued through the whole trial."
Judge Fred A. Hazouri asked then what is to stop prosecutors from charging a 6-year-old with murder if the child gets angry at a Little League game, picks up a bat and kills a teammate. "At what point do we say as a society that that is just too young?" Hazouri said.
Assistant Attorney General Debra Rescigno would not answer then what age would provide a reasonable cutoff for a murder conviction.
How do they live with themselves?
I am the first to say that an adult murderer should spend life behind bars, but children are different. There needs to be a cutoff. There is a major difference between the perception & sophistication of a six year old, a twelve year old, a fourteen year old, a sixteen year old, and so on. The line has to be drawn somewhere. We can't just go putting little kids in the slammer and throwing away the keys as noncholantly and callously as if it were just the same as putting away a fully formed adult criminal. There IS a difference.
This song just seemed really appropriate to the way I feel today. Boofuckinghoo. Actually, I am greatful that it is a new day and the sun is shining bright despite the freezing cold and that the people I love are there for me even though I am a little nuts sometimes.
EVERYBODY HURTS
By REM
When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
when you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on.
Don't let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.
Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along.
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
if you feel like letting go, (hold on)
when you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on.
Everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand.
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone
If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
when you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.
Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on.
Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on. Hold on, hold on.
These too:
BREATHE
By Pink Floyd
Breathe, breathe in the air
Don’t be afraid to care
Leave but don’t leave me
Look around and chose your own ground
For long you live and high you fly
And smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be
Run, rabbit, run
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don’t sit down, it’s time to dig another one
For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race toward an early grave.
This suicide bombing in Russia is a nightmare.
"The 8 a.m. explosion ripped open the side of the second car of the train as it approached a station near Yessentuki, about 1,200 kilometres south of Moscow, throwing out passengers. Others were trapped under twisted, burning wreckage.
Authorities found undetonated grenades still strapped to the legs of a male suicide attacker, said Federal Security Service chief Nikolai Patrushev. Bomb disposal experts gingerly entered the wreckage to remove the explosives and later detonated them, Russian television reported.
Patrushev said two women jumped from the train just before the explosion; their fate was not known. The male suicide bomber has not been identified."
Well I did it. I braved the weather and walked to the store to buy coffee. It's just not right to be inside during a snow storm and not have anything hot to sip on. Luckily it is only a little over a half of a block to the store, so it was a quick walk, but I got a definite feel for what it's like out there. Snow coming down in chunks and blowing in every imagineable direction. The greek lady next door shoveling all morning. She's a trooper. Where is her husband and two sons I wonder? Men are spoiled, disgusting. I spoke to her on my way in and out. She loves to talk in that little tiny high pitched shout of hers. Her son likes to stand outside a lot and holler like a maniac at her in the doorway, but today it seems he is being a shut-in. So she's shoveling in peace.
Ween is playing on my launchcast. Wallowing desparate beautiful sadness in Moving Away. Coffee is made. Cats are frollicking. Pile of laundry is looking at me, begging to be washed. Stomach wondering if I am ever going to put anything in it. Some chorizo and eggs and a piece of toast would be fine. Slept really late after staying up really late, and it feels like morning even though it is 2:30 in the afternoon. Had weird dreams. Really weird. Song shifts to David Bowie's Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud. He's crazy, but it's a happy crazy.
Spoke to Kathleen and she is ice skating at Rockefeller Center with her cousin. She sounded cold and cheerful and sniffly on the phone. I admit I felt a pang of envy because I'm sure it's lots of fun, but this is a day to be indoors for this girl. My radio station is seriously kicking ass today. I'm dancin in my seat. No joke. Check out Lucy Pearl's Dance Tonight. Rob turned me on to it and that is the fuckin jam.
The snow...the snow is crazy. It's everywhere!
From the 24th floor of my office building, I felt like I was in a giant snowglobe all day. Which wasn't that bad. Now at home the streets and sidewalks of my neighborhood have donned a beautiful thick blanket of powdery white snow. Snow always makes things feel so peaceful when it first comes. That's before it gets shoved this way and that and eventually just becomes a part of the slushy city grime. It is so serene right now though. Gives off a fun, vibrant sensation of the impending holiday.
Firm Christmas party is at a club called Metronome. But get this. Don't ask me why in god's name they have decided to throw a hawaain luau party theme in the dead of winter for our christmas function.. The people who plan these parties are Freaks. I am concerned to see what they come up with next. I'm serious, we are told to be festive and dress in tropical garb. Are you kiddin me? I'm going to be wearing something WARM. My grass skirt and coconuts are stayin in the closet, thank you very much. But the pahty should be interesting and probably fun so I'm looking forward to it.
I've stayed up much too late watching mind numbing tv tonight and I'm beat. Been working on a lot of art projects lately though, and not feeling like writing as much. Exerting too much energy in other areas I guess. Maybe that's just my imagination. I finished one canvas with primarily acrylics, a little charcoal... some watercolor & metallics and then a few 11" x 15" pieces that are watercolors, pastels, acrylics and even some colored pencil & charcoal. I also did a couple collages that are still waiting for finishing touches. I guess I'm experimenting a lot with different mediums since I haven't delved this deep into art since high school - maybe about 8 years ago. (Boy that goes quick).
It's just fun and relaxing though. That's the only point. Something about just sitting and listening to music and painting is an ultimate stress reliever. You stop thinking about anything else. It's a beautiful thing. Different than writing, because with writing you are always thinking. Your little brain chugging along, working, working...spinning thoughts... visual art does not have to be like that. It can just be stepping out of your regular thought pattern or your perception of reality and into a mode where only imagination and creative expression matter. Going beyond whatever meets the eye. Yeeeeeaaah maaaan. I'm a freakin sensitive artist maaan. Don't disturb. Hahaaa!
Na it's a good time though. I'm enjoying a little change in pace, especially with the descending winter and all the time indoors. It's time to be creative and find fun, interesting, new things to do. Though I am definitely going to make it out into the cold NY weather to go ice skating in Central Park here pretty soon. Kathleen just got a brand new pair of skates after her beautiful custom $800 pair were burgled from her residence in the spring, so it's high time we get out to the rink so she can fly on those babies. Kathleen is a phenomenal ice skater by the way. Like a princess. Skating awaaaay...skating awaaay...skating awaaaay on the thin ice of a new daaaay----ay!
Why does it seem like in this Middle East nightmare, the Israeli's are so staunchly uncompromising? It's almost like they want to keep fighting. They refuse to give up anything, and in return, they want everything. Even that which does not belong to them in any way except in light of their interpretation of religious texts. I'm wondering if by any chance, the peace principal is far more necessary to the satisfaction of their religious principles, than the issue of land ownership. Not the way they see it. Here is the way I see it: I see Palestine as a wife who is being brutally beaten every day with the iron fist of her oppressive and cruel husband, Israel. And I think all this shit about Palestine harboring and supporting terrorists is just a diversion and a way to point fingers. People just can't get enough of the word "terrorism" these days. The word is so overused it has become like a giant game of boy cried wolf. Most of the time, completely unsubstantiated. I hear that statement being made by Israeli officials and the ("in cahoots") Bush Regime, but I don't see the evidence being big and strong enough to warrant refusing them the statehood that they deserve. Unless there is something I am sorely missing. When the Palestinians strike the Israelis, it's terrorism, but when the Israelis strike the Palestinians, it's business as usual, and somehow justifiable? This hate cycle is so ugly and sad. I am not saying that Palestinians don't contribute to it. But to say that they should not be angry at the Israelis is like saying that blacks shouldn't be angry about slavery, or Jews shouldn't be angry about the Holocaust. Of course, the product of that anger should never become violence, because that just perpetuates the cycle. But should they just lay down and allow the Israelis to trample them, shove them out of their own communities and take everything they have? I think not. Regardless of the many facets to this terrible situation, it's pretty obvious to me who is the oppressive force here.