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Michelin Star Meat With a Binder

All of this talk regarding Super Bowl commercials, namely for cars and lumber and whatnot… And yet not a lot of buzz for SPAM.

It was the commercials for this wonder meat (I have already Trademarked “WonderMeat” for an adult cartoon series, so don’t get any ideas) that got my brain working yesterday. It’s such an underrated cut, you’d become clinically depressed just considering that the following exchange would never take place in some Michelin star restaurant:

“Why, yes... I’d like the Spamderloin. In fact, how about the Filet Spamignon?”
“Would you like that bacon-wrapped?”
“Seems rather redundant, but certainly.”

You’d have to wonder, though, what sort of a meat genius you’d have to be in order to discern the individual cuts of SPAM.

“Dis ‘ere, uh, particular cut is dee, uh, leg of SPAM. Which is, as you know, is remarkably similar to da arm of SPAM, as well as da chuck, loin and flank. Da majestic SPAM, when raised free-range, develops a little more devoisity in its physical appearance, as noted ovah ‘ere, wit dese little caps of gelatin-like substance.”

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Cat Videos and Murder

This month marks twenty-five years of the web.

Enjoy the FIRST-EVER cat video, from nearly one hundred years before the web. A film recorded in Edison’s office of boxing cats, which neatly ties together the history of a place that has become a bastion for thieves, Copyright infringement and other debauchery, via a motion picture, which Edison stole the patent for by murdering Louis Le Prince.

Hooray progress. Thanks, Al Gore.

It’s No Econo-Lodge, That’s for Sure

Olympic Village

Speaking of the Olympics, it would seem as though things are worse than the media would lead you to believe in Brazil. Take the Olympic Village for example. Granted, one doesn’t come to expect five-star accommodations in a third-world country, but the lack of reliable Wi-Fi (and en-suite plumbing… and a roof), but you really begin to see how bringing in Venezuelan decorators may have been a mistake.

On the bright side, however, it’s nice to see Motel 6 upping their game on the international stage, and hiring what appears to be at least one part-time maid for the duration of the event.

The New Wave of Chick Flicks

Oh, Hollywood, when will you learn?

NO ONE wants to see a classic movie like Ghostbusters ruined by changing it all up to become some all-woman buddy movie, as evidenced by the deafening silence in theaters. You re-make, re-launch and re-define everything until the life is sucked from it time and again, and we the viewing public take the brunt of the abuse.

I’d suggest pulling out of these cluster-fucks once and for all, and not subjecting us to any more “creative” torture. Please don’t even consider casting Tina Fey, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy and Jennifer Lawrence in Band of Sisters. Or thinking along that line,  Rosie O’Donnell as Henrietta Hill in Goodsisters, or skipping ahead into The Godmother: Part II starring Angelina Jolie. Dirty Harriet starring Sandra Locke, or Kate Beckinsale in the relaunch of Lethal (But Stylish!) Weapon. Jennifer Garner and Janeane Garofalo in a comic team-up relaunch of the Charles Bronson Death Wish series (could even go all wicked witch/fairy princess-like and make it about a fantasy wish of death OR an empowering film about a female extreme sports junkie in true Hollywood bullshit fashion), or a Smokey and the Bandit relaunch with Sandra Bullock and Catherine Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah (with Lena Dunham and Gabourey Sidibe as a mixed-race, plus-size, same-sex cop duo)… Or dare you cross the line into sacred territory and completely ruin Caddyshack by making it a feel-good, all-female Summer romp starring Jodie Foster, Jane Lynch, Meredith Baxter and Sara Gilbert, in which the main plot centers around liberal talking points and female empowerment, set against the backdrop of the Bush Presidency. The Diva Dozen could be an ensemble musical which is anchored by the return to the big screen of Lindsay Lohan, while the more eco-sensitive classic chase scene from Bullitt could have a bio diesel-powered Volvo pitted against a Prius, but filmed somewhere relatively flat, like Kate Hudson.

Again, Hollywood, these are not pitches. It’s time to go home and rethink some things. What do you say?

Cropping With Ockham’s Razor

To be remembered one day is an unspoken desire of most people. It’s one of those little motivating factors that drive us to chase a dream of creating things, be it art or music or prose. After all, why throw it at the wall if you don’t want it to stick, or at least leave a mark, right? And if you couldn’t care less about that as an artist, you can rest assured that at least SOMEONE out there does, judging from the number of magazines and blogs and television shows that exist solely to document these works.
 
A late-night thinking binge took me down the rabbit hole, considering that today’s artists will be remembered or even rediscovered in quite a different fashion from those who came before. What’s odd is that instead of learning about me in libraries or museums, someone will find my life’s work via some internet search, scattered among loosely-related images and links chosen by some algorithm. A life I stumbled into, stumbled upon via a search routine designed to guide some randomly-chosen whim, and forgotten the instant that their search leads them down another rabbit hole.
 
It’s all very fleeting in nature, and I’m only just discovering the beauty in that with reference to reinventing one’s self; although there exists the possibility of such digital cataloging to create a whole other picture of oneself that stands in stark contrast to the that which we’d like to be remembered.
 
That said, I find it logical to believe the most successful artists of the future will ply their craft not so much in creating images, but managing their image. Live by the blade of the internet or die by underestimating its sharpness. Funny how that all works out.

“Survivor” Sounds Like a Stretch

The Ted Kennedy Collection promises to be a huge draw at next January’s Barrett-Jackson Scottsdale auction…

(cue rim-shot)

It’s Nothing Without the Paper

An interesting thought I’ve been pondering in the background for quite some time:
 
I’m sick and tired of hearing people bash digital artwork and conceptual work as being something less than a sketch on paper. Absolutely done with it. And I’m talking about the work involving creating that which doesn’t exist, not hacking two photos you found on Google together to put another pony car on a set of off-the-shelf rims. I’m talking pure conceptual work here.
 
Let’s consider a pencil and marker sketch versus one created on a tablet using pixels, or even a photograph: It’s not as though a photograph is providing you with a small, actual landscape or an 8×10-inch person to tote around; nor does the marker rendering, or even the digital sketch/painting. All are artistic REPRESENTATIONS of something, and require a certain set of skills to create with any success. Don’t get me wrong, there is a HUGE gap between the good and the terrible, and that comes down to knowing the tools (doubly-so for a digital artist seeking to emulate a traditional tool or media, as that artist needs to have experience in physical AND digital media) and using them as a craftsman should. There is good art in any medium, be it sculpture or painting or drawing or photography or motion pictures and more. Ability and drive and vision aren’t limited to one tool, and if you think that they are, then you are severely limiting your outlook.
 
The digital stuff suffers because it’s created using a bunch of ones and zeros and can be wiped from existence with a key stroke, but it has the ability to exist everywhere. You can scan an analog piece and share in that instant, global sharing, much as you can with a digital photograph… And you can lose the original by spilling coffee on it as well.
 
Oddly enough, each is nothing without the paper it’s presented upon. So do tell me again where digital art is some lesser form because doesn’t exist until it’s on paper. And good luck sharing that original analog piece on social media without scanning it into bytes of data. Tell me how digital “ruins” the art. Go right on ahead.

Spirit Animals and Blows to the Cranium

Transcendental Tuesday: Sleep Deprivation-Inspired Spiritual Hallucination Edition:

Anyone else find it statistically improbable that not one vegan who goes on some psychoactive-fueled journey EVER returns with news of their spirit animal being a Tiger Shark? I mean, as a carnivore, I once had a vision (following a pretty violent blow to the melon by an open cabinet door) that my spirit animal was broccoli, and it awakened a feeling of solidarity with the majestic green beast, and I began to wonder if tiny little birds built tiny little (well, slightly-bigger-but-tiny-in-proportion) nests within the broccoli branches, and that kinda freaked me the fuck out because accidentally chewing an itty-bitty beak would be like when you eat a clam and get some sand, and the grit is all like “CRUNCHACHRUNCHA-GRIND-GRIND-GRIND” and you have to spit it out. Only beaks would be worse, so I decided to never again eat broccoli. Also, I started a foundation (read as “tax exempt venture” or “Al Gore”) to keep zoos from displaying broccoli. To this day, not ONE municipal zoo has captive broccoli in their collection, thanks to the billions of supporters who read our propaganda, and failed biology in grammar school. But I digress.

I mean, consider that over the millennia, there had to be at least ONE vegan who craved a burger, or perhaps one Tiger Shark who, while munching on a hapless swimmer thought “you know, I need to stop this, because humans have feelings and lawn chairs that somehow wind up in the reef have a lot of fiber.” And, according to new age mumbo-jumbo, their souls must have crossed in the ether…

Food for thought the next time a bunch of you pile into Braiden’s Prius to head out to the festival: Your underarm scent may trigger an awakening in them, and then they’ll eat you. And probably your shoulder bag. And the floor mats. I mean those fuckers will eat anything, regardless of what color its aura may be. And if you have a friend named Aura, she’ll probably incite this shark-hippie hybrid much faster, because that’s how names work, so you’re best to just bike there anyway.

Fan Fiction Friday

Fan Fiction Friday, Amazon Reviews Edition:
 
Probably not what they were looking for, but then again, they seemed awfully eager to know what I had thought of the book I had just received, and not yet had the time to read… So I did what I could:
 
“PRO: I have spent many an hour pleasuring myself to the photograph of the author on the sleeve.
 
CONS: While this has been (for the most part) enjoyable, I would suggest renaming the outer cover from ‘sleeve’ to something more descriptive, like ‘crinkly, sharp-edged, glans-destroying, hard-to-clean fantasy accessory.’ Don’t get me wrong, it was much better than the cheese grater-like effect of, say, a V.C. Andrews die-cut job… And while I can certainly attribute SOME of the discomfort to technique, perhaps a warning regarding the dangers of a laceration (or MULTIPLE, perhaps) during periods of furious enjoyment would be helpful to some readers in the future.
 
Also, please suggest to the author that the photo on her next dust jacket not include her extended family, as it required some very crafty folding on my part to eliminate the effect of what can only be described as a very condescending facial expression on whom I perceive to be her pet cat, or perhaps a strangely small dog or misshapen troll creature.”

You Can’t Just Hand Someone Entitlement

A successful culture builds upon the past, providing each generation to follow with not only the tools to continue their growth, but the foundation to build upon.

However, watching these Sanders supporters in action, it’s painfully obvious that the new idea is to eliminate the last generation of free-thinking Americans. The ones who were fortunate enough to listen to first-hand accounts of horrors brought forth by rogue governments and dictators and despots. The generation following mine is somewhat clueless, having been the first of the hard-core “participation trophy” and “no-spanking” bullshit style of passive parenting. And THEIR kids, these miserable, candy-assed, lazy fucking douchebags…They teeter on barely functioning, intellectually, and utterly clueless issue-wise, yet they sure as hell have no problem rambling on and on via 140 character-long rants of piss-poor grammar. They’re distracted and entitlement-borne, and primed to usher in the golden age of another “leadership” disaster. And don’t kid yourself, you saw it this week already: The fix is in. They’re not even wasting time with the lube and dirty talk they had to employ in 2008 and ’12. They’re diving right on in, because they’ve already laid claim to it when you opened that door the first time.

Hyphenate it any way you want, but Socialism is Socialism, and it has NEVER WORKED, PERIOD. Erase history and rewrite it all you’d like, but simple facts remain. To function at even the most base levels, that idea requires a working class. And expecting that class to be earning a huge salary only leads to crippling inflation, and a lack of demand for product, which eliminates the jobs. The ouroboros eventually runs out of tail to munch upon.

Yet, if you’ve raised a couple of generations on empty promises and worthless goals like celebrity and material worship, anything with “free” in the name becomes nearly impossible to NOT want, and by the act of merely offering it you can garner support. After all, nobody actually expects it to be delivered upon; they’re conditioned to live for the thrill of that moment when it’s MENTIONED, bracketed by whatever hashtags are trending. It’s brainwashing and conditioning, and they’d realize this if they had to attend any of the classes they’ll pass simply for having signed-up in the first place. And you can’t expect any of them to pay for shit they don’t use, right?

It’s 2016, and the future is fucked.

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