The Week In Review

Seriously, you could have some kick-ass paintball wars in here.

I went to the Phoenix Art Museum this weekend, and for a place that has so many paintings of nudes they’re surprisingly uptight about people showing up without clothes on. They also don’t let you play paintball inside. Hey, Phoenix Art Museum: You know why you have to resort to private donations to stay open? Because you need to lighten the fuck up, that’s why. Yes, those are my children, yes, they’re pretty young, and yes, I gave them Sharpies to play with. What of it?

Just kidding, I’d never take my children to a serious art museum. I have too much appreciation for art. I’m not saying anything negative about my kids when I tell you that they would seriously fuck up an art museum. They’re just at an age when they’re more impressed with their own artistic abilities than that of others. If I brought them to a real art museum, within 15 minutes a security guard would be yelling, “All right, who wrote ‘Poop’ on the Degas?”

Actually, maybe I should bring them with me next time. I think I like art museums better in theory than in practice. Whenever you see an art museum on TV or in the movies, the scene is always the same: Quiet rooms with well dressed people lost in thought as they admire great art. And as a debonair man in a tuxedo gazes at Toulouse-Lautrec’s The Kiss, a ravishing young woman in a stunning evening gown approaches him and asks, “What do you see in this?” Witty banter is exchanged, sparks fly, and in no time the two of them are full-out porking. Now that is a motherfucking art museum!

Unfortunately, art museums are never like this. When you approach someone and say, “What do you see?”, for instance, they’re likely to say something seriously non-artistic such as, “What are you doing in the women’s restroom?” And art museums are not quiet places, at least not in Phoenix. We’ve got a lot of seniors down here, and that means there’s a lot of public discourse going on at insanely loud levels.


Old Man: IT’S A BOAT!

Old Lady: NO, IT’S NOT A GOAT!




Cashier: Actually, those are the admission prices to the museum. I’ll just go ahead and apply the senior citizen discount.




I also noticed a lack of sophistication in the air. Now, I’m not some snobbish, upper-crust plutocrat who looks down his nose at others. Far from it. But the guy in the NASCAR t-shirt who was going from painting to painting, pronouncing each one “Crap!” after a quick glance was not someone I would invite over to my house unless the septic tank needed to be emptied. I get it, dude. You were trying to make your girlfriend laugh. But she wasn’t laughing, she was engaged in something that I would call turbo-blushing, while everyone else was thinking one of two thoughts:

  • What an asshole
  • If they ever start putting birth control in pork rinds, he’s the reason why

He reminded me of a guy in front of me once in Colossal Cave outside of Tucson. The guide had said something that ended with the word “time”, and the guy turned and looked at his girlfriend and spouted the most insanely stupid stream-of-consciousness crap I’ve ever heard in person.

“Time? Lime! Rhyme! Mime! Father-time, no-time, Country Time… … … time.”

This put both him and his girlfriend into utter hysterics, and they doubled over in laughter in front of me as I stared openly at them. Finally, they noticed me looking at them, and I said, “You guys are high, aren’t you?” I could tell by the panicked look they got on their face and the fact that they turned away from me and acted as if that whole scene had never happened that I was right.

But the NASCAR guy didn’t have the excuse of good drugs to mitigate his behavior. He was just a fucking goober. There’s a list of things they won’t allow you into an art museum with: Paintball guns, X-Acto kinves, flamethrowers, and the like. They need to add NASCAR t-shirts to the list. I mean, it’s not like artists show up at NASCAR events with a canvas and art supplies in tow…

Pass the Pork Rinds by Billy-Bob Monet

Pass the Pork Rinds by Billy-Bob Monet

On to the week you missed while you were asking which room had all the velvet Elvis portraits in it…

Finally, several readers have asked me to come up with a new Poll of the Moment because this one was just so horrifying:

Ladies, if you had to fellate one of the following, which would it be?

  • Carrot Top (28%, 7 Votes)
  • A Homeless Dude (20%, 5 Votes)
  • Rosie O'Donnell (20%, 5 Votes)
  • Hitler (16%, 4 Votes)
  • OJ Simpson (16%, 4 Votes)

Total Voters: 25

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Fine. I’ve changed it. As you can see, I’ve gone the classy route.

Another week has begun. Onward and upward, people.

13 Responses to “The Week In Review”

  1. Heather says:

    I’m with you. Museums kill me. I can do an hour at the most. If the fellow lookers don’t get to me, the walking and observing will totally do me in. It’s too bad really. It would be so much more interesting if I could grope the paintings. Maybe rub my face on them to see how scratchy they are. That would satisfy my touchy feely needs.

    • Greg says:

      I get a mental picture of you being approached by security in a museum:

      Guard: Have you been touching the artwork?

      Heather: (with paint all over face) No.

  2. LA Juice says:

    YAE ART!!! One of my favorite American artists is Ed Mell, and when I visit family in your neck of the woods, I like to go see the bucking bronco statue and gallery in Tempe. He also played a pivotal role in my moving out of the Midwest. My uncle gave me an autographed book of Ed Mell Prints. Ed wrote “Go West, Young Woman.”

    cool dude, huh!?

  3. Vonny says:

    One of my last visits to the art gallery here was to see some Rembrandt sketches of scenes from biblical stories. I really really wanted to jump the fucking stupid velvet rope and touch the sketches, stroke them gently, but definitely get a feel of them. I had to cross my arms and bite my lip through most of the exhibit.

    I guess Rembrandt would have been pleased.

    • Greg says:

      Pleased with your behavior, sure. But he’d have been fucking PISSED at the museum, and one thing I learned from art history classes is that Rembrandt could fuck some motherfuckers up! (I, uhhh, spaced out a lot in that class.)

  4. Vesta Vayne says:

    I’m fine if I’m going to view just one exhibit at a museum, but I can’t make a day of it.

    • Greg says:

      Depends on the exhibit and the museum, for me. Straight art? 2 hours, 3 hours tops if I really push it.

      But cool museums with dinosaur bones, Egyptian mummies and the like? All day and then some.

      Best museum I’ve ever been to: The Museum of Science & Industry in Chicago. It’s full of amazing shit (an actual coal mine, a captured WWII-era German sub, etc.) and you can touch/play with almost all of it. I could live in that place for weeks.

  5. Reanna says:

    Not to be an asshole or anything, but can you clarify this week’s poll before I answer?

    Are we talking a healthy live giraffe (wild or in a zoo?), a dead giraffe of opportunity, a moderately ill giraffe with a limp to slow it down, or pieces of a now (presumably) dead giraffe? What about toy giraffes?

  6. Lilah says:

    Last time I checked, museums and paintball just don’t mix! 🙂 Although it would be extremely amusing to see them together.

    • Greg says:

      Ooh, I see what you did there, Lilah. You snuck a link into a comment. How clever! I, however, am cleverer and removed it. BUWAHAHAHAHA!!!

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