May 2006 Archives
Headline: Hitler forced to change undrwear by court order, world saved
by Mr. Fish
May 26, 2006 9:05 AM
Headline: Hitler forced to change undrwear by court order, world saved
by Mr. Fish
May 26, 2006 9:05 AM
All three of these bear the date 11/25/84. I remember some details of the day. I was a freshman art student at Rutgers University and had just gotten the thick black frame glasses, modeled more on Arthur Miller and Jean Paul Sartre than Woody Allen, that I still wear today. It was the beginning of me feeling very brilliant and misunderstood all the time, mostly as result of my eyewear and new dedication to messy hair and the word fuck. The day of 11/25/84 began with an early morning bus ride to Princeton University. I was there to do my one and only ever copy of another artist's work for drawing class. I found the exercise pointless. I felt like Bob Dylan wasting an hour to learn how to master Hurdy Gurdy Man note for note. Inside the Princeton Museum I found Millet's The Gleaners, which was on loan for the year I think, and copied it and got back on the bus before lunch. On the ride back to Rutgers I grew steadily nauseous and, leaving the bus, ran to the bathroom at the dining hall and threw up the egg and bacon sandwich I had at 6 a.m. Feeling feverish I stopped at the campus medical center to see if I was coming down with the flu and I drew the second drawing while I waited, weak and nearly cross-eyed. I left the medical center before I was seen and went back to my dorm to sleep, facedown, still wearing sneakers. I was woken up in the late afternoon by a girl from one of my art classes who had gotten me the British version of the Beatles album Help!, which contained 14 songs, 4 more than the Capitol version. I never knew the girl's name and always had the creepy feeling that she thought I was somebody else; she called me Paul and I never corrected her the whole semester. Lacking a record player in my room, we went back to her's. It was raining and freezing outside. We listened to the record, drank strawberry milk, argued about Dali, who I said was the Geddy Lee of art and should have his personality packaged and sold as a cologne for heavy masturbators, she blew me (dispite our disagreement) and I drew her with a black magic marker and an orange highlighter pen (browned over time) yanked from her egghead roommate's physics book. One month later to the day the baby Jesus was born and the world grew steadily worse and my grandmother got me a very red sweater.
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All three of these bear the date 11/25/84. I remember some details of the day. I was a freshman art student at Rutgers University and had just gotten the thick black frame glasses, modeled more on Arthur Miller and Jean Paul Sartre than Woody Allen, that I still wear today. It was the beginning of me feeling very brilliant and misunderstood all the time, mostly as result of my eyewear and new dedication to messy hair and the word fuck. The day of 11/25/84 began with an early morning bus ride to Princeton University. I was there to do my one and only ever copy of another artist's work for drawing class. I found the exercise pointless. I felt like Bob Dylan wasting an hour to learn how to master Hurdy Gurdy Man note for note. Inside the Princeton Museum I found Millet's The Gleaners, which was on loan for the year I think, and copied it and got back on the bus before lunch. On the ride back to Rutgers I grew steadily nauseous and, leaving the bus, ran to the bathroom at the dining hall and threw up the egg and bacon sandwich I had at 6 a.m. Feeling feverish I stopped at the campus medical center to see if I was coming down with the flu and I drew the second drawing while I waited, weak and nearly cross-eyed. I left the medical center before I was seen and went back to my dorm to sleep, facedown, still wearing sneakers. I was woken up in the late afternoon by a girl from one of my art classes who had gotten me the British version of the Beatles album Help!, which contained 14 songs, 4 more than the Capitol version. I never knew the girl's name and always had the creepy feeling that she thought I was somebody else; she called me Paul and I never corrected her the whole semester. Lacking a record player in my room, we went back to her's. It was raining and freezing outside. We listened to the record, drank strawberry milk, argued about Dali, who I said was the Geddy Lee of art and should have his personality packaged and sold as a cologne for heavy masturbators, she blew me (dispite our disagreement) and I drew her with a black magic marker and an orange highlighter pen (browned over time) yanked from her egghead roommate's physics book. One month later to the day the baby Jesus was born and the world grew steadily worse and my grandmother got me a very red sweater.
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Here is a self-portrait of Mr. Fish at 17. I imagined, at the time, that this was a genius depiction of an artist brilliantly misusing his talents; unusable for high school art class, inappropriate for Grandma's refrigerator, meaningful only after a highly intellectual conversation heavily stocked with French words and pretention. I pretended it was the bedrock for all future construction of my character. You be the judge.
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Here is a self-portrait of Mr. Fish at 17. I imagined, at the time, that this was a genius depiction of an artist brilliantly misusing his talents; unusable for high school art class, inappropriate for Grandma's refrigerator, meaningful only after a highly intellectual conversation heavily stocked with French words and pretention. I pretended it was the bedrock for all future construction of my character. You be the judge.
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This is what living with a sexy egghead looks like much of the time.
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Cobrasnake in Mexico City, 8/19/08
Also the Boredoms and friends set up 88 drum kits in the La Brea tar pits -
Nightranger: LCD Soundsystem and Mondo Hollywood shows
The Wooly Bandits and a Hollywood pool party -
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Air Apparent: Photos from China's Most Polluted Province
In Shanxi Province, the pollution problem is even worse than you thought… View Slideshow »
Air Apparent: Photos from China's Most Polluted Province
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