The Frick: Good Art/ Funny Art/ Sad Art/ Bad Art... Save Yourself A Trip.

GOOD ART:

Nicolaes Ruts/ Rembrant

St. Jerome/ El Greco

Arrangement in Black and Gold: Compte Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac/ Whistler

Honorable Mentions ---> St. Francis in the Desert/ Bellini, The White Horse/ John Constable, Pietro Aretino/ Titian, The Forge/ Goya

FUNNY ART:

Thomas Cromwell/ Hans Holbien the Younger

SAD ART:
The Dead Thrush/ Houdon

BAD ART:

Pretty much everything else.
YEP. EVERYTHING.

25 degrees!!

21 degrees!

LEAP!

LEAP DAY!

What a beautiful, 18 degree, but flip-flop wearing, kind of mornin'!

LOVE IT!

XOXO

Ahem.

Dear Willie,
My love(r). Remember that night? Asheville, NC? Your 63rd birthday? Bus? Billowing Clouds of the MAD &*%^?
Remember my kiss? Right there? Yet another? Right there? A few more? Remember how you smiled? And said, "Yeah..."?

Okay! I KNOW you've all heard this story 3000 times. BUT, THIS IS IMPORTANT. Jeepers. Give a man a Cobb Salad and call it Barton Fink already!

Anyway.

So. I saw you on Ellen the other day and you were talking about horse slaughter. I love you more than than every last willow on any given wisp. AND, well, you were also talking about putting a stop to Pit Bull fighting. Your targeted region appears to be Atlanta, Georgia. UHHHM. How can I put this delicately? If you would be so kind as to swing your sweet ass on up my way, I will MORE than make it up to you. Hint. Kiss? Hint. There's a "project" I need your assistance with.

Most graciously,
Your Fair Sronce

All right now. That's the metal I hold, yo. We's gots ourselves some HEAT up in this juicebox.

Little Bugsy says:

OR ELSE:

New York has successfully turned me into this guy -->

Except with a bigger nose and thinner hair.


PS: Yes. My nose has actually gotten bigger since I moved to this candy apple town.

Barbara looked SO hot on Conan last night!

As they say down near City Hall - "She looked MEATS*!"


*Mr. Doyle says this. I'm almost certain, though, he's the only one who does.

Madame Tutli-Putli

Peter and the Wolf

I totally thought this guy was Zach Braff.

And that he could now only get work playing bizarrely bad Mexican stereotypes after threatening to punch that child in the face when he got punk'd.

Turns out it's not, and Zach Braff will continue to work as "himself".

Anyway, neither scenario pleases me AT ALL.

Birthday DEMANDS!

YOU HAVE 'TIL TOMORROW TO GET ME ALL OF THESE.

PS: I'll totally settle for Kartusch!!!!

My "type"

Concerning the audition - I guess I didn't NAIL it.

There are very few indications that "Sronce" is a "Woman in Comedy".

SRONCE IS COMEDY.

A perfect metaphor:

Sent to me by Jeffrey - the most awesome man in NYC.

Yeasayer on Conan!

"2080"

It was a JOYOUS performance.

BOSTON. You need to swallow. HARD.

Let a man live and love just for the goofy, harmless, Southern Baptist fun of it all for God's sake.

Who the fuck do you think you are?

You're dead, Boston.

YOU ARE DEAD.

I suggest you start patrolling the Karaoke bars. That is where you're truly being disparaged.

Grandmother Steps?

What is a blog?

Why the compulsion for such emphatic personal promotion?

Why the isolated desperation?

Is it for family? Friends? Strangers in strange lands? Or, for a sole stumblebunny in a slovenly slush hut?

Is it an endearing attempt to make oneself more understood?

Is it to express "critically important" opinions? On politics? On Britney?

Possibly, it is to drop extremely obscure references as I have in the title of this very post! Aren't I clever!

I have a dominating hunch that a good blog's job is to unabashedly reveal the writer's softest spot of heel, post after gut-wrenching post.

I have spared no reader my truth. So? Why dare I stop now?

Would you like yet another morsel concerning the inner workings of your most unwhisperable Sronce?

Sure. Sure, you would...my non-benumbed cherubim.

Fine.

Make mincemeat of me if you must, but I ardently adore this and it's practice:

Hats off to THE GRAMMYS!

What an excellent show!!!

Amy Winehouse was adorable and...WELL! Good for her!

I cannot believe all of the musicians we lost this year.

BIG TIME losses.

Not least, the loss of this guy?



PS: I sooo hope my Mom is trying to get a piece of that!

日本の旅行者のためのワシントン高さへのガイド(Guide to Washington Heights for Japanese Tourists)

私の付近に歓迎される日本の旅行者のためのワシントン高さへのガイド！


回廊〔修道院〕を見に、来てください！


有名なユニコーンタペストリーを見に、来てください!!



「小さい赤い灯台」を見に、来てください！モリスJumel大邸宅を見に、来てください！おお！


ここに見るべきとても多くの幻があります！

あなたの目をもてなしてください！

そして注意深くしてください。

Top Ten Reasons Why A Man Wears a Turtleneck --->

10. He simply can't be stopped.

9. He thinks he's a member of the Englewood soccer team, circa 1908.

8. He's this guy:

6. The kid stays in the turtleneck.

5. He's this guy:

4. Or this Icelandic girl:

3. He's totally HOT.

2. He's a member of the BESSIE PIECHOWIAK LEPCZYK FAMILY.

1. He hates me.

Critically important thoughts:

The above -----> sums up many of my feelings.

I've watched "Ratatouille" six times since yesterday.

I'll add:

1. I do love rats. When it comes to a rat in my wall, twelve rats in Subway, or a rat on the actual tracks...I am rooting for the rat. It's braver than you.

2. I also love pigeons and seagulls.

Pigeons are heartbreaking.


Seagulls are hilarious.


Perhaps, I prefer seagulls. But, again, the critical idea is that - I prefer them to you!

Concerning: OBSEQUIOUSNESS

There is NOTHING that makes me sicker.

* SEE: TRUCKLE

** okay fine... Mitt Romney made me sickest

Who could refuse this?

I'd hire him.

He could fight off all the Pit Bulls in my building.

AND get that metal piece out of my bathroom light socket.

Repulsion Attraction

A funny thing happened when I first saw this. A couple of funny things have happened since. With regard to this particular performance by Les Savy Fav on Conan O'Brian - my very NYC survival skills were completely thrown on their head and stomped, only to be gator-spun into nothing short of a chrysalis from which my tired heart would unknowingly burst through, newborn.

My eyes rejected what I saw. I was put into a state. I was furious in a way that was unseemly and unexpected. Yet, in no way inappropriate. This was the very, very WORST performance I HAVE EVER SEEN in my life. This was a bloated splooge of self love and I wanted to hurl. This red-legged devil-king of all that is megalomaniacal threw the very last strands of my tolerance into the disposal as I was desperately trying to find protection in a Barbie's sneaker. Concepcion could never have heard my screams.

Down I went.

I refuse to earmark all of the particularities of this performance. In a land where one can say exactly what one means and STILL be misunderstood, I abandon the right to knock each one of the violations.

Call this a performance, call this a fat joke, call this an example of, despite previous assumption, there really not being room enough for everyone's dreams and/or whims.

I hope I never see anything like it again.

I truly would rather lick gravel for a year.

However, sweet reader, I absolutely cannot deny the fact that buried underneath the layers of cape, tulip fold t-shirt tutu, puffed up flatulent quasi-anger, coin slot, eagle hat, cat-crawl crap...

lies a GREAT SONG!

I'm hooked.

I'm going to go and download it off iTunes right now.