It’s nice to have Mr Massow to talk about again – plasticbag.org just doesn’t feel the same without his regular appearances. It doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to make the ICA love-in this evening, which is a terrible shame, so I’m just going to have to make do with Ian’s brief history of the man himself.
And the media blitz continues with an article featuring myself, her from not so soft and that Dan Hon fella over at the BBC: I blog, therefore I am.
It’s probably not a great sign of general ‘having-a-life-ness’ when you’re sat in front of computer at half-past midnight, hear the ‘ping’ of new e-mail and start chanting under your breath, “Please be interesting, please be interesting, please be interesting, please be interesting….”
A late night ungodly and foul mood after eight hours of work on a Sunday evening with two or three more to go, summed up by a Nick Cave song featuring these lyrics:
Since I was no bigger than a weavil
They’ve been saying I was evil,
That if “bad” was a boot then I’d fit it,
That I’m a wicked young lady,
But I’ve been trying hard lately…
Aw fuck it… I’m a monster… I admit it….La la la la, la la la lie,
I’m happy as a lark now,
Everything is fine
La la la la, la la la lie,
Everything is groovy,
Everything is fine,
La la la la, la la la lie,
All God’s children…
They all gotta die
So it looks like my landlord isn’t looking to extend our lease after the end of April, which essentially means that I’m going to have to find a new flat to live in around that time – and probably new people to live with as Kate and Mella look to be going their own way. Possibly together. Possibly not. The financial consequences of finding a new flat are always unpleasant – as is the whole prospect of finding a new place, which is a process that I despise. And of course it would all be substantially easier if I had a regular full-time job to go to rather than endless freelance work.
Today I will be mostly grinding away at a tedious site build that I’ve built about a thousand times before and which I’m now getting thoroughly sick of. But I need the money.
Do you need more clarification on the whole Mr Massow vs the ICA debate? The Schmews has all the answers: “Tracey Emin today blasted comments by Ivan Massow, head of the Institute of Contemporary Arts, who said that most conceptual art was “nothing but a pile of old crap” as a deliberate attempt to upstage and leak details of her latest masterpiece “A Steaming Lump Of Shit Wot I Did”.”
Do you have a spare space on your mantlepiece that can support an eight-foot tall, 1.8 tonne marble statue of Margaret Thatcher? If you are inclined to house the Iron Lady’s monstrous visage, then raise your hand now.
In August 2000 I stumbled upon a list of amusing headlines – headlines which for one reason or another had rather dubious double meanings. The headlines read as follows:
For what may very well be completely spurious reasons, I decided that these headlines would be even more amusing with some visual aids to support them – and so I put out a call to the weblogging community of the time. With hilarious consequences…
| “Kids make nutritious snacks” by David Pannett |
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| “Prostitutes appeal to Pope” by Meg Pickard |
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| “Include your children when baking cookies” by Brad Morse |
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| “Chef throws his heart into helping feed needy” by Neale Talbot |
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| “Minors refuse to work after death” by Meg Pickard |
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| “Police begin campaign to run down jaywalkers” by Jason Theriault |
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| “Panda mating fails, veterinarian takes over” by Marshall |
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| “Panda mating fails, veterinarian takes over” by Meg Pickard |
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| “Local high school dropouts cut in half” by David Pannett |
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Unfortunately there’s one entry (never before seen) that I have lost the original contributor for. If you made it, please let me know!
| “Red tape holds up new bridges” |
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Word on the street is that there will be a “Free The Mayfair One” demonstration outside the ICA on Monday at 6pm. It looks like Mr Massow may be being asked to step down as the Chairman of the ICA just because he called Conceptual Art a great big pile of saggy dad’s pants. The potential for an entertaining evening is huge – whatever ludicrous position you decide to occupy.