A quick note for you while Allison is sleeping (appallingly, I might add) in the hideous yellow-walled 'room' through the kitchen - God knows how I'm even working this dadgum contraption you kids call 'modern technology', but here I am, typing like an underpaid secretary.
I read your obtuse and doltish comments yesterday and today and found myself compelled to leave 'posts' after each one that said, "MEDIOCRE".... or "INEFFECTIVE" - just that; simple one-word responses to your mockery of my job as inner critic for this useless blonde artist woman I have been assigned to for life.
(and ohhhh, how long life really is...)
I didn't come to this job as an I.C. without a tremendous resume to back up my scathing performance reviews - no!!! Why, I've had a lifetime of thumbing my nose at poor quality!!
When I was but a lad of three my mother put a bowl of chocolate pudding before me in my high chair, pudding I had watched her make (how in earth this gruel took three hours to create I will never understand) in the kitchen over the tops of my misshapen wooden blocks, 'playing' as all children are required to do.....
She laid out a small spoon on a pathetically folded napkin and said, "Chocolate pudding, Munson!" while her eyes positively dripped with ham-fisted anticipation.
I took a bite: watery, drab and completely lacking a certain "Je ne sais Quoi" that chocolate pudding must have to be considered edible....
Lacking the ability to form these complicated and terribly French words, I managed to spit out "BAD!" Fair, honest, upright.
As I watched the color rise to my mother's disappointed cheeks, I knew I was destined be a critic for the rest of my days, for better or worse.
Some things are meant to be, as warbles the buffoonish "King" of rock and roll, the overrated Elvis, he of overdose and fried sandwhich fame...
So foist your fedoras and mundane cocktails on another, less concise and discerning old man: I know if I continue to show you 'creative types' the error of your ways in bothering to 'craft' anything the rest of us can get along more efficiently for the lack of noise and distracting sight gags you call art. And music.
Good Day, Pedestrian Amateurs,
Munson the I.C.