We went to a nice restaurant Sunday night, it was deserted - as everyone in L.A. was home watching the Oscars. the food was great and the service was quick - nobody else there to serve and you know, you Gotta Serve Somebody.

We got home to see the final few awards. I’d like to see Lord of the Rings as some sort of parable of the art world. The ring is the meaning of art. Golem is Marcel Duchamp, someone who knows the truth of art better than anyone but wants to destroy anyone’s chances of possessing what he once had. The Hobbits could be like the Pop Artists, Warhol would be Frodo. Wait, why would they be on a quest to destroy the meaning of art? Figure it out and get back to me.

It would have been totally funny if one of the thousand LOTR award winners was an elf or a dwarf or some fucked-up Middle Earth creature. Best of all was when every fucking Rush Limbaugh nut is waiting for Tim Robbins to rant on and on about Bush and he talks to victims of abuse and tells them to save themselves. Next year at this time there will be the whole Mel Gibson parade. All the atheists who wear Dungeons and Dragons clothes will be pouting over Jesus H. Christ getting all the glory.

I have to write my official biography for a prestigious speaking appearance I am making at a University next week. They are paying me (quite well) to speak to their art majors about the art world. I sent one version and the administrator sent it back and reminded me of all sorts of stuff i have done that sounds impressive that i hadn’t even thought to mention. If you define success as people knowing your resume better than you do, than hey call my mom and tell her i am a success.

Don’t click this link if religious satire offends you. Here are some photoshopped Surprise Endings to The Passion of the Christ.

We went to see a show of Velvet Paintings at Bergamot Station - it was very good - a funny kitschy theme, but done without a hint of the tacky by all of the artists. Sandow Birk’s gas station landscapes benefitted from the rich darkness of the black velvet. It was at Bergamot, all pretty fun.

The other galleries had the usual product. Patricia faure Gallery had these awful quasi-spiritual landscapes with a bathed light semiotically delivering spiritual fulfillment. So fucking tacky, barf, and then meanwhile, across the lot, there is an artist at Ruth Bachofner’s who has landscapes of wild palm trees growing near abandoned parking lots, which were so more poetically spiritual and complete instead of that empty bourgeoise spiritual white light landscapes barf again.

We were going to watch a movie tonight but my girlfriend and I both got obsessive about our eBay auctions. We are in full-on selling mode.

Hey, Coagula’s New York correspondent Baird Jones notified me about this:

Tonight (Sat) at 10PM on VHI there is a show called When Disco Ruled the World which will have footage from Studio 54 from many years ago where Baird was working the ropes. According to the producer, they interviewed Baird at the club hanging out with Halston and Warhol who are also in the footage. They juxtaposed it with a current interview with Baird about what it was like to work at Studio 54.

The Morrissey show was pretty nice if you like crowd shots of club kids. It was subtle and artsy, smart in the good sense of calling art smart. There was a slight emphasis on the Latino heritage of a lot of the fans, one of the most interesting facets of Morrissey’s popularity. What started out as a career appealing to White New wave audiences in the mid-1980s now sees it most ardent admirers hailing from the working class of America’s Hispanic Southwest.

We came home and watched a DVD about Warhol, a netflix British documentary. Everyone who knew him had something completely different to say about him - and it was all psychological projection of themselves. There was a shot of Andy and my neighbor Chris, when he was young and bearded.

I got a job writing about baseball for Yahoo’s team pages, here is a link if you are interested. The article is sort of like art criticism analyzing the culture around a team. It just so happens to be my favorite baseball team.

I am curious and excited to see this show and will be dragging the girlfriend to see this one:

WILLIAM JONES: Is It Really  So Strange? , photographs of Morrissey fans.
Golinko Kordansky Gallery, 510  Bernard St., Chinatown; Feb. 27-April 9.
Reception Fri., Feb. 27, 6-9 p.m. (323)  222-1482.

We watched Talk To Her Thursday night at my place. We got it from netflix.
This was a profound, intense movie. I feel like crying but cannot.
I still have those Cat Stevens songs from H & M stuck in my head.

I look at the clock. It says 1:35 p.m.
Yesterday, this was when I woke up.
Today, I have already been up and completed the essentials.
What are the essentials?

coffee - cereal - check email (respond to urgent emails)
check drudge to make sure the world hasn’t blown up
check the weather(Yahoo sucks, anyone have a good weather site suggestion?)
get the mail - have an espresso if the coffee at home didn’t cut it
check the phone messages (respond to the urgent phone mesages).

So I am far ahead today from where I was at this time yesterday.

A museum is only valuable because it preserves a cross-section of what is made now and holds it to be seen as-is in the future. More than just curiosities, the art from yesterday that we see on display is meant, by virtue of its inclusion and exhibition, to indicate where we were and where we are now, a duality of values for all people to ponder, a reflective self-examination that is augmented by the scope and scale of time and our place in it.

So the goal of the artist MUST be to have your artworks end up in museums. To do this you suck ass and go to the right parties and be someone who you are not at all and you meet the right people and you suck the right dick and you wind up in the right galleries and they work the museum personell and the institution acquires some of your artworks which is all empty product reflecting the empty soul that produced it and since it all sucks dogshit the msueum throws it out fifty years later.