Last night a question rang out from the television which stopped me in my tracks.
“Is your beauty regime only doing half the job?”
“Beauty regime?” I thought. “What beauty regime?”
Since Alain had fitted the shower filter I no longer even used a moisturiser.
I didn’t have a beauty “modus operandi” or even a beauty “system” let alone a “regime”.
That I needed a “regime” for my beauty was most alarming.
The word “regime” had militaristic overtones; Hitler had a regime!
Until now I had been blissfully unaware that there was a war going on and my face was under siege.
The shrill and accusatory tone of the question, implied that to have a beauty regime doing only half the job was bad, to have no regime at all was cataclysmic.
After all, look what happened to Poland!
I slipped out of the room, not wishing to alarm Alain, whose faith in my cosmetic free, natural beauty had always been touchingly absolute, and set a path for the bathroom mirror. I needed to assess the damage that the tanks of time had tracked across my defenseless face. The trench-like lines, the enlarged pores scattered like fallen soldiers, the hidden minefield of future blemishes ready to tear apart the once peaceful landscape of my youth.
A thought struck me, perhaps a little diplomatic intervention could avert open warfare, buy me some time until I could get a regime in place.
“Product” I cried.
I needed product; cleansers, toners, lifters, lowerers, plumpers and extractors.
Day creams and night gels.
Masks and dermabrasives
Feverishly I recalled a program I had watched about Botox.
“a non-invasive procedure which has the duel benefit of reducing lines already present and preventing more from forming” an ageless (and strangely expressionless) blonde American had burbled perkily, while her face had slid gracelessly off her skull and on to the floor.
Surely, with my fortieth birthday looming in a matter of months, things had gone too far for such half measures.
I needed to enlist the services of a cosmetic surgeon.
But who?
A man of ordinary talents could never win in the face of such adversity. I needed a “Menzies” of a surgeon, a “Churchill” even!
“Never give in, never, never, never, never…”
Someone who could lead my sad and sagging visage to a victory over time and neglect.
I stumbled into the bathroom, groping desperately for the light switch. I staggered toward the mirror and took a long, hard, look… and had to admit I really didn’t look that bad. Certainly better than someone without a “beauty regime” deserved to look according to the television.
I may postpone implementing the regime for another forty years.
Has anyone seen Fossil lately?
Last night I finished reading the Da Vinci Code, ( I was given a copy, I did not buy it!) and I must say I cannot for the life of me figure out what all the fuss was about. It is a long time since I have read such a badly written, ill-conceived, contrived, and boringly predictable piece of pulp. That people actually thought this book was factual is beyond me.
When I was about 15, I read a Danielle Steele book and I strongly suspect that Dan Brown went trawling through some of her books for his characters; Robert Langdon with his “strong jaw and thicket of dark hair”, Sophie Neveu with her “thick unstyled burgundy hair” and her “incisive and clear olive green eyes”
Thicket of dark hair - PLEASE!!!
The spoon-feeding that goes on in this novel is second only to a Ron Howard film, exacerbated by the annoying convention of writing every major piece of information in italics - just in case we are soooooooo stupid we miss one of the hidden clues, that are as well concealed as a ham bone in a punch bowl!
Now I am not really big on puzzles, but the fact that I guessed the answers to most of the riddles in the book long before any of the characters, shows that either I have a mind of pure genius or that the puzzles themselves were really not that difficult.
In closing I can only be thankful I did not actually pay money for this terrible work and have only to regret the time I gave to it.
PS
How hilarious - I have just googled The Da Vinci Code movie - only to find that it was a Ron Howard film! I had no idea - how perfect!
Well, today I took my two toddlers and went to see the Guggenheim Collection.
It’s great and I’m totally inspired.
There is one work that I would like to talk about, as it has come under a fair bit of fire on the old Nook.
The Felix Gonzalez-Torres untitled work in question is a large pile of black rod licorice candy, individually wrapped in cellophane.
I have in the past had difficulty penetrating sculpture of this nature and so approached the work pre-disposed not to like it. However, turning a corner and coming upon it suddenly, it revealed itself to be a remarkably eloquent work of art.
The clear cellophane wrapping gives the candy, which is a very specific shape and size, an overall sheen of gun-metal grey and for all the world, this sculpture resembles a huge pile of gift-wrapped bullets.
That the work is speaking of war is immediately clear. Despite already knowing the subject was the Gulf war, a very small amount of investigation would have brought me to that conclusion. Nowhere else in history has a shocking conflict been so audaciously presented in the guise of a gift. Phrases like “operation Iraqi freedom” and the “gift of democracy” immediately sprang to mind.
Further inquiry into this piece reveals that this is no random pile of sweets thrown into a corner. The choices that the artist made were incredibly specific, considered and above all absolutely deliberate.
For instance, the artist chose a clear cellophane wrapping which serves three purposes. Firstly it creates the militaristic shade of grey. Secondly it presents the bullet as a gift. Lastly, perhaps most importantly, it is see through, highlighting that despite one of the finest propaganda campaigns in history, the motives behind the Gulf War have always been totally transparent.
Having had the criticism of “pile of poo” leveled at it, I wanted to understand why the artist had presented the work in such a way. I believe that the sweets were piled on the floor because it made them appear beyond counting, in the way that the bullets that rain down on the inhabitants of Iraq are despairingly endless. To contain them in any sort of vessel would have diminished the “infinite” quality of the work. Again, I feel this was a deliberate choice on the artists part, made clearer by the chilling message on the title notice next to the work. Endless supply.
On this note, it seems fitting that the pile should be replenished each day, not by the artist but a faceless worker, systematically. Is this not how a war is fueled? Systematically by faceless cogs in a machine?
There was still more to be learned from this work. Why not use, for instance, actual bullets instead of bullet shaped sweets? While viewing the artwork we were encouraged to take a sweet from the pile. Why was my participation so intrinsic to the meaning of this work that it required a gallery assistant on stand by to make sure I knew to take one? Why were my children particularly told to take one? For one quick moment I thought the artist was trapping me. By eating a lolly was I becoming complicit in the war? I dismissed the idea, the sweet was good and the feeling was far more optimistic. As I sucked on the licorice, I thought to myself “I have just used my mouth to dissolve a bullet .”
Perhaps the artists message is one of hope and encouragement. Everybody, men, women and children alike must use their mouths to dissolve this conflict. If we all speak out against it, there is hope. Although the words “endless supply” mock our attempts, the words of Harper Lee came to me as we walked away “even though you’re licked before you begin, you begin anyway and see it through”.
If it had not been for your post Fossil, I may not have gone to see the exhibition so I must thank you for bringing this work to my attention. I have to say that having seen it and participated in it, I consider it to be an intelligent and succinct work by an extremely talented artist.
You are a very intelligent man Fossil. I’m sure you are intelligent enough to see that you may have made a mistake regarding this particular piece of ART.
It’s a Picasso
A child could have done it
THAT’S A GOOD THING!
I was just going through some of my past work and thought I would post this. It is the script from a show I put together in Amsterdam in 2001. The Work was inspired by the Picasso masterpiece “Guernica.”
The bombing of Guernica was the first time civilians had been deliberately targeted in a war.
Why
Never again. This.
What is this?
Always
Never again,again,again, always
Fail worse
Fail better
Back to the beginning
A horse
galloping
made of iron
a great wind
children running
a woman in pain
windows
doors
open,
shut,
lit,
dark
A figure leaps.
From a window?
A figure,
made of newspaper,
cries.
Listen
Time passes
Is this how we are?
Is this how it could be?
How?
Could be.
What is this?
Do we have courage?
Listen
Is this light enough to see by?
Shhhhhh
Are we here now?
Why
Never again. This
What is this?
Always
Never again,again,again, always
Fail worse
Fail better
Back to the beginning
A window
smell of cooking
It is good
Figure
made of newspaper
dancing.
His joints have eyes.
Figures
newsprint figures.
Dance
Listen
Time passes
See
Why
Never again. This
What is this?
Always
Never again,again,again, always
Fail worse
Fail better
Back to the beginning
A window
A woman painting
Four brushes
made from her hair.
She stops
Where?
Where he is.
He?
He.
Can you have two things in the same place?
Listen
They speak
in the language of eyes
Why
Never again. This
What is this?
Why?
Always
Never again,again,again, always
Fail worse
Fail better
Back to the beginning
But not the same place.
Change.
Movement is change.
Listen
Wind roaring
blast after blast
blast after blast
Standing
Falling
Failing
Power
Back to the beginning
Where to stop
When to stop
Why to stop
Not to stop
The first bell rings
Ding a ling a ling a ling
Stay with me
Singing
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
I’m gonna stay on the battlefield
“Til I die
What is this?
Bombardment
red impenetrable debris
Listen
How long is fifteen minutes?
A life
Listen
How long is a second
Back to the beginning
Last night
a window
left open.
Blinding electric light.
Shocking
A woman with a lamp
Mother?
A climbing figure
A fallen warrior
Run woman Run
fight or die
music from the horse’s mouth
A bull stare
Listen
Back to the beginning
In the beginning
Words
Movement
Music
See?
In the beginning
Light.
Why do parents insist on taking their kids out when they are sick?
19 Answers Published 1 year, 7 months ago in Kids stuff.The other day we went to Rare Bears - an indoor playground for kids. It is a great place to go and my kids thoroughly enjoy it. There is a contained area for kids under 4 with a good variety of things to do to keep them occupied for a couple of hours. There are also seats all the way around this area so parents can sit and supervise their children whilst they are playing. Outside the main play areas is a cafe/ restaurant.
While we were there I noticed a little boy no more than 2 1/2 with thick green snot running down his face. Every now and then he would wipe at it with his hands and in doing so smear it all over whatever he was playing with at the time. He was fractious and whingy and it was clear to me that he was not a well little boy.
Eventually this poor little chap took a bit of a tumble and became quite upset. He started calling for his mother who was nowhere to be seen. Eventually I could bear it no longer and I approached the little fellow and asked him where his mummy was, but he was not in any state to be communicative. I had to leave my kids to search amongst the parents in the cafe. I found his mother at the far end of the complex drinking coffee with a large, noisy group of mothers. Having alerted her to the distress of her child she came and stood by him while he played for about 10 minutes in an embarrassed sort of way and she was clearly more worried about what I thought of her as a mother than the actual well being of her child.
Her son simply should not have been there, he was sick! Two days later both my children had runny noses and so, much to my considerable annoyance, do I.
Aside from leaving her two year old unsupervised, I really feel that this woman could have forgone coffee with her friends until such time as her child was no longer ill and contagious. However if it was really too hard to stay at home with a sick little boy she could have been considerate enough to stay by him and wipe his nose occasionally to contain the spread of his germs a little.
Am I being unreasonable?
Hey Shadow and John - thanks for organising a lovely afternoon. I’m so glad we were able to make it after all. It was great to meet you and the other nooksters! Gorgeous day! Beautiful place! Who could ask for anything more (apart from rhythm and music). Keep us posted about the exhibition.
I was sent this via email the other day.
If you love horses you will get a kick out of it. If you don’t know much about Dressage it is still well worth a look. The video is of Andreas Helgstrand and his 9 year-old mare, Matinee, at the World Equestrian Games, in the Musical Freestyle Dressage competition. It is an astonishing partnership and a wonderful display of communication and trust between what are clearly two very good friends.
I also think this clip shows us that music can be understood and felt by all living things. This Mare knows every beat and her enjoyment of the dance is apparent!
Let me know what you think
http://beboframe.com/FlashFrame.jsp?Size=S&FlashBoxId=3309347442
