New Affordable Website and Call to Yous Millionaires
Yous on purpose from Blandina Street, Utica, NY
My old website was too big, too loud and too expensive for me to sell zero paintings and books. I’ve built my own (sort of), for a third of the price, and more gadgets are forthcoming, which should keep me occupied while pretending I’m all the rage over at Artnews, as well as that always upbeat organization and super helpful friend to the people—The Philosophical Association.
My greatest hope this week?
That it doesn’t snow.
Tell me, what is the “it” in “It doesn’t snow?”
Answer that, and you’ve solved nature.
So please head over to the Ron Throop artist website. This weekend I’ll create a little store, and maybe a podcast of bird interviews. “What amenities has an Oswego winter provided yous guys, Mr. and Mrs. Stupid Goose?” Is my usage of “yous” in the previous sentence a Utica common parlance, gender-neutral second-bird plural pronoun? You, ga-honk, betcha!
Dammit I hope Rose can learn to re-love her work without letting it annihilate her well-being joy. I read little Zen poems to her each morning (to her chagrin and buttered toast toleration), after waking her with a lower back rub and 12 minute “win one for the Gipper” coaching. On Monday I bureaucraticized, as she is prone to do, for 9 hours straight at my unpaid office job, organizing entries into a readable folder for overpaid jurors to access. At wit’s end, which was two hours into the process, I became a cantankerous surly jerk. At four hours in, protesting back muscles layed down in resistance, while my already gluteus minimus slid off the bone. For the remaining hours I called my life mean names as the heart a-fibbed Max Roach improvisations.
I need to paint more. And all I ask of yous is connection to the richest of roughly cultured millionaires. People of great stupid wealth to authenticate my paintings with several thousand dollar purchases. I need to mark up my items above ranges of supermarket cereal aisle, else condemn Rose to the anguish that will heavily burden even the lightest and brightest of personalities eventually.
I hear her blow-drying now.
Mr. Toaster I’m on my way!