January 19, 2011

Paul Cézanne : The Definitive and Complete Biography

Filed under: Our World — boomaga @ 4:58 am

Today is Paul Cézanne’s birthday. He’s really old and dead. Don’t bake him a cake – he can’t eat it, he’s dead. Plus, diabetic. Here’s more about him than you deserve to know:

Paul Cézanne was born on January 19, 1839 in Heille-y-eux in southern France. His father, Albért, was a barker in the local circus sideshow. There he ran a midway game where contestants paid 2 francs for three chances to knock over stacked bottles with a small veal medallion. Though the game was very profitable, his custom of eating the misfired cutlets soon led to quite a problem in finding pants in his size.

Paul’s mother was an educated woman, said to be literate in seven language, but had a habit of making every circumflex heart-shaped and so was not taken seriously when writing in French. She won her son’s affection by defending him from his father, who would fly into a tirade when his chronic indigestion was aggravating him. The tirade, of Italian marble, caused multiple contusions about Msr. Cézanne’s head and neck despite his safety helmet, and would eventually spell his dèmise.

Paul begun his classical education at the Collège Bourbon-Whiskey, and in 1858 he entered the art school of Universite de Haix. After two years, he convinced his father to allow him to leave Haix U. pursue a career in meteorology. He entered the Atelier Ouatte in Paris, but his thesis on sexual tension in cirrus clouds was rejected by the school and he returned to Haix.

He took a position at the carnival, at a novelty stand where, for just a few centimes, the struggling artist drew portraits in charcoal and markers-magique. This earliest period was known as “Ears Longa, Vitals Brevis”, characterized by subjects with disproportionately huge heads in profile, thatched to tiny bodies performing the patron’s favorite sport or hobby. Those pieces which are unmarred by polish sausage grease stains show the first glimmers of the inner turmoil which were to surface in Cézanne’s later years, and are extremely rare, though not especially in demand with serious collectors and in fact, can be found gracing the walls of the No Smoking suites of the La Quinta Inn in Cody, Wyoming.

Paul gave up, as all great artists must, and returned to Paris. Here he entered his Formatif period from 1867 to spring 1868, then again from autumn 1868 to 1871, after a summer stint as an Homme de Bon Humour. He fell under the influence of Napoleon the IIIrd’s Salon de Refusee [Trashy Hair Styling Shop]. This group of dandies and artistes rejected and were rejected by the followers of the academic formats (Romantic, Neoclassical, Adult Contemporary, Easy Listening, and Album-Oriented)

Cézanne took up with the “Depressionists”, a small, dirty band of rowdies with a particular predilection for a certain “M. Gottard’s Original Curative Laudanum Elixir”. Cézanne was rude, socially withdrawn, and moody, but was tolerated because his mustache was so immaculately trimmed and free of baguette crumbs. Artistically, he inspired the artists’ reassessment of representation of objects, holding that commonplace objects should no longer be painted in the usual sentimental style, though most outsiders would misinterpret these flashes of brilliance as inarticulate gurgling by a opiated lunatic who meticulously collected his own drool in a neat puddle on the table and snarled and barked like a dog if anyone attempted to wipe it up.

Courbet, already the toast of the art world, known to cavort with Cézanne and the Depressionists, was a favorite of the most important critics of the time though he was never formally charged by the authorities as the local civil law statutes could not clearly define illegal cavorting. Another Depressionist, Eugène Delacroix, whose compositions depended solely on color instead of line, was gaining recognition from the press, though not so much for his paintings as his ability to suck an empty wine bottle onto his unusually distended tongue and swing it back and forth until the bottle shattered against his forehead.

During this period Cézanne’s paintings exhibited a looseness and blatant disregard for anyone’s feelings. One critic wrote upon viewing Cézanne’s Les Twins-doublements:

In Cézanne’s work there is a certain aggressiveness, audacity, qu’est que on parle en anglais une «gall», which is so central to the character of a Frenchman, mais aussi une otre chose, a feverish whirlpool of dark emotions such as morbidity, eroticism, terror, violence, anarchy, and alcoholism. Cézanne was indeed remarkable for his time, that is to say, he is remarkable for his time, which is our time, as he is alive and we are alive at the same time and he is not dead yet; the state of his being being in a state of being, his bodily functions still functioning and his relentless breathing and signs of voluntary movement; all of this points to the conclusion Cézanne is not dead; therefore, he cannot yet be a great painter. Nevertheless, I liked it, and would recommend his paintings to all my friends who like good art. Three and a half etoilles.

In 1870, with the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, he moved to Provence with his mistress to avoid being conscripted. Cézanne was not a coward, as many art biographers have postulated, but in fact was ashamed about his inability to march in formation without bobbing up and down and humming.

Putting the city life behind him, he began painting landscapes; he explored ways to depict nature faithfully while simultaneously expressing the feelings it inspired in him, primarily nasal congestion and dizziness. Through 1874 he painted with Camille Pissarro in Pontoise; the great Impressionist attempted to teach him the revolutionary techniques pioneered by Degas and Manet, such as the utilization of broken bits of color and short brush strokes, dissolving light into forms to express movement. Cézanne instead chose to experiment with cubic masses and structures, and simple but complementary chromatic structure. Many historians agree that it was at this point that the now household phrase was first coined: “My three-year old niece could draw this crap”.

Cézanne’s most famous painting from this period is “The Suicide’s Necessary House” (1872), a striking piece which depicts the agony of the toilet seat of the frigid soul on a chilly morning awakening. His works were shown at the First and Third Official Depressionist Exposition and Chili Cook-off in Paris, and the critics made short shrift, quick work, and a fast buck off of Paul Cézanne. In a letter to himself, dated December of 1877, he wrote of their reviews:

These scavengers call my work tuluent, contimbulistic, decressent, and poliforicious. Shame, cruel critics, where is your sense ? Their visages are collectively compatible with the deepest rift which bisects the middle course of the seat of my pants as a match is to a matchbox.

Cézanne, stung by this experience, withdrew from society altogether, and never returned to Paris, Marseilles, or Dodge City (where he had reached quite a level of celebrity despite the fact that he’d never been there and he’d probably have been shot if he had). He also broke his ties with other artists, and though he expressed a wistful admiration for the work of his friends and contemporaries, Monet and Renoir, Cézanne refused to speak to them after it was revealed that they had been behind the conspiracy to have his thermal underwear bronzed.

His father kicked the bouquet in 1886, and Paul finally married Marie-Hortense Fucquette and settled in Heuxouilles. It was during this time that Cézanne came into his “Mature” period, which lasted only two years, and that’s a fact that you can look up. L’estaque des Jaques flappes (c. 1888), considered his first masterpiece, was painted entirely with different flavors of table syrup. That was quickly followed by ten variations of Mont Sainte-Victoire/Victoria, three of Boy in a Red Waist-Coast and one of Devil in a Blue Dress, and The Master Bathers.

Becoming more and more reclusive, he attempted to achieve self-sufficiency by growing his own parsley in a window box. But the more he withdrew, the harder the public looked for him, and the press beat a path to his door. Critics would sneak into his studio to catch a glimpse of his latest oeuvre, but more often found him huddled inside what he called his “magic fort”, which he built out of couch cushions. Ironically, the fame and wealth he had always desired came for him at an age where he was too old to take advantage of it, but could still be accused of “selling out” by the young artists who imitated him.

Paul Cézanne had survived several debilitating diseases over the years, but it was while working in the fields that he caught the infamous chill which would end his life. On October 22, 1906, just after breakfast, he sneezed violently, and unfortunately several large wads of phlegm landed on the suede vest of a short-tempered Bohemian itinerant farmer. Paul sought to frame the piece and title it Ça n’est pas un pipe, c’est ma femme, but the farmer refused to surrender the vest. An altercation ensued, and in the confusion of the fracas Cézanne’s precious mustache was irreparably torn from his face. It is said that he died of a broken heart, and his last words reflecting his despair :

“Future generations will weep, as no one living now can understand the depth of my tragedy. The symmetry and the shape took me years to perfect… Il’n-y-a pas de justice… Ma travaille, tout le monde de ça est merde…

A one man show about Paul Cézanne closed on London’s West End in 1995 after two blocking sessions and a catered brunch.


October 19, 2010

Dale Carnegie at the Carnegie Deli

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 8:15 pm


Dear Sir or Sirs or Madams or Pre-Op transgender,

I am writing in repose to the naked outboard comments made in the last compulsory issue of your alternative weekly.

In particulates, the ladder to the edifice that concerns me concerned the local industrial concern and their new campaign of demonstrating genuine concern in getting to know the people of our fine communicability for themselves (Op. Ed. Feb 8, “Concerning Concerned Concern’s Concern”). So after wrecking one local economy, they have the temerity to claim that through workforce restructuring, outplacement recruitment, super-long vacation instant winner sweepstakes, and Lucky Gold Watch pension-point-rewards, they will be pumping fresh “recently-employed” blood into the mainstream of our communecity.

Whose kid does he think he is ! Questionmark.    Well, wake up, and keep dreaming, and guess what ?    It’s time I said no, I’m putting my foot down in the other shoe, and my shoe’s on the OTHER foot and I’ve walked a mile in them, and the shoe fits,and by Christ I’m wearing it, because I like these shoes and it’s hard to find shoes in my size. When it comes to America, I say, “Hey!”, and then I say, “Hey ! love it or leave some for me !”

Furthermore and without any ado, I would like to correct that apocryphal story attributed to me which appeared under your advice column, implying that it was I that brought the order from the Trilateral Commission inside the WTO and CFR to the Company to kill off MKUltra and Project Majestic because they were getting too close to the Rothschilds.   That’s how it could have happened, but here’s how it REALLY happened ! :

I was having lunch at the Carnegie Deli with Dale Carnegie.  Or, from another point of view, I saw Dale Carnegie having lunch at Carnegie Deli, and I sat down at his table, and he said to me:

You know,  when it comes down to it, our differences are really all the same; pass the pepper here, please; thank you, what’s important, what unifies us, is what keeps each and every one of us out of trouble with the cops.

And I sat there, across from Dale Carnegie, and Dale takes a bite of his Reuben and takes a drink of what I thought was an egg cream but turns out is his medically-prescribed senior nutritional supplement shake, then Dale Carnegie says to me, …  I’ll never forget what he said next,  …  and I still to this day think about what he said, he said…    something so profound and heartbreaking, … and since then I’ve wondered, but these days, I’m older, and I understand, and I believe he meant what he said and was not just trying to win friends or influence people.   He said:

I think peeing and pooping on someone is about the worst thing you can do to them.   Not only is it not very healthy, but it could damage their self-esteem.

After a further chew of kosher meat, he put his sandwich down and pointed a wizened finger at my face and growled:

Listen here, Sonny Jim.   If you’re fighting somebody who’s wearing glasses, just punch their glasses.    It’s okay cause they’re almost all shatterproof plastic nowadays, you’re not gonna get shards of glass in your knuckles.    Just really knock their lights out.

What about braces ?”, I asked.     This startled him, and he acted like he was seeing me for the first time.     “Braces ?,” he repeated, incredulously.

Well if you’re fighting somebody who has braces, don’t be an asshole and just mash your open palm into their mouth – blood goes everywhere,  a lot of blood and screaming and panic.   I mean, if you’re fighting somebody with braces then you might be fighting with a middle schooler, who is probably very awkward and quite probably short, which may initially seem like a winner event but apparently fistfighting with children is “not cool.”

And what about this internet, huh ?   It’s really something, it’s REALLY something.    It’s like there’s this unimaginably huge data dump of electronic data that is flushed down millions of light tubes, flowing from the cities and into an ocean of millions of lonely, lonely people and their lonely little lives, like some species of ungodly crustacean parasite that cluster around a sewer pipe and just shoveling it in with their feelers, digging through it, eating it with a grin !   That’s the power of love.  Can you feel it ?

Yet some of us aren’t so lucky.  Others of us are less fortunate.  And still others haven’t had all the advantages that the not-so-lucky and the less fortunate just take for granted.

Some are born into poverty.   Some are born into sad situations.  And yet still others are born at the Renaissance Fair.

We should all remember this, and always do the best we can to fight the urge to ruin graphite rods in mechanical pencils by fucking around, clicking them out, pushing them back in the narrow end, fucking it up and the long one breaks, and you say, “Aw, shit,” out loud, and then you realize it’s all quiet and look up and everyone at the meeting is staring at you.

Other than that, everything’s looking better for the future.  That’s just how I see it.

The patrolling militias have just called lights-out, so I must close. Thank you for your time and attention and the subscription to Catalog Weekly, Rusty and I both love the Review Reviews section. Night frisbee-golf Tuesday, sound good ?  My best to you and your hostages,

Rowdy “Roddy” Pippen   (v. 1.0.5b)
1501 East Somoza Driveby, Sector C
Nokusubirru-chome, Och Roydge, TN
0011 0111 0001 0011 0010

Computer Love (Kraftwerk Cover)

Filed under: Entertainment, Uncategorized — boomaga @ 7:18 pm


And here’s the other Buzz Stealth pack cover, Kraftwerk’s English language version, from “The Mix,” again rendered using only machines in the Buzz Stealth pack, and should be playable on the oldest and slowest machines.     The .bmw is embedded in the cover art above – one needs to know how to get it.     BTW, the reason it says ActionJacktion is because that’s me on YTMND since boomaga doesn’t go on YTMND anymore.

October 18, 2010

Here Come the Warm Jets – (Brian Eno cover)

Filed under: Entertainment — boomaga @ 3:21 pm

This picture harbors a secret.  I harbored a walleye in my bathtub once.   Look for your free BMW inside.

September 7, 2010

boomaga on SoundClick:

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 11:04 pm

July 4, 2010

Party Crashers

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 5:33 pm

Upon reading the angry, silly, petty, vitriolic, backbiting comments under a news publication website’s “Top 100 Things About America” on a 4th of July:

Alright, look – 364 days of the year I have to accept all the horrible stories of scandal and injustice and misguided policy that get reported, shuddering to think of those that don’t.   Plus, on the internet, I have to accept the horrid anti-patriotic self-hatred from both ends of the spectrum, plus the endless gleeful schadenfreude taunts of outsiders, who take no small pleasure in bashing the last peoples on Earth it is politically acceptable to despise.  Much of the abuse is well-deserved abuse, and I have thick skin for the expected Internet nitpicking and  axe-grinding hysterics.
But it’s OUR birthday, today, and we’re entitled to a tribal shout – call it any -ism you want.   Whether or not the US can, or still needs to, claim the hegemony it once had, let sobering thoughts of humility and responsibility occupy us on any other day.  This one day, just this ONE DAY of this whole lousy year in this whole lousy era, leave us alone with our celebration and our cultural symbols and mythology, let us just flag-wave like we used to.  Today, I offer a hearty F*CK YOU, world:  The USA is #1.

June 23, 2010

Mind as a Function of Brain

Filed under: Our World — boomaga @ 2:09 am

>The mind is nothing but an emergent quality of a sufficiently complex neural network. Consciousness exists as a physical brain-state, its spacial dimensions consisting of electrical activity, chemical interactions, and the tissues that support them.
This is true, but it’s reduction to the point of absurdity. It’s as though you’re saying the entire phenomenon of the global internet and its attendant culture emerged ex nihilo from a system of silicon transistors.     It’s emergent but not SELF-emergent – the mind may be shaped and defined by its container but is not its container as a container does not spontaneously generate its contents.    You’re ignoring any input of other biological systems, sensory stimuli, instinct, chemical and physical alteration, and of course human interaction, language and culture.

>The mind is not some metaphysical force or spiritually transcendent entity…

Well, see, yeah, but, you know, man, that’s like, pfft, now you’re hitting the wall of imprecise terminology – that which we call the mind has more definitions than you’re allowing for, depending on context – philosophy, literature, psychology and cognition… The mind wanders, the mind is eased, one minds himself, one loses one’s mind – these are just idioms but there’s a truth there.

> – it does not exist apart from the material structure of the brain.
Not yet. And we in 2010 can’t say that it never will – we should know better than that.  Sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic, and all…


May 22, 2010

The Recording Studio website – R.I.P.

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 6:38 pm

These are snapshots of the website I made for TRS – most of the pages have lapsed into obscurity, Jeff still owns the domain name I bought for him but Apollo is no longer hosting the site…  I found these on the Wayback archive.

TRS Website splash page (made by me)

TRS Website splash page (made by me)

The Recording Studio – pics

Here’s some of the copy I wrote for the index page…   mostly a bunch of hoohah but it’s what the boss wanted:

A full-service audio production company, using vintage and state-of-the-art gear in custom-built acoustically-treated tracking and control rooms, The Recording Studio uses the best of analog, solid-state, and tube technology, coupled with no-compromises digital editing and world-class engineering and production skills.   Both facilities have comfortable, no-pressure “living room feel” environments where musicians and producers can relax, be productive, and maximize their recording budget.   The Recording Studio – Jackson is located within three hours driving distance from Memphis, New Orleans, Shreveport, Birmingham, and Mobile – far from big-city stress, yet only 10 minutes to downtown Jackson. The Recording Studio – Los Angeles is located in the Sherman Oaks area, right off Ventura Boulevard.

The Recording Studio is owned and staffed by Jeff Brugmans, Jay Ruston, and Drew Perkins.

TRS Gearlist (I compiled this)

The holy TRS gearlist, compiled after days of inventory - didn't matter if a piece didn't work or was junk quality - it goes on the list !

… These days, anyone can track at home, anyone can mix at home, it’s true,… and you can do the best that you can
do…   but the Music Industry demands RESULTS – so, are you 100% sure your tracks are sounding as good as they ought to ?
The truth is that you will always get better results in a real recording studio. You’ll be guided by dedicated,
professionally-trained, proven, and objective engineers who not only have real-world expertise, but top-of-the-line multichannel consoles, custom hot-rodded microphones, rare, priceless outboard gear, and the know-how to get the
sound that exceeds your expectations – and The Recording Studio will work within your budget.

March 20, 2010

Cho Business

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 12:15 am

To the Entertainment Editor:Image

Regarding the March 20 issue’s review of our movie (“I Like Me: Margaret Cho Live at the Fondant Theatre”):

Your movie critic S. J. Perelman may have his finger on the pulse of a third-wave TV Generation, the 18- and under set, but he has no right to criticize Margaret Cho’s movie debut in terms of “comedy” or “laugh-factor,” two agendas which the opus of her career thus far has never been intended to fulfill.

As the producer of the theatrical release of her doing her stand-up act for a hometown crowd of her fawning friends, it was my decision to include, in the final cut, over 74 minutes of her impression of her nagging mother.  That’s over an hour nonstop of her unique brand of stiff-necked screaming.  Not since Jackie Mason and Freddie Prinze has anyone so shamelessly satyrized their own ethnic heritage, and I don’t mean with the gently self-depricating humour based on the knowledge of how universal the human condition, with insight and warmth and respect.  I’m talking about the shameless mugging stereotype to be mocked and milked for the approval of his/her largely Anglo audience.  It’s all about breaking down barriers of what is and is not OK to make fun of.  Now, when someone thinks of scrunch-faced, squinty-eyed, screeching-at-the-top-of-her-lungs Asian woman, cheap and petty and too ethnic to absorb American values and too stupid to speak English correctly, they’ll think Margaret !    Or, more specifically, Margaret’s impression of her mom !

Further, we decided to call the movie Margaret’s “one-woman show,” because it’s every bit as important as “real theater”.  Don’t believe me ?    Then check out her insightful and daring criticism of Hollywood and show biz and celebrity, how it’s all about money and how people in Tinsel Town aren’t as nice as you might think.  Who before has ever stood up and said aloud, “You know, this whole Hollywood thing is actually just one big machine” ?   I mean, whoa, wait a minute !

Only Margaret has the (pardon the expression) testicles, the male sex organs, to lash out at the System which has been so very good to her.

Only Margaret Cho has the courage to bite the hand that fed her and fed her and fed her .

Also she talks about her boyfriend and his penis, which most of the Fondant Theatre audience can really relate to in a special way in that they are mostly homosexual males and are very fond of penises.  It’s a homecoming for Margaret in more ways than one, because her act is kind of a refined form of diatribe that you can close your eyes and imagine overhearing from any pudgy sophomore faghag in some late night bohemian IHOP.   She has an undeniable kinship with the similarly “unfunny” entertainer Better Midler of a generation ago, except no song and dance:  Cho is keeping it real.   Her act doesn’t need bells and whistles, it just keeps giving and giving.   And on the silver screen, Margaret Cho’s own tepid, petualnt, whiny sarcasm sparkles!

But that’s not enough, is it, Mr. Perelman ?  Oh, we demand that the comedienne be funny, too, huh, else it just won’t satisfy Mr. Bigtime Critic and his narrow little view of what is entertaining.  Philistine !     Maybe Margaret Cho doesn’t fit your expectations of what stand-up comedy is supposed to be.  Maybe Margaret Cho is on a whole different level.  The level of the one-woman show, without a script, without a plot, without a plan, without a punchline, without a point.  We were just happy to be able to capture just a few moments of her genius on strips of cellulite, to preserve Margaret Cho’s impression of her mother’s voice on her answering machine, for posterity, for eternity.


Vic Attache

Producer, I Like Me: Margaret Cho Live at the Fondant Theatre

March 11, 2010

Cocaine on the Moon

Filed under: Uncategorized — boomaga @ 1:44 pm

This Has Been Stepped-On

“Hey guys, it’s me, Neil.   I was just thinking, you know, check it out :  I’m climbing down and just about to make this one little footstep here, and you know, I’m just this GUY, you know, who am I, right ?   I’m just this guy, you know, but I’m gonna take this step here, but really, when you think about it, isn’t it everyone here making this with me, like we’re all just reaching out and making this big giant huge leap onto this, like, this whole other PLANET, all together, like all of mankind and shit, you know, POW!!!!, we’re on the moon, it’s like energy, it’s an energy system, you know, it’s like FUCK all those, those, those, those, you know, those cynical pencil pushers, you know, pundits and naysayers and, you know, I don’t know, you know, I mean just fuck them, cause you know ?   Anyway, just, whatever, so, what’s going on with you ?”

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