All posts by Lambchop

Good Times For a Change…

Uncategorized, ,

Where are they now, you wonder? Tina Yothers, the kid from the Life cereal ads, and Lambchop? Well, Lambchop is right here, filling you in on recent developments, at least the ones the court allows her to discuss. You may remember Lambchop from such blogs as this one, or you may know her work. So get acquainted or fall in love all over again, then toast her as she helps me yank the rudder on our course to blogly oblivion! This thing goes to Morrissey!

Oh your lambchop has been busy! Busy traversing town squares, soiling linens, busy living in sin. But doing a lot less shopping than you might think.

I haven’t been quite as busy as Lickety, your mad scientist. She went and created a whole new person. I may have merely added a couple more years to my age, made new paintings, but I have also contributed to the cycle of life. There was a time when I had no good wineglasses, and then I got some, and now I have broken them all and have none again! Well, I have the one. So having just the one, just for me, it is a good time to move on and seek my fortune, anchors aweigh and off we go. To New York, to my little corner of it.

On 7/7/07 a crushing horde of people were getting married, record numbers supposedly. How unique…for all of them! I was at that very moment seeing Morrissey, who took the stage to “Please please please let me get what I want”. And I have to say, I had a Moment, my life flashing before my eyes from 13 until 33. Let me give you the timeline of my life, in Morrissey:

High school, Jersey City, teenage angst
1987-reel around jersey city, nothing else to do that lousy summer but obssess over music, girlfriend in a coma single
1988- viva hate…rough childhood, viva hate indeed
1990- november spawned a ME
1991-kill uncle, kill the whole family

school days in Boston (booze, bad boyfriends, and bicycles)
1992-seasick yet still docked
1994-the sanest days are mad, why don’t you find out for yourself

grad school CT, sell it all and move to Berlin
1997-“And I don’t get along with myself/And I’m not too keen on anyone else/Turn on, plug in, then just walk away/Unlock, process, and then just go/And I’ve never felt quite so alone/As I do right now/I’m lying here wide to receive…”

We were not so close while I was in Berlin. Blame Neutral Milk Hotel. But then in 2004, I came back to “…America…and I love you, I just wish you’d stay where you is!”

Now I am rolling the dice, swishing the 8 ball, and Morrissey says “please please please let me get what I want”. Yes, please.

Behind the Closed Door, the One We Painted Green

Uncategorized,

Ahh, another day, another hangover at my desk. I am dry as dry toast, my friends. My shoulders and back ache from doing pull-ups, and my eyes are smudged with silver and black from last night’s shoot. Many people were dressed like pirates for some reason. I have no idea if the script justifies this, because I can’t bear to actually read it, so I just roll along as if in some kind of peyote dream where people are dressed as pirates and talking about galoshes. My favorite line from last night was “What are you gay?” “No, you’re gay…” Who ever heard of a gay pirate?!? When people weren’t quibbling over sexuality, they were being out-acted by a parrot named Marny. Her comic timing was truly impeccable.

Oh but guess what, I have another shoot tonight! Praise be to the Gods of Creative Output! What would I do if I had to spend a Friday night painting, watching a film, or doing anything other than standing around in my underwear looking like a bad date with Courtney Love, reciting “He is a little Pony Bootsie. You’re just close-minded”, for 2 hours so they can shoot it from about 50 different angles. I hope my butt gets it’s own line in the credits. After Marny, of course.

Damn.

-xo

Contracts!

Uncategorized

The contract for my landscape commission arrived today. I am supplying the work to a posh new law office, but there is an art consultant who is actually buying the painting from me, having it framed, and being a general nuisance. The consultant lady is a real piece of work. I won’t use the word “Gorgon” or offer any further description until after I have been paid. Ahem.

When you have dinner with the devil, you must eat with a really long spoon!

Speaking of satan, the path of my life is strewn with cow pies from the devil’s own flatulent herd. Shooting for My Little B Movie has quickened because one of the lead actresses is “in a situation”. I am scheduled for three nights of shooting this turkey, this week alone. I am dealing with this by drinking steadily throughout the shoot. By the time we fumble and fuck-up our way to a 2am wrap, I am shouting “I Hate this Movie, I Hate This Movie”, to the delight of all!

I am trying to get a gig painting in the Netherlands for 6 months. If this does happen, it will Ciao Boston very soon. I am listening to Styx’s “Come Sail Away” for luck.

-xo

All Aboard for Fun Time

Uncategorized

I am going to scoop Licketysplit by informing you all that she is a concubine of Satan. Yes, she is the devil’s mistress, his bilious booty-call. I am sorry to bear such tidings, but it is true. At this very moment she has a bat sleeping upside down above her very marriage bed. She claims to be calling the Animal Rescue League, but I think it is a ruse to lure the dog-catcher into her Trap-hole.

I made some very successful cupcakes last week, and today I am going to try my hand at cupcake lasagnas. I am thinking there are lots of foods that could be prepared and served in cupcake form. A whole new world is opening to me.

I don’t often let anyone into my studio while I am working. I hate to spoil the notion that my work emerges from a cloud of drunken vapor, heralded by angels, while I lay on a fainting couch overcome with sleep deprivation and opium horrors. Because I know that’s what you all thought.

Lambchop for President

Uncategorized, , , ,

It is President’s Day, a holiday for which there is no festive activity. No one really knows what to do. I encourage everyone to fold their one dollar bills in such as way as to suggest that our first president was, in fact, a mushroom. I have been finding out all sorts of Fun President Facts, for example that William H. Taft was really, really fat. He got stuck in the White House tub and had to have one specially constructed. He was carried to his inauguration in it! And in 1976 Jimmy Carter ran under the platform “Not Just Peanuts”. Did you know that our current President has an apple for a brain? That’s right, an apple!

My favorite President is “Old Hickory” Andrew Jackson. Jackson was the first President to almost be murdered. He was shot at twice at a funeral and tackled his assailant to the ground, apparently pretty miffed. He was a brawler and a rodgerer, who threatened to hang his Vice President. When congress opposed his nomination for the Minister to England, he jumped to his feet and cried “By the Eternal! I’ll smash them!” He had a pet parrot named Poll. The parrot screamed curse words at his funeral.

President’s Day is a good day to observe the dignity and solemnity of this office. To give Democracy a great big hug. And so, high in our Vomitola treehouse, we have decided that we, too, need a President.

A vote for lambchop says yes to party favors and public drunkenness. A vote for lambchop says it is ok to drive while tripping on acid, and no, you don’t have to go to work if you don’t f@#$ing feel like it. Lambchop stands for promiscuity, painting, and pink tights. Vote for me and I will steer this ship right into a great pile of rocks, taking out a small village with me. Listen to your fat clotted hearts, citizens! They will tell you that you want me as your Vomitola leader. Sing the praises of underpants, while I hum a nihilistic tune:

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

-xo

You Can Pin and Mount Me, Like a Butterfly

Uncategorized, , , , , ,

While Licketysplit is filling buckets, buckets full of love, I am covering the phones here. It reminds me of when we had a Sunday radio show. We were doing lesbian kisses before they invented them for TV. But that was only because we were hoping it might offend someone. Anyway, one time after the usual 4-hits-of-acid-saturday-wake-up-go-to-taco-bell-sunday, we arrived at the station and wolfed down some burritos. I played “the Choke” and “Lunchbox” while ol’ Skanky LaRue was off puking. Get well soon darling!

I am celebrating Valentines Day in a lofty fashion- by eating an enormous onion bagel with melted cheese and tomato. I assure you, it is a most romantic sandwich.

If I lack spirit today, it is because I threw a Valentine Ball at my house this weekend. We had a fog machine, a dazzling array of baked sweets, and a glass punch bowl filled with tequila. The walls were covered in construction paper hearts, heart tinsel, and red paper lantern lights. It was really beautifully done, thanks to the help of my roommates, and an opinionated six year old. Me and Echo hung hearts and decorated cupcakes in hot pink sugar and tiny red candy lips. The party itself was a whirl of dancing and cherry filled Kitty Dukkake. I am pretty sure I had a good time, for I recall delighted faces, dancing to “Xanadu”. I am also pretty sure I didn’t get into any fights, fall down the stairs, or start stroking my roommates’ chest hair and calling them “papi”.

Yesterday I was not awake for very long. Mainly long enough to watch Footloose, which I had never seen before. It has probably been a while for most of you, so let me remind you: Footloose is inexpressibly painful in its dorkiness. And while I love dancing movies, the one part of the body that I don’t want to see “loose” are the feet. Or that musical theater thing where people bow their legs, knees knocking back and forth. I must have a chat with you, 1980’s, and find out just what the hell we were all thinking. One interesting factoid about this film is that nearly all the cast went on to successful careers afterward. Mysterious. Since the film I am currently making is approximately 50 times as awful as Footloose, perhaps its release will catapult me into untold riches.

My future finances thus secured, I bought two import box sets of Morrissey singles, spanning decades of Morrissey. It is the age of Morrissey. All Morrissey, all day. Which is very fitting for Valentines Day. I think i will kick off the next hour with “Unloveable”. We’ll be right back after Licketysplit is done yodeling her groceries.

-xo

Conversations with Angels

Uncategorized, , ,

Licketysplit is flying back today from the Galapagos. She says that the little creatures are indeed still evolving. I refuse to believe it, until I see actual proof of their hooked beaks, and their gaping craws. What? Oh, my fact checker says she was actually in Baltimore. Oh yes, we have a fact checker now. No more wild claims such as “3 cheese Doritos are low in Tar”, or “ugly people have lives, too”. Oh, Baltimore, it is too bad that domestic flights no longer offer food service, or I am sure you would be enjoying some embattled string beans with a frisson of watery melted butter.

While she was off, agog at the chancred locals, I prepared myself for the annual urban warfare that normally follows the winning of the Super Bowl. My disappointment is severe. ALLSTON, You Do Not Know How to Riot. I will sue the first person that even attempts to call that shameful non-event a Riot. Where once we saw burning couches and drunken students tumbling from the tops of lampposts and hopefully fracturing their spines, we now have cheerful people milling about, occasionally whooping and communing with one another, their happiness at the outcome. Fie!

Someone suggested recently that I “shove my f@&*ing copycat Alice Neel paintings up my f@#$ing a^&”. Needless to say it turned out to be a fat person who has a live journal for their dog, and not the Village Voice. Though grateful for the input, I continue nonetheless to paint. When it is working, it is nothing less than a conversation with angels. Most recently, I have shaken hands with the president, and we are lighting the cigars, because I am selling two large paintings to our fancy new offices on the 22nd floor of this tower. I won’t say how much, I will only say that the drinks are on me, just this once.

-xo

State of Our Union

Uncategorized, , , , ,

Yes people, it is time once again, that we follow the trend of our great nation, in taking stock, sizing up matters, glossing over failures and completely manufacturing successes. I feel the first mistake I made today was putting too much pepper in my soup. Now my forehead is dewy with sweat. But let us not be weighted down by the details, they are but stray tears in an ocean of pain. Here is our scorecard:

Jobs:

Licketysplit: blaring Skinny Puppy in her pajamas, making rude gestures at the Speakerphone.

lambchop: has broken the previous employment record of six months by holding a job for a full year and six months. Please send me a loaded gun.

Marriage:

Licketysplit: Married almost as long as I have had a job. Thinks about it pretty much the same way.

lambchop: currently a polygamist. Laws are for suckers!

Kids:

Licketysplit: I think she is hiding some in the root cellar.

lambchop: not on your life.

There have been some small changes- Helen has begun writing her memoirs. She is currently on the chapter wherein she discovers the effectiveness of arrogance as a contraceptive method. I got a fat raise and we have a new roommate. This fine Indian fellow plays the sitar, tabla, and harmonium. He races cars and plans to cook us up some first rate curries. Unlike our last roommate, who made penises out of duct tape. Really huge ones.

I have really been getting a bang out of my deepening friendship with Echo. We draw together, and pretend we are turning into mice under the supper table. There is nothing quite like being loved by a brilliant and charming six year old. It is not like owning a rabbit, or eating pad thai. Even if it is really delicious.

On the flip side, I have an internet stalker. Hi Anonymous! Anonymous leaves its slime trail everywhere. Wherever a feeble coward is facing the dog’s dinner of their life, anonymous rises to shake a puny fist of pale opinions and ill-formed slurs at their betters. We pity you, anonymous, but please don’t stay to dinner.

I am pointing at the map and looking for a place to open my studio. Somewhere with high ceilings, subways, and rambly old neighborhoods. Where I can get paid to doodle on the corner of a pad of paper. Where speaking one’s mind is not an affront. A place where public drunkenness is funded by the state. Where troubles melt like lemondrops away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me. New York, Barcelona, Belgrade? Where is such manna to be found? Where would one see taste, intelligence and ability, so united in its populace? Well of course there is no such place, but some towns are more artist friendly than others. I am brushing up on my Maltese, just in case.

-xo

Hello

Uncategorized, , , , ,

So the replies to our ad in search of an attractive and emotionally competent roommate have been pouring in. My favorite by far is a fellow who is coming over tonight who swears he is “hotter than Lionel’s nut huggin’ panties on an LA night”. The mind chafes!

I am not sure that I will live to make this appointment, however, as satan himself has taken to dumping snow onto Boston. But i am not worried, I believe the Patriot Act defines an excess of weather as “eco-terror”.

In other news, people that aren’t me are still dreadfully tedious. I take care to remind you all that the poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to see himself and others, as he wishes. So thought Baudelaire, anyway. I implore you to employ wit as though your brain were more than just a vegetable capable of computing your taxes. Don’t make small art. And above all, Make Life Beautiful!

-xo