Notes from the First World

This is The Scream, one of the most famous paintings ever painted. It's going up for auction this week in New York City, starting around $150 million.

I apologize for the poor quality, but I had to take this picture very much on the DL. Photography was a no-no at this preview.

There are a few things I found noteworthy at this event, which took place at Sotheby's auction house. One is the sheer power you sense from standing next to something worth so much money - simply because other humans have deemed it so valuable. I'm not complaining about that; I'm a huge fan of this work. But it is kind of weird that this one painting - one of four, I learned, that are all very similar but not identical - is worth ten times more than the nicest house I have ever even laid eyes on, let alone stepped inside. White people problems.

But I digress. No, what really struck me was that the officials at this venue had no idea what their photography policy was. You see, there were hundreds of other works of art on display that were going up for auction. Picassos, Kandinskys, Magrittes, Warhols - the finest, most expensive works of art in the world. And I noticed a three-year-old girl taking pictures of them with a digital camera.

Naturally, I pulled out my iPhone and started taking pictures as well. Here's what I captured before I started getting yelled at:

Upon being informed by a lunk-headed security guard that I wasn't allowed to take pictures, I protested, telling of the little girl. I was informed that I needed to get "clearance" to take pictures, and was guided towards the desk in the lobby, and the brainy looking girl who sat behind it. "I'd like to get cleared to take pictures," I told her. A flustered look came over her face. "Which painting?" she asked me nervously. "Well, obviously not The Scream," I said. "But everything else."

Thus began a mad scramble to find out what Sotheby's official policy was on letting people take pictures of the art. She had to call another guy over, then they called somebody on the phone, who transferred them to someone else, who ultimately deemed that I was not allowed to take pictures unless I had a press credential.

"What about the little girl?" I asked.

"We're sorry about the little girl," the little girl said. "That was a mistake. If you see her taking more pictures, please tell us."

So at the most high-profile art auction in the world, they don't even know what their photography policy is. I should have Thomas Crowned their asses.

Dear God...

As satisfied as I am to be a human being, as opposed to some other life form that can't appreciate things such as good Scotch or the films of Wes Anderson, there are a few things that still bother me about our bodies. These are the top three imperfections about people that I'm kind of disappointed we haven't evolved beyond yet.

Pooping
Pooping is so ridiculous. You have to completely stop whatever you're doing, go into a private room, and produce something messy and smelly that must be immediately washed away to an unknown land, and requires thorough cleaning up after. Are you kidding me? There's no better way our bodies could have developed to get rid of solid waste? I'd rather molt out of my skin once a day. And how come we're the only species that has to wipe? Dogs and cats just poop and they're done. With us, it's a whole production. I actually have a motorized toilet I bought online that washes and dries my ass for me, just so I can be a shred more comfortable with myself as I move throughout the world. Let's not even get into the psychological issues behind that.

Also, having to take a shit when there's no bathroom available is probably the most uncomfortable, anxiety-inducing situation I ever have to deal with. It's like 90% of the reason I avoid camping.

Feet
Feet are pretty weird. They're like hands, but without the dexterity or ability to do anything sophisticated. Feet are the hands' lunkhead brother; the Daniel Baldwin to the hands' Alec. Women's feet can be cute, even sexy, if properly maintained. If not, they have the potential to be downright nasty - for anyone who hasn't seen Eddie Murphy's early 90's movie BOOMERANG, there's a great scene that describes exactly what I'm talking about.

Men's feet are always horrendous. Unsightly. Having a man's foot anywhere near my face is akin to drinking a shot of someone's sweat. It's essentially vomit-inducing.

I don't really see the purpose for having individual toes. At this point, feet should just be all one solid mass, the way shoes are. Then, hopefully, those individually-toed shoes will go away as well.

Teeth
Is there any part of the body that's more of a pain in the ass than teeth? I have to clean these things twice a day for the rest of my life? Plus flossing, mouthwashing, etc? Give me a fucking break. Oh, and I love how sometimes when I floss, my gums bleed. So sorry for trying to clean you. I'm pretty sure if my chest started bleeding when I soaped up in the shower, I'd find a different product to use. But no, we just go on getting ready for the day, trying not to worry about the blood in our mouths.

Those trips to the dentist are a real treat, too. Guaranteed pain. Not to mention the four years I had to spend with metal glued to my teeth when I was a teenager, because they don't bother to come in straight. I heard once that there's a high suicide rate amongst dentists, because they can sense that everybody hates coming to see them. The whole thing is terrible. Once people lose their baby teeth and their adult teeth come in, dentists should just rip them all out and install artificial, self-cleaning teeth that we never have to worry about. Think about how much time and energy that would save you over the course of your life.

Side note: the whole losing your baby teeth thing is also very weird and creepy, but I can't get into that right now. I have to go floss something out of my stupid non-cleaning teeth.

Baby Mama Drama

Some friends of mine were in town last weekend - a married couple - and they shared with me the happy news that they were expecting a baby. This was followed immediately with a caveat not to say anything to the other people we were having dinner with that evening, because "we're not supposed to be telling people yet."

I found this annoying on a couple different levels. First of all, if you're not supposed to be telling people yet, then why did you just tell me? I didn't ask if you were pregnant; you volunteered this information, then banned me from talking about it with other people, thus burdening me with an uninvited secret. I don't like keeping secrets; it means I have to be constantly mindful of what I say - which, if you know me, you understand is not so much one of my strong suits as one of my weak suits.

Secondly, what is this "not supposed to tell people" bullshit? It's your baby, right? Tell whoever the fuck you want! Of course, the real issue that we're all dancing around when people say that is that there's a higher probability that a baby might miscarry earlier in the pregnancy than later. Understandably, nobody wants to go around telling people they're having a baby, only to have to then update everyone that the baby died. That's kind of a bummer for everyone involved.

So I propose this little rule change to the whole "not supposed to tell people" thing. How about if expectant parents just tell their friends that they "might" be having a baby? Someone asks why you're not having your usual glass of wine with dinner? "We might be having a baby." Hey, why did you just throw up all over your desk at 10AM? "I might be pregnant." No one with any social sense will press you on the uncertainty of that response. And then, should anything...unpleasant...occur down the road, and your friends follow up, you can just say, "Nope. Turns out I wasn't pregnant."

See? Problem solved. No secrets, no lying, no uncomfortable conversations about infant mortality. 

Kaptain Kvetch: offering potent advice on women's issues since 1978.

Guest Kvetch: A'Blessin or a Curse

I've been slacking on the kvetches recently. What can I say, I must be a happier guy now that I get to wear shorts again. Luckily, I have good friends who can pick up my slack. This Guest Kvetch comes from my friend Val. Enjoy.

Everyone who knows me tells me that I'm bad at being black. I can't even begin to elaborate on how many times my black card has been pulled for things like not knowing quintessential gangster rap lyrics or not liking watermelon. I guess I should be proud of the fact that I associate with people who don't see color, but it is kind of a joke when my friends sincerely ask me if I've tried any good tanning salons in the area. They literally forget that I'm black sometimes. 


My mother could have at least given me a bit more street cred with a ghetto fabulous name, but my little brother won that toss up and landed himself the name Cleveland, which is more country than it is ghetto. I've made peace with my Christian name, Valerie, but I secretly envy the names of the girls I knew at my alma mater, Martin Luther King elementary school in South Central LA. Of course, the Latishas, Sheniquas and Tenishas were liberally peppered into the mix because black people seem to believe that if you add an Iqua, Isha, or Itta at the end of just about anything, and maybe throw in an apostrophe or two, it constitutes a name. 


I was in 2nd grade with a Charmin, and the lovely Precious was a light skinned girl who lived up to her name; she had the cutest dimples I ever did see. Aquanetta's name was inspired by the ever so popular, extra crunchy hold aerosal hairspray. Phemallee's mother thought it would be original to give her daughter a name that is a play on her gender. She was the youngest of seven children, so I'm left to assume that her parents just gave up on thinking of another name. 


But my all-time favorite is a name I came to know and love years later, when I worked at a bank in Lynwood. One of the girls I worked with named her daughter A'Blessin, because "After I had her and the doctor handed her to me, I looked into her eyes and said, 'you are a blessin'!" True story. 


I guess there is still hope for my children. If they grow up to be anything like me, I need to start working on my distinctly black names now. My top choices are Pinot'Grisha because of my affinity for white wine and Obamaniqua as an ode to our president. Maybe Yu'Nikwa, so the kid feels special. 


The black community would be proud.