Dim Bulbs

Stupid people have all the answers.

― Socrates

No industry—events included—is spared its share of dim bulbs.

You encounter them every day on social media platforms, where they continue to insist the pandemic is "fake" and that Covid-19 precautions are a "Socialist plot against America."

I encountered a dim bulb recently: a CEO who, ironically, runs a company that sells light bulbs to tradeshow exhibitors. 

The proud leader of a "dream team" (according to his company's cheesy website), he went ballistic when I questioned his dimwitted thinking.

Our confrontation began when an accomplished events-industry journalist I follow posted a comment on LinkedIn.

She lamented the fact that the states are inconsistent about their Covid-19 precautions concerning crowd-sizes.

"It's only gonna get worse under Biden," the CEO shot back, ignoring the fact that states set the rules. 

"He's not about business, like he claims. All shows are moving dates. Exhibitors are getting pissed. ISC WEST moved from March to July now. Then what? Canceled again. Either just shut all shows down until we can get back to normal, with people interacting, or just open up and let who wants to come, come."

I replied to him, "So you're willing to risk the health and safety of attendees, so you can make money? Nice!"

The CEO replied, "Do you go to stores and shop or do you sit home by yourself? If the stupid masks worked, why is there still this widespread virus? Many stories of the tests not being accurate. You just need to stay home by yourself and think the Democrats didn't lie and cheat in the last four years. I see where you're from. Don't tell us how to live our lives. This is the USA."

I replied, "Not logical or informed."

The CEO replied, "Crawl back under your rock."

I replied, "I am in the majority of Americans. Sorry, pal."

The CEO replied, "Sorry, you're not, you just think so, you're not American, you're a Socialist in hiding. Again back under your rock with your mask and gloves or maybe in the basement with Joey. You don't want to fight like true Americans. By the way, tough guy, I'm not your pal."

I replied, in kind, "You strike me as a fascist. Do your customers know you are a fascist?"

The CEO replied, "You strike me as an idiot that can't paint, Demtard. Back under your rock, Demtard. Back under your rock."

I replied, "Business failing? Panicking? No surprise." I included a link to my recent post about increasing mask-wearing at tradeshows.

Without reading my post, the CEO replied, "We really don't care what you think. Back under your rock, basement dweller."

I replied by posting a meme:

The CEO replied, "Again, back under your rock. Go look for your little tree, basement dweller. Did you paint that? Back under your rock."

I replied, "I see from your website you are cashing in on Covid-19 by selling 'social distance' crap. What unmitigated hypocrisy! And what a crappy website. All the photos for the social distance crap have fake captions. Funny! Chump."

That ended our back and forth. 

Dim bulbs always burn out.

NOTE: The above is unedited, except for corrections to the CEO's abysmal spelling and punctuation.

Artists on the Big Screen

Hollywood loves artists because they're observant, flawed, eccentric and vulnerable—qualities a main character must have to win over the audience. 

Artists also allow directors to smuggle scores of "beauty shots" into their films. Always a plus.

Here's my list of the top films depicting artists (in chronological order). Take advantage of the lockdown to watch them.

Rembrandt (1936). Suddenly widowed, the Dutch painter's life—and work—take a dark turn.

The Moon and Sixpence (1942). A British stockbroker rejects middle-class comfort for la vie de bohème. Paul Gaugin as seen through the eyes of Somerset Maugham.

Lust for Life (1956). A day doesn't go by when painter Vincent Van Gogh doesn't struggle with self-expression. We get an earful. (And eyeful.)

The Agony and the Ecstasy (1965). The Pope relentlessly insists that sculptor Michelangelo completes a mural. The surly sculptor hits the ceiling.

Savage Messiah (1972). Sculptor Henri Gaudier-Brzeska will do anything to gain an audience. Anything. A raucous art-adventure directed by Ken Russell and starring the young Helen Mirren.

Vincent and Theo (1990). Proof that every artist needs a devoted patron. A stunningly filmed passion project from director Robert Altman.

Pollock (2000). Proof—80 proof—that whiskey will wreck an artist's life. A chilling passion project from the star and director, Ed Harris.

Renoir (2012). Old age can't stop a determined artist, especially when his household revolves around him.

Mr. Turner (2014). To some artists, romance arrives late in life. A charming and beautiful period film.

Big Eyes (2014). A wife paints pictures the public loves, but her husband takes the credit. A surprising period romp from director Tim Burton.

Final Portrait (2017). Giacometti can't seem to finish the portrait of a friend. A joyful film about creativity—my favorite on the list—directed by Stanley Tucci.

Red (2018). Mark Rothko tackles his greatest challenge: the meaning of art—and of life.

Helene (2020). A Scandinavian painter falls in love with her art student, but he thinks of her merely as a good teacher.  

There are dozens more fine films about artists I'd include on a list of runners-up, including Moulin Rouge (1952), Caravaggio (1986), My Left Foot (1989), Basquiat (1996), Surviving Picasso (1996), Frida (2002), Modigliani (2004), Rodin (2018) and Sin (2019).

What film tops your list?

NOTE: Be sure to visit my website. Paintings make great gifts.

Me and My Stubb's

I'm not a hypochondriac, I'm an alarmist.

— Woody Allen

How many times a day have you decided you've caught the coronavirus? 

In my case it's four, at least.

But I've managed to avoid routine trips to the emergency room thanks to the sage advice of a Detroit-based MD.

Dr. Susan Malinowski published her advice in Medium back in early April, when the pandemic was new and tests nonexistent. 

She had already caught the virus and lost her sense of smell.

"Until we have adequate testing, don’t ignore this simple symptom," the doctor wrote.

"Yes, there are other causes for loss of smell, but take it from someone who’s been there, the loss of smell is profound. 

"Get a jar of chopped garlic and monitor your sense of smell along with temperature every day. If you can’t smell the garlic, even in the absence of other symptoms, quarantine for 14 days and wait for it to return."

I had no garlic at the time, but I did have have a bottle of garlic-laden Stubb's. 

So I unscrewed the cap and took a whiff from the conical bottle first thing every morning—plus any time my inner alarm sounded (again, about four times a day).

Stubb's became my Covid-19 test kit.

Stubb's doesn't need outside marketing advice; but I'll give it, anyway. 

Should sales of BBQ sauce ever decline, Stubb's might take a page from Arm & Hammer, which boosted flagging sales of baking soda with the claim that it kept refrigerators smelling sweet.

Although at-home Covid-19 tests may soon be plentiful, you can't store them in easy reach, alongside the baking soda.

Nor use them to spark up a burger.

The Late Hunter S. Thompson Answers My Question

NOTE: I awoke today to find this mysterious note on my bathroom sink.

Bob,

You addled bastard, you approached me in your fetid dream last night and asked my advice. 

At least, I think you did—I had the Cowboys game on at the time, and Washington was stomping them, like they were a gang of sick junkies.

My attention wasn't fully yours. 

If I grasped your question, you asked what America should do with 45, now that the maddened crowds—like Bond in the grand finale—have dispatched his fat diapered ass.

The Ephedrine supply is practically nonexistent here, so I must keep my answer brief.

America doesn't have to do anything about 45. 

Come mid-December—too chilly for tubby to golf in Virginia—45 will depart DC permanently for his rat-hole in Florida, announcing by Tweet a "hard-earned" Christmas vacation. 

From there, Snowden-like, 45 will flee to Moscow, requesting permanent asylum.

Putin will grant the asylum, glad for yet another thing to lord over fatso. 

But when Putin learns 45 is broke and knows no Top Secrets the Kremlin doesn't, he'll graciously deliver one of his infamous gifts.

The only question for America: where to dispose of the remains?

I suggest the ruins of Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

— Hunter

Anything You Want

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant.

— Arlo Guthrie

Last year, my wife and I spent three late-summer days in leafy Stockbridge, Massachusetts, the home of the now-derelict Alice's Restaurant. The restaurant's front door was padlocked, but I managed to sneak inside through the adjoining building (another greasy spoon, this in full operation). Not much to see of Alice's Restaurant except dust, cobwebs, and a few splintery tables and counters.

This year, I'm grateful for many things, not the least of which include the annual airplay of Arlo Guthrie's anti-war song—the only song about Thanksgiving that isn't insufferably schmaltzy. I'm also grateful Covid-19 hasn't ripped family members and friends from my life or denied me a cozy, if crimped, lifestyle.

Millions of other Americans can't say that.

Behavioral scientists believe gratitude, the "affirmation of goodness," survives from our primate-days, when we thrived by helping others and being helped in return.

Psychotherapists believe gratitude is as much a "practice" as an inborn emotion. Counting your blessings makes you upbeat, sociable and generous; combats depression; and wards off many unhealthy emotions, including envy, resentment, anger and contempt. AA calls the practice an "attitude of gratitude."

Although few Americans know or care, Gettysburg is the reason we celebrate Thanksgiving every year. The holiday—intended by Lincoln as a "day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficient Father who dwelleth in the Heavens"—was instituted by executive order three months after the Federal government's Pyrrhic victory outside the Pennsylvania town. 

Seven score and seventeen years later, we mark the holiday not by thanksgiving and prayer, but by overeating, watching football, and avoiding any mention of the "party of Lincoln."

Quite the comedown.

So let's set things aright.

This week, I challenge you to write down three good things that have come your way in 2020, and imagine your life without them. The items you list are up to you: they can be can be people, ideas, objects, or events. Anything you want.