Because obviously nothing is more important than guns. Certainly not people. Especially if they disagree with you.
With an artist brother and a sister-in-law, you’d think I’d be more involved in the art world. Sadly, I’m not.
I used to be more of a gallery girl, loved nothing more than spending time in any one of the wonderful museums and galleries near where I lived or worked. And the galleries I got to visit while living in or traveling to Europe could fill a book. Still, going to a museum with either Fred or my sister-in-law, with someone who knows a lot about art, well, it is a wonderful treat.
But with my Crohn’s disease as active as it is these days, I don’t go very often.
For anybody without access to art, though, I recommend following my blogging buddy Mark, of Exile on Pain Street . He works in NYC and frequents museums, galleries and auctions and frequently writes about it on his blog. Mark does it with wit and without the snobbishness that usually accompanies folks who talk about art.
But nobody posts about art quite like I do. Or about art theft, because that’s really what this post is all about. Art theft pure and simple.
The international art heist I’m talking about occurred in Spain, just outside Madrid. I’m pretty sure it involved neither Audrey nor Peter. Nor, probably, would the stolen object ever find its way into the Louvre.
Still, if you know anything about art, the beauty of an object is all in the eye of the beholder. It may also be dependent on the species. Or on the leash holder.
Torrelodones, a town near Madrid, paid 2,400 euros ($2,726; £1,885) for this sculpture:
The article I read says:
The three-metre high inflatable bought as part of a campaign to encourage pet-lovers to pick up after their dogs went missing, El Pais newspaper reports. The bizarre inflatable disappeared after it had been packed away in its carry-case and the police are now on the trail of the 30 kilogramme dog poop, town officials say.
Speaking to the ABC newspaper, town councillor Angel Guirao said staff were shocked and perplexed by the theft, and a replacement excrement was already on order because “we know that the campaign has been a great success”.
I wish they’d asked me. I could have provided plenty of models for this piece of art.
Don’t hesitate to ask me anything about art. Or poop.
Well, it’s been a while since I discussed the topic that is near and dear to my, ummm, heart.
Poop transplants! — The ultimate solution to my Crohn’s disease woes.
OK, it’s nearer to my hiney, but you can’t claim you weren’t expecting that.
Earlier today I was discussing my future poop transplant with my boss. (It’s true, I have no pride what so ever.) She’s very interested in the idea. She wants me healthy, of course, but really, I think she wants to see what happens from a scientific perspective. And, frankly, I can’t blame her. I want to know what’ll happen from a scientific point of view, too. And from the perspective of a toilet paper consumer.
You may recall that I’ve mentioned that you have to be very choosy when choosing a poop donor. If the donor is fat, or depressed, or psychotic, well, the recipient can become fat, or depressed or psychotic. I haven’t researched what happens if you choose someone immature, though. Perhaps I should.
Anyway, the issue was on my mind tonight when I began reading the news. And I found my donor!
He is young and healthy, albeit a little younger than I was thinking of; he’s living in Florida with his mother. In fact, it was his mom who brought him to my attention. Well, and to the attention of people with a deep seated interest in poop.
One day Katy Vasquez discovered that the Lord moves in mysterious ways. And goes into mysterious places. Because, You see, one day when she was changing his diaper, she saw this sign that things were going to get better.:
It’s Holy Shit! What more could I ask for from a donor?