Oscars by AnOmaly

The Oscars happened and I didn't even know it. That's how successfully I've tuned out all the places that would have brought awareness to me.

Oh, I knew they were coming but I didn't know exactly when. So I missed them. And I was delighted about that.

Still, they come through. I saw this deep within comments to another blog from another inhabited planet in some other remote solar system in our own galaxy.

You probably won't like it on account of hippies. And for its redundancy. And for its pounding didactic delivery. But other people do like it very much and they say so in comments here and there.

Let's give it a go.

WOW! Listen to this awesome clip on Hollywood! Socialists lord over US at @TheAcademy #Oscars as California has the highest taxes & poverty!

Somebody has to say it!

Please Retweet this amazing video! #MAGA @POTUS @realDonaldTrump @WhiteHouse!

Credit: https://t.co/y6rrQKtV1z pic.twitter.com/WrmILXiRiJ

— Oliver McGee PhD MBA (@OliverMcGee) February 26, 2019

AnOmaly has a YouTube channel but this video ↑ is not on it, so far. I have no idea where the Twitter person  got it.


But this video about another current event is on his YouTube channel. Same over-analytical style.

It's the small things that drive me nuts.

The thoughtless art in the background. I expect each one of us could have painted that picture in the 3rd grade. I was really big on palm trees back then. And I hadn't even seen a real one yet. When I finally did see one, right before Easter in the 3rd grade, in California, they blew my mind. I loved them so much. I wanted to climb them. I marveled at their height. Their audacity. Their simplicity. Their variety. I wanted to clean them up. I wanted to fix them. I liked drawing their fronds and imaging how constant wind would mess them up, how the wind would mess up the whole trees. I drew them ideally, and I drew them messed up. I drew them torn up by hurricanes. With and without coconuts. And with different types of of fronds. I did this for years before becoming a teen.

It's rakishly wrongly hung. Here, let me fix that.

It's faded contrast doesn't work for an island and it sticks out (contrasts) compared with  the man's own contrast. Not such a bad thing for the subject to stick out from the background, but come on, this is a painting. That somebody bought. Here, let me fix that.

When I was an early teenager I bought such a piece of inexpensive art from a regular big box store for the new apartment of a friend. And she loved it. And she hung it. Like this guy did, behind the sofa. She only had scant furnishings. It was a deplorable dark brown painting of a sailing ship at port; wet-looking with harsh abrupt brushstrokes and palette knife scratches for rigging. I thought it was cool and so did everyone else. But I would never do that past the age of sixteen. It's just wrong to pick art for other people and expect them to display it. I didn't appreciate that then. Better to have gone shopping with her. Later, I waited for people to tell me they wanted my art. I waited for them to actually commission me. See, you live and learn. Some of us do anyway. While others don't care about any of that kind of crap and analyze other things instead.

In my late twenties to early thirties I had a girlfriend who thought about other things. She gifted me batik crap in round wooden hoops that I couldn't possibly display then got angry with me for not putting them up.

She bought me blue dress shirts with white collars that I had already previously decided positively I'd never wear, with good reason of my own, then got angry with me for not wearing them. She demanded I explain myself. She was hurt. Or pretended to be. I told her; don't buy me clothes. Don't presume to dress me up.

She didn't listen. At great effort she knitted me a sweater that she knew was wrong because she used 3 skeins more wool than her instructions called for. She told me that. She knew her knitting was wrong. I looked like a little boy wearing his dad's sweater. Then she got mad at me for not wearing the ridiculous overwrought poorly knitted monstrosity. I did wear it skiing one time, fell on a black diamond run, tumbled, and the snow that adhered within each knitted loop of the sweater doubled my weight and stretched the sweater down to my knees. I was wet and cold and looked like a shivering yeti. Don't tell her I threw it away.

We didn't last.