Jolly 2011-08-15 00:07:18

Happy Clock day to you as well.

Jolly 2011-08-16 00:07:57

I accidently slept 11 hours today. I could have gotten more.

Jolly 2011-08-16 00:08:08

p. good bro.

Jolly 2011-08-16 06:35:50

I accidently slept for 11 hours and I blammed a lot of submissions.

Jolly 2011-08-16 09:43:50

I expected a lot of saves on the 10th year of B.

Jolly 2011-08-16 12:54:26

Yeah.

Jolly 2011-08-17 23:33:34

I read this yesterday.

I used to be an art teacher at a relatively well-known art school. I saw my share of broody artist types in my time at that job, and at that time a good deal of them actually had reasons for their unusual demeanors, not like the 20-somethings today who just do it to be cool. They were often very poor and perpetually broke, but the school was sponsored by the government and these kids had won scholarships some way or another. These were kids with abusive fathers, whore mothers, some of them had drug problems, and the only way they could express their emotions was through art. They didn't whine on and on to anyone who would listen about how their art reflected their inner torment and spout about how pathetic they were to gain sympathy and social points, they were legitimate creative types.
It goes without saying that there were quite a few applicants who didn't make it into the program. They were more like the majority of art students you find today, the ones who become artists to get sex. They were very irritating on a personal level, and it wasn't just to me. No one liked them. No one slept with them, either, at a time when that was a feat to accomplish. There was one young man who has always stuck in my mind; even though I hated the guy, memories of speaking to him are some of the most vivid I have left of that time of my life. He was everything I didn't want to see in a student: wore horrible cologne, wouldn't follow advice, had mediocre technical skills, and couldn't accept constructive criticism. Sure, he could paint, but it simply wasn't at a high enough level, and he seemed limited in his subject matter. His paintings were downright boring, and he wasn't trying to make an "ironic statement" or anything, although if he had told me that he had, I might have thought a little better of him. But he was just downright rude the first time I told him he had been rejected, and he had the most disgusting moustache. Sure, moustaches were in style at the time, but his was very poorly groomed around the edges. It always bothered me.
He didn't give up. Nearly a year later, he applied again, and I had to reject him. The next day he came right into my studio and pleaded for me to help him get into the program. It happened to be my wife's birthday and it was late and I was in a rush to get home. Thinking back, I was probably meaner than I ought to have been, but I simply think this guy was worth courtesy. I told him that he was simply unfit to be a painter, and he threw a tantrum. Can you imagine it, a grown man acting like a small child? He shouted in those rising tones that grated my ears and kicked over an easel and damaged a work in progress of one of my colleagues. I snapped. I let loose on him. I berated his work, his worth as a human, his greasy, black hair and even his poorly-groomed birdwings moustache. He didn't say anything at all while I was shouting. When I had finished, he turned and left the room with a look of utter shame and a destroyed ego. I was still very upset and not feeling any sympathy towards him at all. He was a nothing, a no good failure of an artist trying to put himself among his superiors and live off taxpayer money. But now, all these years later, I look back and think that maybe I could have done something nice, maybe put in a good word for him at one of the less prestigious institutes and kept him from sending all those jews to camps. Sadly, I learned a while back that he eventually commited suicide. I can't say that I don't feel partly responsible for his death, and it weighs down on my conscience like nothing you can imagine.