About once a year some sort of information leak occurs, and I receive evidence
that They have been complaining to one another about how Problematic Molitor
Is. However frequently it occurs, it certainly happens a lot more often than
someone actually complaining to me about How Problematic.
Now, to be fair, They have horrible OPSEC because They are dumb, but I cannot
imagine I am learning of more than a small percentage of the complaints, by
which I deduce that there's a surprising amount of locker room gossip
about How Problematic Molitor Is.
Which I think means that, by the incredibly low bar of "photoland," I am
not merely a critic, but a successful one.
I do hope there's some sort of statuette! I don't need a big ceremony,
but some sort of recognition would be nice. I'll be checking my mailbox for an invite!
So, you going to Disneyland now?
ReplyDeleteMy reward is that I don't have to go to Disneyland!
DeleteThat is the better of the two options! Congratulations!
Delete"There is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about" (Oscar Wilde)
ReplyDeleteStrange that none of these people turn up to troll you here. Or is that somehow connected with the skulls and the disturbed concrete in the garage?
Mike
Oh you noticed that too. I'm thinking of making an *anonymous* tip to CSI Bellingham!
DeleteBrad Feuerhelm showed up that one time! That was pretty funny.
DeleteBut we might also take it as a template. They'd roll up, read a few lines, think they've got the gist, and deliver a scathing rebuttal that is not only neither scathing nor a rebuttal, but which mainly serves to illustrate they have no idea what I'm talking about.
Then I would reply with something like "try as I might I cannot find any connection between your remarks and mine, but you seem very passionate."
None of these people actually care much about photography. It's a posture, or a job.
AD Coleman couldn't even get people to write furious letters to The Village Voice.
It's pretty much just me out on the downs howling at the heather. I do appreciate when you guys hike by now and then with a kind word, though.
There's either a short tragic play or short story in this. I could imagine you being sone sort of St Peter at the pearly gates of Artist Heaven, squirting tears or other salty fluids as hapless serious artists present their I hate Germany concept projects, to be banished to some muddy grey toneless hell of poor prints.
ReplyDeleteYeah, you just described their heaven. Hell for them would be more like an exotic dancer bar in Bangkok, with some skeezy Magnum dude as ringmaster. An exquisite hell nonetheless, for a wannabe Travis Bickle armed with a photobook.
Delete