rant

When you categorize some movies as worthy of Best Picture, while others are “popular” fare, the subtext is that the latter group is fun but unimportant.

The pendulum is swinging at an erratic pace. This is what life looks like as I fumble through it, in Toronto, in July, under a tree, with a hotdog.

He looked at me like a patronizing cow and remarked, “Fine art is for serious artists.”

It’s as if the sickness that comes with pregnancy is taken with levity in the medical community.

Why am I being offered a bottle of beer for my art? Is that how much I’m worth these days?

Maybe deep down, we all feel more comfortable when we’re pretending to be uptight, cold and pretentious.