Yayoi, what the bloody hell!, Kusama.

Richard (of RBB) and Shelley took me to an art exhibition at the City Gallery in Wellington today. The ride in was interesting, the art was crap. Some Japanese lady had an obsession with dots and had created rooms that presumably were supposed to represent the inside of someone's stomach. Shelley spent well over an hour watching a documentary about her, so Richard (of RBB) and yours truly went out for a sandwich and a coffee. There were dots all over the outside of the art gallery. Maybe the lady had a thing about measles. You won't believe this but they charged us ten bucks each to look at this crap. Fortunately Richard (of RBB) paid. I donated $2 towards the cost of the sandwiches and coffee. Richard (of RBB) looked grateful, as he should be after wasting my time looking at some old bird's weirdo fantasies. I suggested that we all go to a sports bar next weekend. Richard (of RBB) mumbled something, but I didn't quite catch it. I hope he's not going all arty farty on me!

Walking is for sissies.

Real men dig holes in roads to keep fit, or they play rugby. They certainly don't walk around the block.

Walking is for women, and arty people.
I suppose it's okay to walk if you're exercising a dog - as long as you walk directly to and from a park. Tramping is okay if you're going into the bush to shoot something. Otherwise it's pointless and the money spent on boots is wasted.

Artists and musicians are lazy good for nothings.

It's no coincidence that art rhymes with fart - both words could be considered a shit warning. I went out for a meal the other night. We had over priced food that looked like the chef had difficulty putting it on the plate - it was all sort of stacked up in the middle. I suspect that the chef was blind. It put me off a bit thinking of his hands slobbering all over my plate as he tried to arrange the food. Okay, I can live with a blind chef; at least he's doing an honest night's work. What really got to me was that, as we sat talking, some wanker showed up with a bloody bass and started playing. I say bass, but it looked like a big cello. Was he there to stifle conversation? Are we not supposed to talk in restaurants these days? Anyway, if you're going to play a tune, why not do it on a tune instrument? Bass is presumably designed to play bass notes. I approached this guy and politely asked him to play quieter. I said that I was with my deaf old dad - a lie but he bought it.
This guy could have been better employed cleaning dishes in the kitchen.

Please musicians who play silly things like basses, bagpipes, musical saws and the rest; if you want to make a din, please, please do it at home!