husband school

When women become the dominant life form on Earth, capable of defending themselves with high technology without actually enjoying the taking of life, one out of eight women will be unfit for the job of wife. These will be trained, at public expense, in the oldest profession, to live on the wildlife preserves in order to help pacify the seven out of eight men who are unfit for the job of husband. They will be accompanied by an adequate quantity of body guards and armaments, or course.

So will the one out of eight men who are fit husbands need similar free education in the profession of husbanding? I say yes, since it has taken me six decades of living to feel like a grown up and experienced enough to put "husband (the newest profession?)" on my resume. This is not a representative sample, mind you.

So. Back again. The first conference of the International Dada Centennial Committee has concluded that the murderous Homo Sapiens will be succeeded as dominant life form on Earth by another sentient life form that is capable of defending itself without the need for an instinctive love of committing senseless mass slaughter on battlefields. This sentient life form is not artists. (Homo Artificialis). It is women.

How will this sentient life form reproduce, seeing as it is entirely composed of one sex? Just as men became the dominant life form by domesticating dogs, cats, sheep, goats, horses, cattle, the women will become the dominant life form by domesticating husbands.

Will there still be men on Earth? Yes, though as technology renders unnecessary the instinct to commit senseless mass slaughter, and what you do not use you lose, the population of men will undergo severe losses. Women are, by nature, pro life, so they will be loath to allow men, or any other interesting component of biodiversity, to become extinct. Men, like buffalo, will be artificially kept alive on wildlife preserves, where they can kick butt, make high risk investments, play golf, and other activities that are good for the economy.

Won't they get horny? Of course, constantly. But just as one out of seven males is worthy of being a husband, one out of seven females will be unworthy of being a wife. These will be given tuition-free education in the oldest profession, which, by this time, has become, like everything else, high tech and highly paid. They will play an important role in keeping the men under control. They will eventually be replaced by hot looking robots.

What is the difference between a man and a husband? Men are capable of murder, theft, rape, domestic violence, and senseless mass slaughter. Husbands are not. Husbands are, however, perfectly capable of pulling the trigger on a surface to air missile, when the men try to escape the wildlife preserve, even though they will feel really bad afterwards.

To be continued.

The first conference of the International Dada Centennial Committee is over. Did we at least come up with any new anti-art? Mostly we came up with anti-me. First of all, there were objections to my posting physical descriptions of the attendees. One even suggested that I was in the early stages of Alzheimer's for not knowing that they would all pull out their laptops during coffee breaks and read about themselves almost as soon as I wrote. Number three was amused at my suspicion that she is a lesbian.

"I get that all the time," she said. Her husband, on the other hand, was livid. He read it and called her on the cell phone. I could hear his threats from across the room. "Cool your jets, Vinnie," I heard her tell him, "Get a sense of humor. Do it now."

Number six started giving me funny smiles all the time. It was terribly embarrassing. Number four announced he was trying to be an ex-gay and did not mind the whole world knowing about it. He was one of the few who had no objections.

Number ten pretty much took over as leader of the conference. That was just fine with me. At the end, the bottom line was, believe it or not, a consensus: We do not have to wait thousands of years for the Earth to evolve a sentient life form that is capable of defending itself without an instinctive love of committing senseless mass slaughter on battlefields. This sentient life form is already with us. And it is not artists. It is women. To be continued.

Conference Notes pg. 3

I am wondering, of course, whether any of the individuals present at this little conference have responded to the blog before. Before I ask, I try to guess. I guess that #1 might be the rhythm-free jazz combo called the Empty House, whose members I have suspected to be all the same person, playing the different parts with his mouth. I decide to be blunt.

"Are you, by any chance, connected with the jazz combo called the Empty House?" I ask.

He smiles. He nods. Otherwise, he is silent.

"Are you, perhaps, the entire group?"

"Was it that obvious?" he asks.

"It took me a few minutes."

"You are pretty good."

"So, no one else has ever picked up on this?"

"Well, since we, I mean, I, usually play in city parks, picking up on this is not usually an issue. But, yeah, you are the first to get it without seeing us, I mean me."

"Wow. I am flattered."

"You should be."

"So what brings you here?"

"Excelsior."

"Nietzsche."

"Man is to be overcome."

"So is rhythm."

"Precisely. Rhythm is so predictable, isn't it?"

"Swingin'!" says #9.

To be continued.

Conference notes p. 2

I welcome everyone to the first conference of the International Dada Centennial Committee. I inform them that here there are no rules.

"That's a rule!" interjects #10.

Aha. A troublemaker. I was worried from looking at this crowd that we might not have a single troublemaker. It has occurred to me that while Dada is still, a century later, pretty hip, coming to a meeting of the International Dada Centennial Committee is not. The ten attendees struck me as accordingly square. Therefore boring. That is alright, for I have always had a high tolerance for boring people. This may be an extension of my childhood preoccupation with my insect collection: boring people come in as many different types as Coleoptera (beetles).

"I stand corrected," I tell #10.

"Is there any such thing as correct?" asked #2, in a not unfriendly way, "I mean, you know, like correct as opposed to incorrect, truth as opposed to falsehood. I think truth has been overrated."

Everyone is suddenly silent. I see at least two furtive glances in the direction of #8, who has admitted that she believes the Bible to be true. I break the silence by soliciting comments on the core idea introduced by Dada, that art has a duty to trick mankind into not committing senseless mass slaughter on battlefields.

"How many of us are artists?" I ask, raising my own hand (I make abstract-surrealist collages, xerox them and paint the photocopies. Xerox company will now be angry with me for endangering their copyright by tossing their name about generically. I feel evil. Every once in while I need to feel just a little evil. Xerox! Kleenex! Band-Aid!).

Five others raise their hands. #1 is a musician, #2 writes poetry, #3 writes fiction, #8 paints, and #9 seems to be trying to hide a smile as he says, "I do all sorts of stuff," and takes a drag on his cigarette. It is a hand rolled cigarette. I secretly hope he turns out to be a trouble maker too. Too many troublemakers can destroy a group. But too few can as well, especially if the non-troublemakers have no clue as the fact that they are destroying it.

I am left wondering what is the story with #6. She is not an artist. What is she, besides drop-dead gorgeous? I hope she turns out to be real boring, and real soon. It is nerve wracking to be constantly worrying that you will say something stupid in front of some member of the opposite sex. If she is real boring, I will relax a little. So far so good. Relaxation relieves stress. Stress shortens human life. #6 does not know that she is secretly killing me. Or maybe she does know. Maybe that is an art form in itself: Be drop-dead gorgeous, then walk into a room and the middle aged men start dropping dead. Turn around, walk out, find another room and do it again. Stranger things have been called art.

We Meet Face to Face

The International Dada Centennial Committee is having its first conference. Cultural Terrorist will be minuting the event in the blog. In attendance are ten individuals, all of whom will be anonymous, regardless of whether they wish to be anonymous. I will go so far as to describe them, physically and otherwise, but will only call them by number in the order that they sit in a circle, clockwise from my left.

#1 is male, about five nine, very thin, longish dark hair, eyeglasses, wispy beard, mid twenties, dressed all in black.
#2 is female, about five five, medium build, long auburn hair, thirtyish, long dark green floral print skirt, sandals with thick, hot pink socks (it is January), mauve sweater into which her rosy face seems to blend.
#3 is female, short, rounded figure, salt and pepper hair cut very short, fortyish. She dresses in a masculine sort of way. I am fairly certain she is a lesbian until she mentions her husband several times. Maybe it was the thick Brookyn accent that made her seem... I don't suppose this is any of my business... especially if her father is in the Mafia.
#4 is male, short, slight build, blond, a pretty sort of boy, looks to be about twenty two, pale olive green turtle neck, khakis, penny loafers, shy, nervous, twiddles this thumbs. I need to ask him where he got the penny loafers. I did not know they still made them.
# 5 is male, about five eight, stocky, probably muscular, thick wrists, gray hair, balding, vaguely middle aged, wears a dark gray tweed jacket. He makes a point of telling us, perhaps a little defensively, that he is openly polygamous, numbering his wives at four, "so far."
# 6 is female, about five seven, very thin, disturbingly pretty, shoulder length mouse brown hair, late twenties, dark maroon velvet jacket, white shirt, faded blue jeans, tennis shoes, white socks, large intelligent eyes the color of clover honey, or is it buckwheat honey? Definitely darker than sourwood honey. Crosses her legs and moves her toe up and down as if keeping time with some internal music, adagio. Beethoven's "Sonata Pathetique?" A soft, friendly pink mouth like....I really ought to shut up about #6 lest my wife read this and pepper me with irrelevant questions.
#7 is male, tall, thin, hair the same color as the eyes of #6, next to whom he sits, dressed rather expensively, I think, paisley tie, jacket also the same color as the eyes of #6, (I really must shut up about her), strikes me as a dandy, so to speak, very chatty, animated, thirty something.
#8 is female, also in her thirties, a bit plump, extremely long dark hair, long black skirt, brick colored sweater, asks whether it is okay that she is a Bible believing christian. Everyone nods enthusiastically.
#9 is male, average height, average build, bald, in his sixties at least, rimless glasses, quiet, gray suit, white shirt, no tie. Asks whether he can smoke. Everyone nods enthusiastically except #2, who just sighs in acquiescence.
#10 is male, very short, very thin, very bald, probably prematurely so, pushing forty, wears expensive looking blue jeans, expensive looking cowboy boots, black turtleneck sweater, intense pale blue eyes.

The meeting is called to order.
To be continued...