Last night was the 83rd Annual Academy Awards, and the only goddamn thing I even cared about was the opportunity to see Exit Through the Gift Shop win an Oscar for Best Feature Length Documentary. Not only did I want to see this take place because the film is fantastic, but I, along with the rest of the world, was hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous Banksy. Well, Exit didn’t win, and instead the Oscar went to a documentary I’d not even heard of. Now, I hate award shows as is, and I’ve railed against them on this here blog repeatedly. But in this case, I was even more upset that we all of us were denied the opportunity to experience what would have been a mind-blowing experience. See, I’ve been of the opinion that Exit is essentially a fraud. Its brilliance is that, on its surface, Exit’s a commentary on commercialism and the idiocy of the art world (namely its collectors). On a whole other level, though, we are forced to ask if Mr. Brainwash isn’t, in fact, a plant, and that this whole film/story is an elaborate hoax perpetrated by the faceless Banksy. Now, in case you missed it, Exit Through the Gift Shop won the Independent Spirit Award for Best Documentary, and the award went to Banksy. But, you see, the elusive Banksy wasn’t there to accept it; fortunately, Mr. Brainwash was.
I mean, sure, we know of Banksy’s wish to be unidentifiable, and rightfully so considering the majority of his work would be considered “illegal tagging” of private property. With that, it would make sense that he sent Mr. Brainwash in his place, as he is the face of the movie. But what if the greater hoax isn’t something else entirely, something so obvious that we completely missed it? What if Mr. Brainwash really is Banksy? My girlfriend suggested this idea just yesterday, and the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I mean, for all we know, Exit is completely scripted. The guy playing Banksy could simply be an actor performing per Mr. Brainwash’s/Banksy’s direction. The whole thing has an Andy Kaufman/Tony Clifton feel, and it actually makes perfect sense. Food for thought.
This installment of haiku, from Monday, February 21, 2011 through Sunday, February 27, 2011, covers unemployment, school delays, teaching, Battlefield Earth, my dwindling roster, strange women and Ween. As always, you can find this collection here every Monday, or go on over and subscribe to my Twitter feed. Follow me, don’t follow me. I don’t give a fuck anymore. (That’s a lie. I’m a total narcissist. For God’s sake, follow me.)
And This Is When the Cabin Fever Begins to Set In Haiku (February 21, 2011)
I’m not sure, but I
think my cat just told me to
get a job. Asshole.
On Returning to a New Semester of Teaching, an Omen Haiku (February 22, 2011)
First day of class and
the streets are covered in snow.
After Talking at My Students for an Hour Haiku (February 23, 2011)
The first day of class
is analogous to
conversing with my cat.
After Watching Battlefield Earth, a Revelation Haiku (February 24, 2011)
Didn’t know I was
watching John Travolta’s
An Assessment of My Roster Only Two Days In Haiku (February 25, 2011)
Half my students were
absent for the second class?
To the Girl Who Touched My Beard at the Bar Last Night Haiku (February 26, 2011)
Hands off, Woman! That
shit belongs to my lady.
Get her, @artichoked!
After Watching Gene Ween Kick Ass Sans Dean Haiku (February 27, 2011)
Who needs Deaner when
you’ve got the craziest eyes
in all of music?!
Well, that’ll do it for this week. Until next time, have at it, you vultures!