I like to celebrate this date every year, it's the day I had the metal picked out of my eyes back in 1988. Believe me, if you went around for over a year with metal constantly getting in your eyes, you would remember and celebrate the date that it finally stopped, too.
That incident--with the metal, and the eyes, and the rusting because of the eyes watering and all--is what lead to my Etsy shop being called "Through My Rusty Eyes," because "Through My Scarred Corneas" just didn't have the same ring to it.
That brings me to what I really want to bitch about. My "art." I was wandering by Nancy Grace last night (she's on, and she's not cooking or redecorating) and she was ranting about auction sites that make loads of money off the art of serial killers.
The general public's fascination with serial killers is not something I've never heard of, but considering all of my heroes are not serial killers so far as I know, it's just something that weirds me out a little.
However...I am beginning to wonder if my drawings, like Thanksgiving, would become a hit if I did something really horrendous. I'm not entirely sure I want to kill or injure anyone, because that's not really my idea of art as much as it is being a disruptive little maniac, but I have a family to support, so maybe I shouldn't be so quick to rule it out. I guess I could always pretend I did something, I'm good with the Paintshopping, but then I'd probably have to talk to Larry King, and I'm sure he's a dear man, but I fear I'd get the giggles when I think of the days when I saw a resemblance between him and Zorak, The Lone Locust of the Apocalypse. I don't want to go down in history as the person who asked Larry King to recite Chubby Chubby Choo-Choo.
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