Jersey Shore: Sight Unseen
By Mike Stevens
A Jersey Shore Tale
Jersey Shorr stared at his blank computer screen. He was unsure how to begin this months’ column he was writing for ‘Art from Around the Globe’ monthly magazine. He tried in vain to see the painting before him, but all he could see was splotches of colored paint.
“The painting is a wonderfully-colored modern celebration of life on canvas!” Yeah, that’s what he could write, or he could write the truth,
“I have no fricking idea if this is good, or looks like a reject pain-by-numbers nightmare, because I can’t see dick!”
No, he wasn’t going to say that. He shrugged, and started typing.
“Better not eat before you view this goiter; it’s liable to cause you to projectile-vomit on the floor in front of you! Come to think of it, the artist would have had a subject that held one’s attention better if he have done that, and painted it!”
He kept typing until he had his column.
The hall was packed as Jersey Shorr made his way inside. After mistakenly entering the outside lavatory because he couldn’t read the label on the door, he pulled open the correct door and walked inside.
“Mr. Shorr is here!”
“He’s here!” where just two of the many whispered comments he overheard.
“It’s pathetic! You call this art? I’d be embarrassed to affix my name to this travesty!” He was gazing on the vague outline of what was obviously a painting, but as to what the subject was, he had no idea.
“Ah, that’s the directions for using the fire extinguisher,” one of the artists said.
“I knew that! Do you think I didn’t know that?” he answered. He didn’t know that, but had to quickly cover his mistake. “I was only sharpening my reviewing skills!”
That made absolutely no sense, as he saw the two artists with him exchange mystified looks.
He quickly said, “Which one of these three am I supposed to critique?”
The two artists again exchanged looks, and one of them, after looking at the single one hanging there, said, “Ah, the one in the middle.”
“Hmm, let me see,”
'That’s your problem, you can't!' thought the artist,a man named Klaus Waydenfairer.
“is this some kind of sick joke? Making fun of a well-know religious symbol? Sacrilege!”
Klaus Weydenfairer glanced at his portrait of a man on a park bench feeding bread crumbs to pigeons gathered around him, and answered, “This painting has nothing whatsoever to do with religion!”
Jersey Shorr, desperate to extricate himself from the embarrassing situation his poor eyesight had caused, answered, “I’ll not look upon such sacrilege a moment longer!” and stormed out of the hall.
The owner of the magazine was speaking words that Jersey Shorr didn’t want to hear. “We’ve got to do something! We can’t ignore these complaints any longer. Several artists have complained about your eyesight, or lack thereof. Therefore, we feel we have no choice but to replace you as art columnist for ‘Art from Around the Globe’ magazine."
A sense of dread ran through Jersey Shorr. He’d been fearing this since he’d noticed his eyesight deteriorating. “What? You’re firing me? Well, you can’t fire me, I quit!” and he stomped to the door in an angry huff. He flung open the door, and stomped, right into several brooms hanging on hooks, After he was hit in the face with the brooms, he smacked into the wall. Red-faced, he backed out of the closet, and walked to the correct door.