Someone called me up tonight and she sounded panicked. "I was in a bodega and heard Julia Allison's voice over the radio. She's advertising for some computers, does she even matter anymore?" I wasn't sure and I'm still not sure how to answer that question other than to say "it's for Sony, she's taking over the airwaves, now, wow."

And now, art.

I am not an art critic. I know nothing about performance art or how to "deal" with it.

I also know nothing about the DJ Mayonnaise Hands person that emailed this to us is (he has something to do with the video) or why he exists or what he has to do with Julia "I Potentially Had Sex With Your Little Brother, Dave Eggers" Allison. In fact, I'm determined to know as little about this video as possible in order to preserve the incredible context in which I got to view it, which was without any. All I know is how it made me feel. I just, I don't know, I mean, okay:

Here's Julia Allison, standing outside a bunch of galleries in Chelsea. She's asking people what it takes to be an art critic and who should be an art critic.

I have no idea what the fuck is going on anymore.

There's so much funny on Regretsy, I'm not sure where to begin. I'm not the only one.

Maybe its name, a streak of obvious brilliance. Or the two anonymous posting names Knitler Youth and Helen Killer. Etsy is inherently funny, so finding the most insane things on Etsy just works. It's not like eBay, where people are selling ridiculous things. These people are expressing themselves. Sure, you could make an argument that Regretsy might be mean-spirited; after all, someone's pouring their heart into these things. Let me assure you that after about five minutes on Regretsy, you'll understand. Also, they link to all of the sellers, which makes for an awesome punchline: people are buying these things after being linked on Regretsy. Often. Occasionally, the internet will turn out a win-win situation. This is one of them. My three favorite Regretsy items below. Throw yours in the comments.

Yes, it's a Leopard Pink Goat Coat. Because your goat is caught in the never-fashion of fourteen years ago and wants to be on The Grind.

Yes, it's a catnip fetus. Because your named your pet Patrick Bateman.

Yes, it's a knit Christmas Nativity Meerkat Manger Scene. Because you're a festive meerkat.

So: Richard Weisman, wealthy businessman, commissioned Andy Warhol to do a bunch of paintings in the early 80s, which are now known as The Weisman Collection, and have since been depicted in the wackadoo coffee table book, From Picasso to Pop, which model Cheryl Tiegs helped write with Weisman.

The pictures were a bunch of Warhols of athletes, and one of Weisman, who Warhol appears to have been fairly gracious to (pictured). Via Reuters, reporting on the burglary:

The spokeswoman said the silk-screen works, which each measure 40 inches square, had been hanging on Weisman's dining room walls and that a housekeeper who noticed them missing on September 3 notified police. Weisman was not home at the time of the burglary and there was no sign of forced entry at the home, police said. Nothing else was taken by the thieves, who left behind several other Warhol paintings.

Housekeepers have to discover a lot, don't they? Poor Dorota. Interestingly enough, Art Daily refers to said housekeeper as a "nanny." Housekeeper or nanny: which is it? Let the artists decide.

Meanwhile, no suspects have been named, but really: what the hell do you do with a stolen painting? It's not like a stolen car, which can go incognito. Anybody who knows their shit about art would probably say to themselves: Hey! There's the stolen Warhol, I'm cashing in! and people who wouldn't know probably wouldn't appreciate the gravity of a Warhol painting sitting in your living room, and why go through the hassle of stealing a Warhol for your philistine friends when you can just buy Cheryl Teigs' book instead. ANYWAY. There are, naturally, conspiracy theories about this kind of thing already:

Though personally, I think it's a toss-up between Elizabeth Berkeley and Pricilla Presley. THEY'RE ALL SUSPECTS. Finally, didn't it always seem like Andy Warhol didn't give a shit about art, or talking about art? I'm willing to bet Andy Warhol would think the stealing of his art is art. In celebration, here's Andy Warhol, talking about Jasper Johns:

For starters: imagine everything you think would show up at this audition. Now, close your eyes and see it in your mind. Open them.

A ghoulish portrait of a face that appeared to be Michael Jackson's melded with Elvis's; a crazily beaded mannequin torso with the sparkly word "GIRL" attached like a tiara to the top of its head; a Caravaggio-esque painting of St. Sebastian, skewered and suffering; a photo-realistic canvas so large it arrived on a truck. At the corner of Horatio and Hudson Streets one artist was slowing traffic considerably as he applied bright blue swirly paint to the body of a topless woman who was wearing only a flesh-colored thong.

Alas, poor Horatio. Also: watch the art/reality show cliches meet in the middle.

Reality Show Stereotype: The Dad Who's Trying To Revitalize His Dreams.
Art World Stereotypes: Gigantic Sissy, Afraid of Outdoors, Making a Collage Out of Something Ridiculous....Like Gum Wrappers.

Second in line, after arriving at 1 in the morning on a flight from Fort Myers, Fla., was Jeffrey Scott Lewis, a 48-year-old collagist, single father and former store-window designer who brought along a colorful, mosaiclike work he had made from gum wrappers. (He quit smoking in February and described gum as his "new best friend.") "I've wanted to be on a reality show since the first time I saw ‘Survivor' - but without the bug bites and stuff," Mr. Lewis said.

And who's going to be in charge of this thing? Who will look after the artists? Who will be the Tim Gunn of this thing? They're not saying, except for this charmer trotted out:

The lone judge brought out for interviews was Simon de Pury, chairman of the auction house Phillips de Pury. He said that he did not hesitate when asked to become involved, and that his hope for the program was that it would help penetrate the air of "hermetic inapproachability" surrounding contemporary art.

Well, as far as I've seen, pretty much anybody can already get into the contemporary art racket these days.

As far as the "hermetic inapproachability" surrounding the public's views and interactions with contemporary art? Well, for one thing, it's pretty much encapsulated by simply using that phrase. And for another, this show's going to make it a hell of a lot worse.

Hundreds Try Out for Art-World Reality Show [NYT]

An apocalyptic, borderline Mad Max sculpture by two guys who go by AIDS-3D. The center of the sculpture was a tower with the words OMG inscribed on it in lights. It originated as a GIF image file, at one point, they say. Interview with them here.

Someone sleeping in a bed, in the middle of the museum. Chu Yun, the artist, "supplied" his subjects with sleeping pills and the bed. The sleepers were being paid $10 an hour to sleep in the museum. Yun's previous work has included putting a woman with down's syndrome in a chair, in a gallery.The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

Artist Guthrie Lonergan's Myspace Intro Playlist, in which the artist remixed a bunch of MySpace intro videos. It is not intended to be funny, according to the arist.

This video of rival street gangs in Belgrade fighting, scored to a trance techno track.

Three very large banners, one of which advised me: "DON'T PAY TAXES."

A installation with videos by artist Ryan Trecartin. The room had discarded Lay-Z-Boys and part of an airliner's interior on the side of it. I also remember seeing a shelf with sand on it, and a BlackBerry in the sand. Here is a Ryan Trecartin video. I'm simply incapable of describing its contents: The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

The remnants of an art project that took place on the first floor of the museum. There was a bunch of cardboard paper, unfolded boxes, and various other "construction" scraps lying on the floor. There was a small TV in the corner depicting in fast-forward the artist and her friends, building a replica of Rome in 24 hours, and then destroying it. From New York's art critic Jerry Saltz's review of the show:

The first night, I watched kids fashion the altars and temples of Rome's archaic period; by the next morning, when I returned, they'd been destroyed ("by fires," said the artist), and I spied the beginnings of Classical Rome. Just before the opening, the whole city was again wrecked and left in ruins, as the Dark Ages began. Glynn is saying she's not going to listen to the bromides that assert that change takes time.

An 8-bit videogame called FlyWrench by artist Mark Essen. You use an original Nintendo controller to control a line going through different colored shapes: The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

The laid out contents of three people, from whom Chinese artist Liu Chuang offered to buy everything off of their person for display in a museum. One included a cell phone, some pictures of themselves, and of course, all of their clothing.

A rotating spiral staircase on a platform, entitled: Nothing Is True, Everything Is Permitted, Stairway Edit.

Photographs of adults acting out Second Life and video game scenarios.

One of the gallery attendants, wearing a white 80s tracksuit with bloodstains on it. There was a card for it; this was part of this exhibition.

The last thing I saw before leaving was a banana peel on the floor. I couldn't tell if it was part of the show or not, and I didn't bother to check.

Okay, so, some comment, and some context (I lied! Getting you past the jump: it's an art.):

I'm by no means an educated art consumer or art critic, which is why it's probably safer to read Jerry Saltz's assessment of this thing for an actual, critical appreciation. The video game was fun. The message advising me not to pay taxes was nice. But: a woman was sleeping in a bed, in a museum. I'm often advised by people who know more about art than me that much of the point of this is to ask: is it art? Don't get me wrong: as you can tell by the publication you're reading this on, I'm all about the subversive (or painfully obvious) art of fucking with someone's sensibilities. But how does one get into the position to be able to put someone sleeping in a museum and call themselves an artist? Do you have to be embedded in the art scene? Well-established? Anyway. Maybe this makes me a conservative yokel without any kind of appreciation for the more intelligent "pleasures" of life. Or maybe it just makes me someone who went to a museum and "didn't get it." On that note, however, here are some ideas for the next time the New Museum goes at something like this. I submit them in sincere pursuit of the advancement of art and human civilization's ability to express itself:

• Me, sitting in a papasan, smoking a bong, eating sandwiches of various origin.
  
  
• A bounce-house full of puppies, while House of Pain's "Jump Around" is blasted on repeat in the bounce house. This will be at a frequency the dogs can't hear.
  
  
• A full-scale replica of Waffle House installed on the roof of The New Museum, with a staff imported from a Waffle House currently in operation somewhere in the Southeastern United States. The only thing you can't order will be bacon.
  
  
• A four year-old melting plastic toy soldiers with a blowtorch.
  
  
• A New York City MTA official punching himself in the face every hour, on the hour. He will have a stack of unlimited Metrocards in his pocket that you don't know are there.
  
  
• A drawing of me drawing a drawing, drawn by something that is not ordinarily asked to draw. There will be a new one each day. We will start with a parakeet and move forward as such.
  
  
• A coffee stain.
  
  
• This painting of pancakes on Nick Denton's head.
  
  
• A performance-art version of Gawker where I go around screaming at people on the Bowery and handing out gold stars to the ones who scream back something interesting. Any of the ones trying to correct my grammar get summarily executed or "banned."
  
  
• A Starbucks gift card with exactly one cent less on it than is required to buy a small cup of coffee.
  
  
• A pillow filled with marmite, accompanying a down comforter filled with nutella, and a mattress filled with english muffins.
  
  
• A giraffe named Mercedes.
  
  
• A puppet show performed exclusively by people who hate puppets.

That is all. Oh, and this:

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

The Generational: Younger Than Jesus [New Museum]
‘Jesus' Saves - God bless the New Museum's tantalizing triennial. [New York]