I'll get back to you and icosatriology in a sec -- OK, a few secs, heh -- but there's something I gotta do first ...

*This is Marcel Duchamp day.*
Using the powers vested in me by Nobody, I hereby declare <Chessgames.com> to be a Readymade work of art.

Slightly better than a Matisse and less likely to disintegrate than a Warhol, but not quite at the level of Duchamp's Large Glass or a late Rembrandt self-portrait.

I'm an art critic now, you know -- I can even speak fluent Pomo when I have to. It's useful for winning the trust of the natives but it's a terrible bore otherwise.

For the next 12 hours, or until I decide otherwise, everything here is Art.

Critic: (taking out stringy bits as he speaks) Mmmm... (munches) Well I think Utrillo's brushwork is fantastic... (stifles burp) But he doesn't always agree with me ... (belches) Not after a Rubens, anyway ... all those cherries ... ooohh ... (suddenly looks down) Ur'gh! I've got Vermeer all down my shirt...

<also, you better stop mentioning "Frogspawn" as if you created it... although you did of course.>

S'pose I'd better. Invention is so last century. I *named* it, which is a well-known magical act. But I ripped off the idea from a book by William Hartston, so it's probably bad - or even black - magic.

Did you have Black Magic chocolates in Canada? Their TV ads were a hoot ... James Bond types in rich-person camouflage gear swinging silently from diamond-encrusted chandeliers to bypass security, penetrate the fortress, and leave a box of chocs by the Lady's bed.

Hang on, that was Milk Tray. Sounds distinctly less romantic.

Everyone knows that *you* made Frogspawn what it is today, however.

I actually ran out of new things to say some time ago. I'm reduced to either repeating myself or, well, um, kibitzing on games of chess.

Luckily, nobody notices.

"Names themselves may be meaningless ... but the *act of naming* ..." ... as Mr Pynchon sez.

There's another school of thought that says Utrillo -- as a "half-mad alcoholic" -- was obviously a genius. This theory would also allow genius wriggle room for several people I know.

Uccello - aka Paolo di Dono - now, he was The Man. All that nocturnal perpending while babbling about the beauty of perspective while poor Mrs U (La Donna) tried to drag him to bed ...

Clearly, I meant *Oldenburg*. Sorry, Claes.

I once went through a phase of making sculptures out of soap suds and bubbles, carved with a hot knife. They didn't last long, they tasted horrible, but they made washing up afterwards much easier.

Good Heavens no.

So long as one's audience is familiar with Heidegger's <important> distinction between the <ontic> and the <ontological>, and understands how much fun he had selling cookies for the <Hitler Youth>, you should expect nothing less than adoration from your audience.

Did you know that <re-reappropriation> cancels <reappropriation> out?

In plainer language, what this really means is that many black people don't enjoy <The Chapelle Show>, but they still may grudgingly admire <Sammy Davis Jr.>...

But only for his appearances on <Dean Martin Celebrity Roast>, where <Don Rickles> called him a "Brillo pad with legs" and got away with it.

The 1970s were innocent times, and thanks to the miracle of <YouTube> we can all learn about it.

There's only one problem with attending <pomo art lectures> that I can see-- the often irresistable urge to go home, cut and paste pictures of <Ronald McDonald> and some <gas chambers> on a piece of paper and then scrawl <Arbeit Macht Fries> over it with a black crayon.

Oh how one yearns for more innocent times...

Let me close with what I should have opened with, and, consequently, refrained from opening in the first place:

<Chess is <<<a>>> school of silence.>

Father to studenty son:
- What's this semi-otica? Why not go all the way and study *Ottica*, then you could be an eye-doctor and make money.

Ottica means Optics. Hmm ... so *semiotics* is the study of isolani eyes.

I think my Eye needs a head doctor.

"The silence of Marcel Duchamp is overrated" -- Joseph Beuys. In the original Deutsch: ‘Das Schweigen von Marcel Duchamp wird überbewertet’

Overrated by how many Elo points, eh?

He shoulda dropped those n's and become a writer of scary books for kids, named Roald McDoald.

*The comfit of strangers.*

If I may be allowed to conflate the words of Blanche DuBois and Tennessee Williams with those of Ian McEwan, Beth Orton, Paul Schrader and Harold Pinter.

*Coprophile Fast Food*
"Stick yer tongue in a Dungburger"

*Ascetic Fast Food*
"Get yer mout' about a Nowtburger"
"Lettuce pray"
"Chicken Noughts" [ouch!]

*Future Fast Food*
"First Catch your Locust"

*Chessic Fast Food*
"Knight Whopper"
"Filet-de-Fou"
"King Horse Special Offer - Free King Horseshoes"

"Can I have a burger please?"
"No. You're not allowed it"

Ordering some of this stuff could be difficult:

*Very Fast Food*
"Er, can I have a ..."
"Next!"

*Prognosticatory Fast Food*
"Right, I want a ..."
"Yeah, we know".

*Prophetic Fast Food*
"Gimme a burger"
"You'll be sorry".

*Stuck Fast Food*
"Do you want extra gluten with that?"

Thing is, I'm not entirely sure I trust the *slow food* people either.

- Can I have a special slow organic burger, please?

- Sure. First this bull has to do the biz with this cow, then the calf must be born, grow up, and agree to be humanely [sic] slaughtered. While you're waiting, plant these seeds -- we'll need wheat and stuff eventually.

Maybe *no food* is the answer. You die, but you have a few weeks of being fashionably emaciated first.

It's cool being able to toggle between the American and English dialects, though, isn't it? Plus we got an extra one each (Indian/Irish) for emergencies.

Last time I posted that, I expected an Armenian invasion. Like Flag Guy.

HAHAHAHAHAHAA

I thought Mules were something to do with feet.

"You can do anything, but sheet --
Don't you step on my blue suede feet"

<My ass has a PhD in rock'n'roll.>

Impressive!

However, my Mom did all the post-production sound engineering on <Never Mind the Bollocks: It's the Sex Pistols>.

You know, if we go to the original idiom of the phrase, there's no "brit-colonial' confusion on "ass backwards."

It's a very, very old insult (true- not making this up. You can consult GOOGLE or Wiki-Wrong Information or Ask Robin Days if you like)--

Latin, of course.

<preposterous>

Meaning, your "Ass is in front of you" (prior to you).

It's supposed to be behind you (antecedent to you).

"backwards," of course, means "reversed" in this context.

Viz- a good magazine.

I'm hoping you may make an appearance in the <41st Beekeeper's Festival of the Twatting Chess Stars> tonight?

<Fidel Castro> leads the field!!

Poor old <Magnificent Ambersons> slipped on his own dress last night, as you pointed out in my house.

I've adopted a policy of read and answer posts in other people's houses to keep chess work on the page as long as possible.

It struck me that it takes a lot of work to make a good chess post, so they should perhaps be "exposed longer," in direct contradistinction to <Britney Spears>.