Ex Orble Blogger enters self-portrait, ‘Hitler in Bathroom with Hair Brush’ into Archibald.
February 28th 2008 22:46
My son’s ‘painting’.
Oh dear. I spend my morning writing a post on St Monica and how many mother’s tears and prayers are needed to convert a wayward child, and my son spends his mornings in the bathroom being Narcissistic, taking Neo-Nazi photos of himself and turning them into MS Paint ‘art-works’.
Then enters an MS Paint self-portrait of himself as Hitler in the Archibald, and gets his mug and interviews splashed all over the national newspapers. I’ve even had to take the phone off the hook. I’m sick of saying, “It’s nothing to do with me,” when these newspaper or television people ring. “He’s an adult. He’s old enough and ugly enough to look after himself.”
They wanted to know what the symbols in the painting represented. He wouldn’t tell them. That’s so like him. How would I know. All he said was something about Michael Atchinson, who draws the cartoons for the local Adelaide paper, The Advertiser, always putting dogs in his cartoons.
I don’t know why both of my children want to be artists. I wish they’d get normal jobs.
I’m at my wit’s end. It was bad enough when he used to just sit around blogging all day. Just filling up pages and pages with tommy-rot as far as I can see. Now he’s a Neo-Nazi. I could do without this. I’m not well. He gives no consideration to the fact his behaviour reflects upon his own mother. I didn’t bring him up like this. I blame his father. To use one his father’s own expressions when he used to belch, “Well brought up. Pity you weren’t.” He’s just like his father. A no-hoper.
It was a red-letter day for me when he quit blogging. At least I get to use my computer. I’ve got a good mind to take over his former blog, and turn it into something respectable now that Jon has offered.
I don’t know where David’s gone today. Again! He never tells me a thing. I’m only putting this up because he’s probably in an internet café somewhere and might read it. If he has time.
He spends his life on damn computers. I’ve got no idea what he does on the damn things all day long. “Chatting” apparently. Whatever that means. That’s about all I can ever get out of him. I don’t know how you “chat” on a computer. That’s beyond me. All this modern technology. At least he did set up a blog for me and teach me how to do this. So thank God for small mercies.
David. It’s your mother. If you see this, and can tear yourself away from your friend, at least give me a ring and tell me where you are.
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