Comment on The Love Hate Thing

The Love Hate Thing

Recently, an online article mentioned the most hated companies in America, which includes, in third place, AT&T, second – American Airlines, and topping the list, bada bada bada ... Facebook. Yup, the second biggest site on the internet, which boasts 800 million users, is also the most hated.

Facebook has been criticized by users for its lack of good privacy regulations and its alteration of user settings. Users also complain that Facebook users often don’t use proper etiquettes when online, such as stating mundane activities, or using it as a source of snooping/stalking of others, or using it as a gossip column. The very people who complain about Facebook may very well be the people who made Facebook infamous and popular.

The media outlets have been criticizing and chaffing the likes of Kim Kardashian and Lindsay Lohan, for their unorthodox lifestyles, such as getting married for 72 days for money and partying endlessly. We talk about why certain shows shouldn’t be on tv, yet these shows tend to be most popular. So, why is it that we can’t stay away from the things we hate? Is it because we enjoy feeding our own fire or do we really thrive off of other people’s miseries or is this how we live vicariously through others?

I have a confession to make -- I too have an obsession that I truly hate, and it is new age art – calling anything art for the sake of endless philosophical discussion without having any esthetic value. No, I’m not talking about the latest pop art or media art. I’m talking about calling things as art when it really is just “stuff”, such as sticking light bulbs in concrete, or claiming to be an artist over the creation of blasé neon signs when neon signs were created ages ago, or placing any random object on some platform such as mats, or stuffing things in bottles, or painting a solid colored circle, square or some odd shaped object and validating its significance by defining it with an off the wall description like “woman staring in the mirror with sky in the background”. These people are only a drink and a snort away from calling anything in sight “art”.

I can go on and on and on and on, and I would, but I’ve lit my fuse enough to go on-line and search for the newest and craziest stuff these quasi-artists have created so I can continue my fuming. My next sentence would’ve propelled me to tell you the websites and museums containing the obscene creations until I came back to my senses. If I told you about them and these “things” gain greater fame, my egotistical paranoia would think I had something to do with its popularity. Then, I would haunt every one of you in your sleep, not just tonight, but every night until you’ve given up calling trash as art.

At the same time, my fanatic rage wants you to see these works and hate them as much as I do. For in hating this art, we now have something in common to laugh and joke about—we’re really laughing at them and not with them. We know better than they do how ridiculous their work is and it’s a shame these artists don’t seemed to know any differently. Yet, I’m a bit jealous that they were able to get rich and famous over calling a toilet art and I wasn’t. While they’re basking in their fortune, all I can do is sit and continue to watch and loathe them.


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