I Would Have Opted For A Career As A Cave Painter Critic

I’m sure there was an MFA program somewhere I could have adapted into some weird second major.

Sure. I can hear you thinking: “Cave Painter Critic! Have you checked out the market much?” but no one likes a critic, and one of my specialties has always been my ability to alienate and discomfit.  It’s not like I can help offending the targets of my dissatisfaction for their pompous short-comings.

One major appeal of becoming a professional contemporary cave painter critic is that most of the objects of my contempt and derision have been dead so long their undergraduate universities no longer send them yearly solicitations to help offset the cost of its sports programs, which are key to protecting its academic standing on Fox News and whichever accrediting agency is not currently pleading to lesser charges.

On the other hand, I might have been acting shrewdly in recognizing as early as 1962, with the publication of The Silent Spring that cave painters would soon be in demand in the new fake information economy.

The growing street art movement of the early 1970s proved my point, and today many anonymous painters are doing work in lightless caverns that is every bit as valuable to future collectors as Basquiat, Haring, or Banksy, 

I could have gotten in on the ground floor of contemporary cave painter criticism. Instead, here I am, blogging for the troggs.