Classy Things: The Art of Eating Children, Talking Trash, & Drilling for Whisky

Four years ago, when I was living in Madrid, I began to acquire a serious taste for art. It’s not that I wasn’t a fan of art – I’d enjoyed multiple school outings and trips with my father to the MOMA and the Met – but the art wasn’t speaking to me. Instead I was drawn to the works of Keith Haring and Jackson Pollack not for their intrinsic meaning or value, but because they looked cool. That all changed when I moved to the land of Picasso, Miro, Dali, Velasquez, and Goya.
The city of Madrid itself was seemingly designed with an artist’s eye – tons of fountains with mythological roots and centuries old architecture showing transformations in taste over hundreds of years. But it was the crown jewels of the city’s art scene, the Reina Sofia and the Prado, that really invigorated my desire to view and consume art. More so than any other pieces I saw, Francisco Goya’s “Black Paintings” moved me – passionate, haunting, and anguished, they sparked a blaze of raw emotion in me that I’d never felt with a work of art. And no singular piece touched me (pause) like the one above. Eerily titled, “Saturn Devouring One of His Sons,” the painting, which Goya made during the latter stages of his life, depicts Saturn (or Kronos, depending on your preference towards Greek or Roman mythology) the father of Zeus gorging on the mutilated flesh of his child. It’s a work of such indelible power, it seems to have existed before it was created, like some deep-rooted, banished memory, inescapable as a nightmare. The painting, shrouded by what looks like black tar in the background, evokes terror and a sense of isolation and extreme grief.
Goya painted all his “Black Paintings” on the walls of his home and never intended to have them released to the public, for pretty obvious reasons. This painting isn’t exactly the type of thing you’d like to parade around town hall, which is why I was shockingly surprised to find a similar depiction of Saturn on display as a statue in the middle of Bern, Switzerland (check out the pic below). A little more corny and cartoonish, this statue, commonly referred to as “the child-eater statue, was built in 1546 and has been a well-known tourist attraction in Bern for years. What’s more, this is only one of 12 unusual monuments I came across in a photo gallery on MSN.com yesterday. Included in this weird and wonderful array of monuments is a Stonehenge reproduction called “Carhenge” in Nebraska, which imitates the famous British monument in layout, but uses old cars instead of stones; an unfinished Crazy Horse memorial carved into the Black Hills of South Dakota; and a statue of a boy urinating into a fountain in Brussels. I highly suggest taking a look at these bizarre artistic renderings.


Moving from one art form to another, we must discuss the recent influx of shit talking in the world of sports. Yesterday, V-tron (by way of Shorts) put you onto a hilarious little exchange of letters between an assistant to French President Nicolas Sarkozy and the head of Ireland’s football (read: soccer) association. If you haven’t taken a look (which you definitely should), here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: Sarkozy’s assistant asks for a VIP box in Ireland to watch this past weekend’s World Cup qualifier between Ireland and France. The Irishman then offers Sarkozy an actual box to stand on for the game, mocking the Frenchman’s small stature. A mildly heated exchange ensues. Nobody, however, does trash talking like Americans, and few Americans do it as well as Chad Ochocinco. Last week, Cincinnati Bengals head coach Marvin Lewis thwarted Ochocinco’s attempt to send mustard to the members of the Pittsburgh Steelers secondary – the Steeler’s play at Heinz Field, named for the world’s most famous producer of Ketchup. Two weeks ago, Ocho sent deodorant to the Baltimore Ravens secondary – in essence mocking them and subtly saying that they’d need it to not stink up the field when covering his Ochoness. But fast, young, cocky wide receivers aren’t the only ones spitting trash like Oscar the Grouch. After beating Iowa and clinching a spot in the Rose Bowl this past weekend, Ohio St. head football coach Jim Tressel reminded his team that hated archrival Michigan was coming to town this weekend by imparting this nugget of wisdom: "You can have three hours and savor this, but when the clock strikes 12:00, we know what week it is." Then: "I'm just playing with you guys. They have no defense. ... Take a couple of days off." Tressel, a diminutive and nerdy looking guy with a penchant for sweater vests, is the last guy I’d ever expect to say anything like that. In fact, I was so shocked when “Eagle Eye” Shorts put me onto this quote that I had him send me the link to the article he found it in. I can assure you that the quote, which comes from a highly respected college football writer for Sports Illustrated, is not a hoax. Check it out for yourself (it's at the bottom of the page).

And finally, thanks to our West Coast affiliate Josh, for putting me onto our last and final art form – drilling for whisky. Yes, you read that right. A beverage company has asked a team to drill through Antarctica's ice for a lost cache of some vintage Scotch whisky that has been embedded in ice since a century ago. The drillers will be trying to reach two crates of McKinlay and Co. whisky that were shipped to the Antarctic by British polar explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton as part of his abandoned 1909 expedition. The beverage company has asked for a sample of the 100-year-old scotch for a series of tests that could decide whether to relaunch the now-defunct Scotch. Workers from New Zealand's Antarctic Heritage Trust will use special drills to reach the crates, frozen in Antarctic ice under the Nimrod Expedition hut near Cape Royds. I’ve heard of 20-year-old scotch before, but I’d love to taste something that’s almost eight decades older than me. I’ll take it on the rocks, please.