Warholicity
This morning, after dropping my daughter off at her school, I exchange nods with a mom of one of the kids in her class. I later see on Wikipedia that the mom’s 1993 album, one of Rolling Stone’s top 500 of all time, is about to be reissued in digital format on June 28th.
I come home after work to find my wife Becky with our friend Kate discussing Kate’s friend the actor, whose memoir I gave Becky for Mother’s Day. I read last week that some fans of Sex In The City were distressed that he got so little screen time in the recent movie.
I watch the end of the Lakers game on TV, and I catch a glimpse of my next-door neighbor, who’s suited up and standing behind Phil Jackson as he and his teammates listen intently during their last timeout.
Then ABC cuts to a commercial for a new reality show, which appears to involve one of the dads from my daughter’s school thrusting his way into someone’s home and then constructing a game show set in their front yard.
This month marks the fortieth anniversary of the shooting of Andy Warhol. On recalling that moment, Warhol once said: “Before I was shot, I always thought that I was more half-there than all-there. I always suspected that I was watching TV instead of living life.”
Indeed.