This week, we, your Hardest Working Image Builders On RATSA, are a little upset with Dorf since she just up and took a week off to "do" NYC with Mare and "Unca" Carlo, Mare's uberhandsome, dashingly dastardly debonair consort. All of us back here at FOC Dorothy Unlimited were pretty damn mad when Our Miss Hayes just kind of sniffed at our suggestion that she at least bring us back a coupla Marc Chagall snowglobes from the MOMA but everything quieted down when suddenly, without warning, an intriguing piece from Picasso's "blue period" was delivered from an import-export company we'd never heard of. But Unca Carlo said, "Abandon yourselves to joie de vive!" and lemme tell you, after we popped a few corkers of Veuve de Cliquot Unca Carlo "donated" to the name of quality workmanship (that'd be us), nobody gave a rat's behootany if the Dorfmeister hit the MOMA Gift Shop or not. *hic*

Note: The French phrase mentioned above is probably incorrect, but *hic* thatsh shush too bad, Mishter... *hic* *hic* *hic*

And now, this week's hoity-toity debate "But Is It Art?" carefully concealed in the guise of Ask FOC Dorothy...

FOC Dorothy sez: "The Hayes bunch has always been close-knit and we believe there's nothing like a family outing to foster healthy family relations. I mean, even Mom and Grandpa Neil materialize from time to time to make sure Dad isn't hitting the bottle or that Frank isn't doing one of his weird "man-in-the-brothel" interviews in some steamy Asian port city. Some people might think that's odd, I guess, but communicating with the otherworldly spirits of my deceased ancestors makes me happier than free tickets to Lilith Fair (which Kelly swore she'd get, but didn't...*grrr*). Still, though, I wish Mom would quit giving me the business about my, uh, relationship with Javier; it's like ethereal nagging, you know?

Anyway, I'm trying to write this from the cafe at The Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York. It's totally crowded since people are trying to cram in some last-minute museum-going before they have to pack the kids off to school again, so I'm only going to have time to answer one e-mail. Besides, I have to find Javier -- again. *grrrr* He's a grown man -- I can attest to that fact -- but he can't even hail a cab for himself. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to leave him over at the Museum of Modern Art with poor Roger, but I just didn't have time to hang around and sort things out when those security guards started trying to accuse us of stealing one of the modern sculpture exhibits when we were leaving with Roger in tow. Hmmmm...That body cast of his does echo the Rodin "Balzac" a little. It was nice of Javier to offer to speak with the museum director about Roger's situation, but I wonder why he was negotiating a selling price. Well, Mare and Unca Carlo should be back soon, so I'd better knock out this e-mail...

Dear Dorothy:
If you don't know who I am then you should consider yourself one of the unfortunate mass of scientifically-challenged persons currently deluding themselves with the fantasy of acquired intelligence. After conducting numerous experiments on various unsuspecting Llanviewites, culminating in my successful implantation of a "control" chip in Dr. Larry Wolek's brain, life lost its luster. No longer was I hated and feared as an utterly evil yet not entirely devoid of charm psychotic scientist; instead, I sunk into the depths of mediocrity, finding myself one among many other mad scientists. In my prime, I could have ruled the world or at least Llanview and possibly Pine Valley, just up the road. But now I find myself too disenchanted with the current Maliciousism movement to even create new Kool-Aid flavors with a Junior Chemist set. Is there any possible way I can rediscover enough spirit to fire up the old Bunsen Burner for one more go-round with the citizenry of Llanview? I'm particularly interested in the alleged brains of Cassie Carpenter, whom I enjoyed stalking as a potential "research" subject back in the mid-80s. From what I've heard, she's recently undergone massive sensory deprivation and that intrigues me.

Dr. Kipling:
Sorry, but I guess you were a little before my time. I think, however, it's not wise for you to just jump right back in the swing of socially deconstructive chemistry without taking at least a couple more months to consider if it's even worth your time to think about someday pursuing your goals of Llanview/Pine Valley domination and...oh, wait. Unca Carlo says he'd like to answer you personally, so who am I to say no? (Especially after he's promised to fund my way to Paris this fall.)

Dr. Kipling:
Unlike the rest of the paganistic mental cripples I suffer through daily existence with, I respect a man willing to stop at nothing as a means of achieving his goals. Like the classically-posed figures in Poussin's "The Abduction of the Sabine Women," men like you and I understand that only through intense calculation and precise physical maneuvering can we insidiously destroy all those futilely attempting a negation of our quests. And like those figures in Poussin, we, too, have advanced knowledge of the relative power gained when a man takes a woman into his passionate embrace. Unlike you, however, I've never had to drug my demoiselles into a heightened state of euphoric pleasure; rather, I find that Rachmaninoff, vintage bordeaux and whirlwind trans-Atlantic flights to any of my conveniently-located European villas accomplish my unending goal of eventually turning every strong-minded woman with whom I cross paths into a quivering mass of jelly with merely the raise of one arched eyebrow.

FOC Dorothy: *psst* Mare! Is it true he can turn a woman into a quivering mass of jelly just by raising one eyebrow?

Mare: Yes, dear. And when the light catches the sheen of his baldness just so...*gasp* Well, all I can say is, never in my many years of sexual studies have I felt so inclined towards in-depth study. *sigh* He has the richness of a Gustav Klimt coupled with the intensity of a Gericault.

Carlo: And you, my caged tiger, you resonate with the assuredness of Ingres' "Odalisque"... your vitality and spirit strike me with the full force of Rubenesque robustness. Come... We have not yet experienced the subversive sensuality of Rodin's "The Thinker." Let us...Now.

FOC Dorothy: Javier likes Roy Lichtenstein. He was really checking out "Drowning Girl" over at the MOMA.

Carlo: Bah! That comic strip juvenalia masquerading as fine art! Your time would be better spent with another young man of substantial intellectual means! Like... Like my Johnny...

Mare: Carlo, dear, Rodin awaits. Shall we?

FOC Dorothy miraculously nabs a taxi as she hits the pavement outside The Met and remembers us to Herald Square: "Hmmm...I wonder if Dr. Kipling's on the up-and-up. Kevin's been acting really weird these days; perhaps the Doc could work up some kind of therapy for him. No! No! Don't take Broadway! Just head east, okay?!! Yeah, right; like you're not trying to run up the fare...Okay, stop here. Yes, on the left side of the street. Javier! Over here! Hey, you. Yeah, I had lots of fun with Mare and Unca Carlo at The Met and...no, he didn't box my ears. He only does that with you. Oh, chill; he's only being affectionate with you. Well, then tell him that it hurts. Wait. Where's Roger? You didn't leave him in the museum, did you? What?!! Well, go get him! Now! What do you mean he's in the process of being "installed"?!! You march yourself right back in there and...oh, wow! Where'd you get all that cash? That's quite a wad you've got there. Wipe that silly grin off your face, Javier -- I'm talking about the money..."

Posted to rec.arts.tv.soaps.abc July 29, 1998
FOC Dorothy is Mandi (mandia@earthlink.net )

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