Shoot me an email and i’ll do the rest!
Josh Klasco or Weird Al Yankovic?
Used scenes from The Simpsons to lecture Google hiring team about linguistics
Born in 1959 in Downey, CA
Brooklyn-based Copywriter open to freelance
Extremely accomplished accordion player
Year-round NYC bike commuter
Crappy but enthusiastic accordion player
Taught latte art classes for three years
Has five more Grammys than J-Lo
Rejected from working at McDonalds
Doesn't mind if you say "literally" when you mean "figuratively”
Wrote tv pilot about competitive bird watchers
Would be a fantastic addition to your creative team
Me: 1,3,5,6,7,10,11
Weird Al: 2,4,8,9
Both: 12
My Soapboxes
Fuck Jackson Pollock.
That splatter art toddler would be nothing without Lee Krasner.
Krasner was a blisteringly talented artist.
Her work is hypnotic.
Her work is abstraction with discipline.
Her work makes Fran Lebowitz giddy.
But Jackson Pollock was married to her.
Pollock was a temperamental alcoholic.
Like most temperamental alcoholics, he struggled to get work.
He struggled to build relationships with gallery owners.
And he painted sloppy nonsense that only art phonies pretend is good.
But Krasner introduced him to gallery owners.
She tutored him.
She made him famous.
And he continued to make random splatters on canvas.
Krasner deserves Pollock’s fame.