  his morning I was putting in some quiet time with Dazzle and Samantha Joy in the day room, minding my own business, reading (and thoroughly enjoying, by the way -- two thumbs up) last week's column when I was brought to mind of an old saying, one of my favorites: he is a fool, who relies on
aphorisms. And yes, yes, I know what you're thinking, in fact I'll even tell you: you're thinking, "Walter? You use aphorisms every single week. Sometimes your column is nothing but aphorisms. If a person shouldn't rely on aphorisms, then what does that say about -- in fact, what does that ... reveal about -- your readers, who rely so heavily on yours?"Okay, okay, "you win" (well done and all that), you've gotten me to acknowledge that, even as I write these lines (which I write purely for the benefit of you, my readers), I have no idea what it "reveals," as far as I can recall the only time I've ever had a thought about my readers was during that unannounced personal visit that time, when perforce I sent out the beagles and thought how disappointing for my readers.
Also for me, of course. Oh, and to put a finer point on it: for them too. Anyway, put that in your little book of phrases.There. Well, enough about me.  Well,
now I can do them this great service without their permission. Our friends at Entros have closed
the creative gap between art and critic by introducing the Entros Gallery of Fine Art.Entros has been a provider of virtual goods and services
in Seattle since the 50's, but this is their first venture into the entertainment industry. Using
the magic of virtual-reality goggles, the EGFA has on hand all the best masterpieces of art in an
electronic "gallery" through which you "walk" so as to "enjoy" them. Entros boasts that their
reproductions are better and more accurate than the originals, since they are not blocked by mobs of
plebeians.The EGFA is located in the inviting new
Belltown Mall. My host for the day, manager Glenn Milliman, was there to greet me. "Five dollars,
dude."I smiled grimly. "Five dollars,
please, dude." Those who can, do. Those who cannot do, critique those who can. "Consider that
your gratuity."He did, and escorted me to the
virtual-reality chamber, where he fitted me with the goggles, strapped me to the gurney,
administered 20 cc's of morphine, and kicked on the juice. Interesting. Before me I beheld the electronic gallery, which I entered with an air of
ennui. Gift-shop, espresso-bar, and, beyond, endless corridors upon whose walls hung history's
masterworks of art."Remarkable," I
said. "And you say they're ... they're not real?""If they were real, you wouldn't need the goggles to see them."The lad was talking nonsense, but perhaps that was to be expected. A different world, this virtual reality ... and like all different things it could use some improvement. I noticed I suffered a
couple of harmless seizures, and there were periodic -- though welcome -- interruptions by CNN. A person is free to smoke, litter and scratch as needed in this imaginary
place; but, conversely, I found it disorienting having no one watch me disapprove of the
paintings. I came to Jackson Pollack's
multicolored Food Stain, Pt. 4, and watched it piously for a time. "I don't understand it," I
said, properly. "But, by god, it's making me think." Making me think about how he might've considered an art class or two.Ahhh ... I exulted briefly and moved on.Now, I personally do not like the Louvre because Parisians
do not bathe, so even if I had ever been to Europe I would not have seen Da Vinci's popular Mona
Lisa in person. But I can promise you that the Entros rendition is just as lifelike as in the
reproductions. There she was. That smile. The quixotic gaze. Hint of cleavage. I could not
help but think: what ... what quirk of fate will save me from my boredom?Brainstorm to the rescue. "Milliman!" I barked. "Hand me
one of those virtual Magic Markers. Quick, man!"Pen in hand, I marched up to the painting and intuitively sketched on it a bold,
disembodied Rubik's Cube, thinking: of course: a Rubik's Cube! Witty; infuriating;
ethnic-sounding.I stood back.
There.You know, they didn't have Rubik's
Cubes in Da Vinci's day, and, frankly, it shows.Moving on, I soon encountered a charming group portrait by Grandma Moses and accessorized it with
tasteful Mapplethorpian bullwhips gently ensconced where, in most people, the sun don't shine.
Finally a Grandma Moses painting that one can enjoy without squirming.I have to admit I was a bit baffled at first by Magritte's
world-famous dadaist sculpture of a toilet entitled, "Ceci N'est Pas Une Toilette" (This Is
Not A Toilet). And I remember thinking: clever and all that. So where is the goddamn toilet?
Then I remembered: this is not a real sculpture, but a virtual one. So I went ahead
and used it. And as I watched the butt end of my Old Gold Menthol -- haven't enjoyed one since college days -- swirl down the bowl, I thought: if I start to cough up virtual blood my lawsuit will definitely not be a "virtual" 
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ait, not quite enough. You know, one's artistic opinion is kind of like, say, one's religion: we all think our own is superior, don't we? Funny, that. But only few are correct. For example, I had the pleasure of critiquing
the acting chops and general stagecraft of Gov. Mike Lowry during a recent press conference. And I admit I was rather harsh in my review: I have a real problem with an actor affecting an infirmity in order to seem more sympathetic. It is derivative and unoriginal. Anyway, after my review was published,
I was as usual obliged to eavesdrop on comments like: "Walter knows nothing about acting. Walter's
never acted in his life. Walter cannot even behave himself in public."
ut first a few explanatory notes
about myself. You know, whenever I choose to explore Seattle's galleries and museums and exult in
the rich, vivid world of art criticism, I am reminded that, although I know little about art, and
do not pretend to, I know so very much about art criticism. And I think: all these ...
artists. And their paintings and such. Don't they realize I could fix their stuff for
a small fee if only they'd let me or even speak to me? No: they prefer the darkness. Guess they
don't read my column: maybe they just don't read.