What is it about art that makes us hate art lovers so very much? It's easy enough to love artists themselves, particularly artists who can convey emotion beautifully on the canvas but who struggle to express simple thoughts in conversation. I like that over-abstracting flavor of awkwardness in a person. What I don't like is the sorts of people who speak fluidly and easily and steadily at art openings, stuffing green grapes and Brie into their faces while deciding which painting will go best in their guest bathroom. Do I hate their big, dusty piles of cash that much? Or do I hate this urge to own something that came from such a pure place, to frame it and show it off and use it to service their own egos? But aren't we all ego-driven louts?