I guess I'm even weirder than I thought - I don't think something has to be beautiful for me to consider it art.

A story that really adds nothing to the discussion, but does help explain my weird outlook on life...

My stepfather's name is Art. My mother was a painter (artist to some, but maybe not to all), and did an abstract piece for my grandmother. My aunt and uncle were visiting my grandmother one day, and she asked how they liked the picture my mother had done for her. My uncle asked what it was (he wasn't into abstracts), and my aunt told him it was "art". He looked at it more closely and said, "Hmmm, it doesn't look like him."