If you’ve seen Inside the Actor’s Studio, you know that Mr. Lipton asks 10 Questions based on the Proust Questionnaire. Here’s mine; Like and repost your own, I’m curious.
1. What is your favorite word? libidinous
2. What is your least favorite word? the n-word
3. What turns you on? SCIENCE
4. What turns you off? racism
5. What sound or noise do you love? The sound of a needle catching the groove on a record before the first song starts
6. What sound or noise do you hate? those ANH ANH ANH alarm clocks
7. What is your favorite curse word? The entire phrase “Oh! Fuck wank bugger shitting arse head and hole!” (thank you, Bill Nighy)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Honestly, I’d love to be a Math Teacher.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Garbage person. God bless you folks.
10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? Not so much “like” but I EXPECT him to say, “Oh Jesus. St. Peter, cancel all my appointments for today. This soul is gonna take forever to review…”
I had a dream last night I was visiting a friend’s house. My friend’s mother was there saying “don’t lose these cats. If they get lost we can’t take any more in because if they come back then we’ll have too many.” There were three cats roaming around: a calico, a skinny black kitten, and Mickey, much to my surprise. He was skulking around like he does when he’s in a new place.
"Hey! I haven’t seen you in a while!" I said to him, like he hadn’t been dead but like I’d been on a trip and was coming back to visit. I picked him up to cuddle him like I used to. I held him like a baby with his head tucked under my chin like we’d do every day for our daily hug. He was fat and happy like he’d been before he started getting sick and losing weight. It was very vivid. I could feel his weight and the feel of his fur in my arms. Then he hopped down to go explore some more.
I started to enter that hypnopompic state between dreaming and being awake and I didn’t want to let go. I miss him.
Today’s Google doodle celebrates the great Rembrandt van Rijn. I got sidetracked and came across this article about stolen works of art, one of which being Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” painting which was Rembrandt’s only seascape and features himself as one of the sailors in the boat. I hadn’t seen the painting before until its theft was fictionalized in the recent Danny Boyle film “Trance.”
I have no idea who these art thieves are, but they’ve got fantastic taste. Rembrandt, Vermeer, Degas: those are some of my favorite artists.
In reading this article I choked backed tears (don’t judge me. I love art) reading how because of a stipulation made by the museum’s founder that the art was to remain untouched, so empty frames now occupy the space where the masterpieces were hung. “Empty frames” is what got to me.
I don’t understand the motivation of art thieves or the people who would buy stolen art. I’m angry at their selfishness. Art that has been collected for or donated to a museum belongs to the people. On a local level I’d get angry when I’d see people steal PRVRT’s, Dwell’s, or OneUnit’s (local street artists) work from doorways, signs, and buildings. Maybe it was the city taking it down. Maybe it was some random person who thought it’d be cool to steal it for their own. Take a photo, but leave it for others to enjoy. That was the artist’s intent for putting it up in the first place; and also to call attention to these bits of overlooked real estate.
But what’s the purpose of stealing it? If you’re stealing it to own, you’ve got something that you can’t show to anyone because they’ll know it’s stolen. Are they being stolen to train people who forge famous works of art? Even then you’ve got a fake painting that you can’t show because it’s reflecting a work of art that’s been known to be stolen. It doesn’t make sense to me.
I’m sure there’s a book somewhere that delves into this subject. If anyone knows of one specifically, feel free to let me know.
I do not understand wives or husbands that will consistently refuse sex or affection from their spouses. I’ve seen this a bit in a couple of marriages of people that I know of. Not good friends, just folks I know from a distance (internet acquaintances) so it’s not appropriate for me to comment to them on this directly. It’s also none of my damn business but I felt a need to blog about it.
However, I see this happening. I see the hurt and disappointment, the sunken acceptance of someone almost desperately trying to reach out to the person who promised to love and cherish their significant other. I just want to reach out and shake the withholder by the shoulders and tell them to give their partner credit for trying. Throw them a fricking bone, for goodness sake.
Give them a little bit to start. Hold hands. Cuddle. Little by little the affection can grow back, for whatever reason it was lost. There’s a reason you fell in love with and married this person. Start from the beginning and work your way forward. Get off the computer or in front of the television and get out and go do something fun, even if it’s as simple as going to the park and sitting on a bench together to quietly observe the wildlife.
The biggest issue is that partners need to communicate to one another. Talk about your feelings. If you can’t articulate them, go to couples counseling and have an intermediary help you process and/or discover the feelings that you’re having that’s causing this chasm of loneliness between you and work through it. Be supportive of one another while you do this.
There are a million understandable reasons why situations like this occur. It’s real easy for me to call on people to get off their asses and do something about it. Maybe it’s just my passionate nature and general feeling of hope for others, but I hate to see people missing out on love. You might find it delightful to get a chance to fall in love with your soul mate twice!
I dreamed that @wilw and @annewheaton were my landlords. I was renting a room from them and they were in the process of redecorating. I peacefully raised some objections to Mrs. Wheaton that I had to share a space with their desks and computers instead of having my own private space, while helping to decide on colors for the room. Plus, the decorating was taking place during a long weekend that I’d planned to spend with friends.
Cut to me hanging out with friends, somehow we ended up taking a pill (I don’t do drugs, so this was the amusing part) that temporarily turned our sweat into blue water and made white circles in our irises. We were using a rope swing to jump off a cliff into deep water, camped out, had a good time. The drug didn’t have any other adverse effects other than the physical changes it made.
I came back from the weekend and was having dinner around the Wheaton table. Somehow one of the pills had gotten inadvertently mixed in with the turkey that we were having for dinner. Wil had eaten his dinner and gone into the other room to exercise or something and he came back into the dining room, shimmering with blue sweat and weird white circles in his eyes and exclaimed, “DOES ANYONE WANT TO TELL ME SOMETHING??” and everyone laughed.
I cracked up laughing in my sleep and woke myself. It was the most bizarre dream.