A Cool Dream, A Thought Loop, And Five Happy Things
"Call This English Lit?" explains one professor's viewpoint on the use of pornography in a university classroom.
N'kisi is one smart parrot.
Spalding Gray, the author, has been missing for weeks, and it is feared that this is due to suicide, which he felt was destined to be his end.
For the longest time, my dreams were so bland and forgettable, but lately things have been picking up. A couple of nights ago, I had a dream that was all about perspective. At least I think it was all about perspective, but when it comes to dreams, almost anything could be true. Over and over I would be facing another person in a room full of people. It was apparent that we were having a conversation, but there was no sound. Part way through the conversation, my physical perspective would change. It was like rotating on a plate. My physical body would stay where it was, and my second body, the non-corporeal self, would rotate around and become one with the other person. I could see through their eyes, feel their hair on their head, the clothing on their body. This would only last for a short while, and then I would rotate back to my own body, where I would find myself unable to operate only from my own perspective. I was then of two minds – theirs and mine. This happened several times, and by the end of the dream I was tiring of my constant state of duality.
Father Ryan, a Catholic priest in Toronto, stands in direct opposition to the Vatican's position on same-sex marriage.
I keep hearing warnings about eating fish, and then I hear that those warnings are overly paranoid, and then I hear this. I say, eat less fish, maybe once or twice a month, and not when you are pregnant. That seems sound.
Scroll down this page to see pictures of some of my favourite things.
I have been in the midst of a crisis for weeks now, and I keep hoping it will fade away on its own, but it is being very persistent. It is nothing too serious, really. It is just one of those garden variety what-have-I-accomplished-and-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life crises. I hate it when I get hit with this kind of thing, because there are always a ton of things I can find to aid in my self-deprecation. What did it today, what really made me start dwelling on it, was brunch at a friend’s parents’ house this morning. Brunch is usually a good idea, as far as I’m concerned. It includes all the greatness of breakfast foods like eggs and bacon and the like, and it also includes a wide range of other foods such as shaved ham, salads, and cream puffs. You can really get a lot of bang for this unnecessary extra mealtime. Our friend’s parents put out an excellent spread. They always have these egg/cheese/bread things, called UFOs for their flying-saucer shape, and my mouth delights in their salty goodness.
Brunch seemed to be going really well. Good food, good company..... and then the missus told us that she is retiring soon, which we all likely thought was a long way off for us, but it’s not, because she used to think that and that was like yesterday. And then it finally came home to me that my own mother is retiring at the end of June, and that she’s almost sixty. My mind, not content to stop at the simple understanding of the fact of my mother’s retirement, raced on an on..... my mother’s going to be sixty soon, which means that if I got pregnant and had a kid within the next year, my parents would be eighty by the time my kid was twenty, and twenty years ago my parents were forty, which isn’t so different, but in that same amount of time they are going to be really old and maybe close to death, and if I do have a kid soon, I probably won’t have the time to do stuff like write and make stuff, and all those female writers ended up doing most of their writing when their kids left home, which means that I could be in my fifties and just getting started, and does that mean I might feel unaccomplished for another twenty years?..... am I destined to.....
It did not get really intense for me until this afternoon after we had already come back home. Now, though, after writing about it for a while, my anxiety is beginning to wane. This is good. There is no sense in wasting an entire Saturday neurotically fidgeting with a thought loop.
Syd Solomon, 86, was a prominent abstract painter (that is, until he died, of course).
Spy stuff never ceases to be cool.
These made me laugh and laugh. They're oil paintings. Of sock puppets. Expressing different emotions. Really.
I don't have a cellular phone, nor do I have any need for one at this time in my life, but SMS (Short Messaging Service) is working itself in all over the place. SMS looks like this - M$ULkeCrZ (which means "miss you like crazy) - and it is fucking annoying.
Due to the bird flu, Kentucky Fried Chicken has turned to fish in Vietnam. “Kentucky Fried Fish” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
To prove how much better I am feeling, here is a list of good things about today:
- I am wearing a fabulous pair of Dickies. They are black with a hot pink stripe down the outside of each leg, and they make me terribly happy.
- I got to eat UFOs, and my belly is all chubby from the salt.
- Gordon, the rabbit, has not eaten anything bad like books or the rug all evening, which makes me realize exactly why he’s the best pet ever.
- I bought a book of Sylvia Plath’s poetry this afternoon with a gift card from Christmas, which means that the book was essentially free, and owning a new book is such a joy, and Plath gets my brain all twisty, which I like.
- The Fiery One’s head smells of that great slightly musky man-smell, and that is just about one of the most comforting things there is.
Much like the over-sized glass stud thing that young men are sporting these day, I have a deep dislike for the fauxhawk. Just like the too-big earring thing, the fauxhawk makes a guy look like a little kid who got into his mother's hair gel and thinks that spiky means cool.
Learn about metoposcopy, which long ago went the way of phrenology.
Apparently, studies have found that the funneling of German children into certain types of education following the fourth grade reinforces social and economic disadvantages. No shit, Sherlock.