Sunday, Sunday

I slept really late today. Really. Like to the point where I didn't know if I needed to start my day with breakfast or lunch. (Matilda had brunch.) That's what happens when you stay up late, especially when time suddenly jumps ahead on you. Still, all is well--today is the one day this week when I can sleep in, so kudos to me.


The plan was to spend my post-Bonnie & Clyde late night watching a good horror movie, but I couldn't really decide what I wanted, and also I have a tendency to allow myself to get really freaked out--off the deep end freaked out, like checking-in-the-closets, re-locking-the-doors-and-windows, staring-out-the-darkened-window-waiting-for-movement freaked out (with a sleepy cat beside me). So, I didn't end up watching a horror movie. Probably for the best because I ended up dreaming about being stuck in an abandoned school and having evil spirits try to take possession of my body while I slept. (Yup, dreaming about sleeping.) Furthering the dream terror was the dream fact the evil spirits took the form of several types of large worms, which attempted to burrow into my flesh. And just how to escape when the stairwell is crumbling away?


Yeah.


You might remember how utterly paranoid I am about anything burrowing into my body and incubating. Not cool. It wasn't exactly a restful night. So the super-daylight was welcome when I finally roused myself.


Hey, does that count as an entry in my Washington State Department of Dreams Dream Log? I think it does. One down. Only a million to go.


Since I've been thinking about the Milwaukee trip, I thought I'd add a couple photos taken at the Milwaukee Art Museum. I was sort of obsessed with hands that day.

This hand belongs to Alexander van der Capellen, 1626  as painted by Pieter Claesz. Soutman.

This hand belongs to Cardinal Antonio Sersale, 1750 as painted by Francesco de Mura.

These hands belong to Dr. Karl Schwarz, 1916 as painted by Lovis Corinth.

This hand belongs to Moses, 1648 (obviously, he didn't sit for this portrait).
Painted by Phillippe de Champaigne. 

These hands belong to St. Catherine and they mean business, the Lord's business.

If Napoleon if I told him if I told him if Napoleon.

What I should be doing tonight is working on a seriously overdue project and watching my Napoleon miniseries (John Malkovich as Talleyrand!), but that seems like such an assignment. I mean, I love projects, and I love Napoleon (He was made a general at 26!), but I've had those dvds from Netflix for like two weeks and haven't watched them yet. Too much pressure!


I mean, I know Josephine's real name was Rose (It was changed by Napoleon because he didn't like Rose.), and I know that she was 32 to his 26 (the general-making age) and she had bad (I mean, bad) teeth. But there are so many other things I don't know. (I also know the thing Napoleon said in that letter to Josephine about not bathing because he was coming home soon--learned that in 9th grade {Who didn't?}. Dirty birds.)


So, yes, I'm excited to learn through the power of the miniseries, but it's like seven hours long. That's a pretty big commitment for me.


In the meantime, I've spent my evening watching Bonnie and Clyde (excellent, in case you're wondering), marvelling at Warren Beatty's wonderfully unkempt hair (and unsettling laugh) and everything about Faye Dunaway. Oh! Also, Estelle Parsons plays Buck Barrow's wife, Blanche. Who is Estelle Parsons? Only Roseanne and Jackie's mother, Bev, from Roseanne! It took me a couple minutes to realize. I had to talk myself through--grating, dissatisfied yet superior voice--and then I had to have a moment of silence while I filtered through all the television mothers I could recall (because I knew enough to know that it was a mother voice). It was an exciting moment. I thought about calling someone.

I've also been doing a little bit of kick-back drinking. No biggie, but it did directly contribute to this next thing: me reading old myspace blogs and cracking up. Like this little gem from an October 2005 conversion with Catherine:


Her: "I've limited myself to drinking coffee on social outings only."
Me: "You're a social drinker?"
Her: "Yes, and this is social."
Me: "No, this is anti-social. Just because we're being anti-social together--"
Her: "Two wrongs don't make a right, but two negatives do make a positive...that's math."
Me: "Hah, we're two negatives."


Maybe it's just my current state, but that is hilarious.

I found this crab claw while walking along the lake in Milwaukee last summer.

I was thinking about it today. Poor little crabbin. (I know that isn't a word.)

Who comes first. Napoleon the first.

contingency plans

Gmail chat between me and Catherine.


Me: Morning.


Catherine: Hey!


Me: How's your wound?


Catherine: It hurts. It took me a long time to get ready, and it's all bruised and gross. I'm going to take pictures of it each day. I only wish I had pictures of all the blood, and I don't think my new bandaging makes it look any less suicidal-y.


Me: No, I would suppose not. You and your injuries.


Catherine: I don't have that many, but seriously you need to come up with a game plan.


Me: For?


Catherine: Because the first thing I thought of was: what if this ever happened when someone was home alone?


Me: California?


Catherine: No. Like with you or Mom.


Me: Oh.


Catherine: With injuries. It was intense.


Me: Yeah, I'd just lie on the floor and bleed to death or choke on some chicken while eating in front of a mirror. Stuff like that.


Me: Mom would have to drag herself in from the barn or lie out there and hope Ray could hear her calling for help. But she has the advantage in this situation because if we can't get her on the phone, we'll call Ray and make him go look for her.


Me: I, on the other hand, am mostly off the grid. I don't answer my phone consistently and don't really see people with any regularity. But I would be missed at work, and since I usually only have one day off, it wouldn't take too long to find me.


Me: So that is my game plan.


Me: Although, I guess it's really just a plan for finding my dead body.


Catherine: Hmmm.

pseudo-cide

While I didn't do this:

I still look like this:

Which is really hard to decipher from this:

The difference is that I was taking the garbage out and stabbed into my wrist with some broken glass, but it's hard for other people to know that's what happened.  There was lots and lots of blood.  In 7-10 days the stitches come out and I can unwrap my wrists.  In the meantime, maybe I should wear brighter colors and not drink wine in public...really I should just look as un-depressed as possible.

But tonight, I drank wine in public.  We went to Trinacria (which I've blogged about before). I had the broccoli calzone.

                

I took a gnarly picture of my wrist (which Nick said I shouldn't post, but I kind of want to).  If you don't want to see it, don't scroll down.  It's gross. I'm going to post it.  Don't scroll down.

I warned you.

Birthday presents: odds & ends

Aside from candies and a manta ray, there were a couple other things in the birthday package, like a vintage card for a mighty nice sister.

Also, Sugar & spice pecans, just in case the other candies didn't have you buzzing around the living room in circles.

And The Mouse and His Child (found at a thrift store). We had the movie on VHS (animated and from 1977!)--I remember being terrified throughout and haven't watched it since childhood. Monika found the full movie on youtube, so you can be terrified too. The Mouse and His Child. Watch it and cry yourself to sleep.

If you dare!

Reykjavik...

Today is a day when I want to go back to Icleand...