CONVERSATIONS WITH MYSELF 01/26/13

The plague arrived at our house this week. We made a futile effort to avoid it but, it came in spite of our best efforts. Everyone in the house has come down with it at least once which has caused us to avoid each other as much as possible. This drove me into more of a hermit-like existence then I’ve already had the past few weeks. I don’t dare venture into public for fear of contaminating more people than this flu already has. It’s sadly comforting in a bizarre, unexpected way. This has also provided the added benefit of having a reason to sit on my hands for a while. Since our great and all powerful President has implemented his useless healthcare plan people get to sit and wait while doctors and healthcare providers argue over the necessity and cost effectiveness of any and all medical procedures from giving someone an aspirin to MRI’s. Needless to say many of my tests are now on hold for the moment while they continue to collect monthly payments from us hoping not to do anything in return. So here I sit talking to myself, drinking my green tea, taking lots of naps and trying to remember or decipher my dreams. Dreams… small word… big meanings, it seems like, in many cases, the bigger the dream… the harder we chase it. The unfortunate part is we seldom really make solid, realistic plans for when and/or if we catch them. A great many people insist the seldom, if ever, dream. According to most all researchers we dream 4-7 times a night but rarely remember all or part of any of them and the ones we do remember have some degree of significance to them. Small children don’t include themselves in their dreams until the ages of three and five due to their limited life experiences. Here’s another interesting tidbit if you’re going to be on Jeopardy any time soon… the term “nightmare” was created in the Dark Ages to support the claim that they were the work of female spirits messing with your head… doesn’t that make you feel better guys? Also… everyone has “wet dreams” and interestingly enough, they seldom have anything to do with sex. This disturbs me on a number of levels. I would really hate to think that on those rare occasions I was woken up by a raging hard-on was because I was thinking about mowing the lawn… that would be a supreme verification as to just how pathetic a person’s life is at times. I did have an interesting dream the other day though. It involved a group of people I respect and admire all sitting around drinking and talking in, what I assume is my studio that I have yet to find and occupy. Some of the people I know (or knew at one time or another), some I would like to know, some I’ll never know because they’re already gone. An eclectic group of bombastic free thinkers who seldom color inside the lines and could give a shit if you don’t agree with them and, apparently, have gotten together often enough we have named ourselves “The Curmudgeons Club” and proudly accept that moniker. People like writers, poets and essayists Jim Harrison (Legends of the Fall…among others), Henry Miller, Richard Brautigan, Shel Silverstein, Allen Ginsberg, James Thurber and Hunter S. Thompson (just because he was Hunter). Musicians like Joe Walsh, Sting, James Taylor, Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor, Michael Stipe, Dave Brubeck and Cole Porter. Painter’s Chuck Close and Picasso and Photographers Robert Mapplethorpe, Helmut Newton plus newcomer chef and writer Anthony Bourdain, others would roll in and out from time to time like Nicholson and so on while we drank, bantered and joked about while periodic arguments would break out over art, philosophy, politics, social changes and more with terms like “asshole” and “bastard” being thrown at each other with good natured love and affection of brothers having fun. Songs would be played, statements would be made, pictures would be taken and then suddenly… out of the blue, Thurber would quote a passage from one of his own books… “It is better to have asked some of the questions than to know all of the answers.” Everyone nods in agreement and the magic stops and they all grab their coats and head out the door leaving me to contemplate on what had just happened alone in my studio. The quiet is as comforting as my real life “hermit hole” yet I find myself anxiously waiting for the next get-together. Is this a Bohemian dream or a glimpse into my own future? Time will tell.