Medium-Sized Thoughts

Someone wishes to know what I did with the “dead octopus” referred to in my previous entry. First, I thawed it out (it came frozen, its tentacles wrapped in an incongruous spherical shape). Then, I drove with the director and cast out to a cool river location we had scouted the previous week. Then the octopus was used as a prop in several scenes of the film. Then, not knowing what to do with it (it was stinky, and also its presence made us all unexpectedly sad), we put it in the river and watched it flow away. But then the story gets interesting; we returned weeks later to this same location because we had to re-film the final scene at the last minute. Approaching a large pool downstream from where we’d set the octopus on its way, we saw carved into a log on the side of the pool the figure of AN OCTOPUS, with a few poetic lines about its spirit. What did it mean? Clearly someone(s) had discovered our octopus where it had come to rest in this pool, and had been mystified and awed. This is how religions are born.

I just graded so many papers and not one of them met the requirements laid out in the prompt. Why. Why god.

Is anyone else getting annoyed with the ever-increasing regularity of historically retrospective dialogue in Downton Abbey? Are we seriously to believe that it is normal for a person to state what year it is when describing an unusual personal belief or preference? “It’s 1920–houses like this are from another era!” Yeah no shit.

The most egregious example of this terrible writing technique is, in my opinion, The Other Boleyn Girl, which yes, I did read all of one dreadful summer while avoiding my dissertation proposal. One of the worst books in the world, The Other Boleyn Girl is perhaps at its most irritating when characters tell us what is surely going to happen roughly four hundred years in the future. “One day, mother, women will be able to ‘vote’ for ‘representatives’ in something called ‘a democracy!’ Until then, I must do as father says and seduce the king.”

The only good version of this technique is a comedic one. See: Bridesmaids. “This should stay open, because this is the 90s. It’s civil rights.”

Many job applications. Many agonizing late-night talks about job applications. Many cups of coffee. Last night I somehow drank almost an entire bottle of wine while watching the first Batman at Steve’s house. It is eerie to watch it after so many years–all its details are burned into my memory with love and yet through my present-day eyes the movie is so hilarious and dated, Michael Keaton’s hair so bizarre, his face so decidedly un-heart-throbby for a Bruce Wayne, Vicky Vale’s character so obnoxious, her outfits so hysterically unlikely, even for the 80s. Nicholson’s performance holds up though. “Is his skin white but he wears skin colored makeup??” Steve asked disbelievingly at one point. Also had to wikipedia “Harvey Dent” to figure out what the difference is between him and Commissioner Gordon. Just establishing the facts of the Batman universe! Billy Dee Williams is a terrible actor.

When you watch TV at Steve’s house you learn a lot because he’s simultaneously on the internet following all the interrelated thoughts and questions that come up while you’re talking about what you’re seeing. So via Batman we also learned about:
– Harvey Dent
– actors who have portrayed Dent–and thus Two Face–throughout the ages
– the new movie about how Hitchcock tormented Tippi Hedren during The Birds
– an additional new Hitchcock movie starring Anthony Hopkins
– Jeffrey Jones being a convicted child sex pervert
– how my mom had a really intense crush on Michael Keaton all through the early 90s (this was information I merely shared from my brain; we did not find it on the internet)

Making scant progress on this book about 16th century religion and magic. It has become so detail-oriented, it’s like, how can I be reading the 25th consecutive page documenting how people thought priests performed magical acts? I get it! The author of this book, who is now like 80 years old, recently ruefully said that now a basically dumbass undergraduate can do in a morning research it took him like 15 years and a thousand plane tickets to perform. Because of the internet! Does that make you happy or sad? I can’t decide.

More darkness from the realm of Aging Parents In Nursing Homes. My mom is recently returned from a nightmarish 10 days down there, changing her father’s diapers, fighting with the nurses, trying to get his medications right, trying to calm down her hysterical mother, feeling guilty and horrible all the time. I dread the day the money runs out. My mom is already talking about what they’ll do when that happens. None of the options are anything short of horrendous and unacceptable. How can they both still be alive? It is a nightmare, it is unbelievable. My mom says we should all start doing drugs and smoking now so we won’t outlive our brains. Heavy.

Then again my grandparents are both life-long heavy alcohol users and they show no signs of dying anytime soon, although their minds are gone and they have no control over their bodies. Still drinking though! So, there’s that.

Things I Have Learned:
– keep your parents in their home for as long as you can, by hiring caregivers, rather than moving them into the institutional phase of their drawn-out deaths. The institution is a nightmare and will suck your bank account dry in no time, and your parents will hate it there anyway
– don’t hesitate at any point. Try so hard not to hesitate due to filial loyalty or fear or shame. When it’s time to take away the car keys, do it. When it’s time to get power of attorney, do it.
– don’t balk at activating hospice. When it’s time to start trying to die, hospice can help you. If you don’t activate hospice, and your parents are in an institution, then the institution is legally bound to take them to the hospital if anything happens. To give them antibiotics if they get sick; to try to “cure” them (?) of whatever is wrong with them (they are dying). This makes no sense but is how the medical/legal complex works. Hospice on the other hand can make a decision about if this might be the opportunity to die we’ve all been looking for, and they can manage comfort and pain in a reasonable and dignified manner.
– don’t balk at horrifying conversations your soul shrinks from contemplating. For example, “Daddy, I don’t think you should get this brain surgery. I think it’s time for you to die.” I know this is an impossible thing to say to your father but believe me the alternative is worse.
– kiss your inheritance goodbye; it’s going to be gone, no matter what you do. Just stop thinking about it. The age of inheritance is over, except for the super rich.
– try to maintain some sort of a foothold in your own life, its joys and preoccupations. Try not to get so wrapped up in the horror you spend much of your day dealing with. Do a little yoga every day. Try to read a novel. Try to do something fun with your partner. It’ll be your time to die horribly soon enough.

I am watching my mother become a different person through this experience. She is drawn and subdued and distracted in a way I’ve never seen her before in my life. An aura of intense sadness surrounds her at all times, which has never, never been her vibe before. I don’t know how to help her or what to say to her. I don’t know anything and have no wisdom or advice.

I bought her some new deodorant she wanted.

Too depressing! Lets see, what else is nicer than all this bullshit?

APPLES. Every day there are new apples on display at the store. Reinette! Pippin! Cortland! Pink Pearl! Tango! What a delight is apple season. I buy each new kind and sample it; all are lovely. I am so happy to have such an accessible, long-seasoned favorite fruit. Apple season lasts forever! Not like cherry season. God help you if cherry is your favorite fruit. No, I’ll take the humble apple, tart and sweet.

We had Josh, Jessica, and their 3 year old child Calvin over for dinner the other day. He ate a bowl of shredded cheese and a medium-sized apple, which I consider to be a very reasonable meal. Then he suddenly took off his pants and announced that he wanted to go home RIGHT NOW, and began desperately trying to open the front door. The rawness of the young child is delightful and funny and real. I love such honesty. He was a good trooper. I enjoy spending time with unusually intelligent children such as he.

I feel oily and wrinkly and gross and my back hurts. It only took me four hours to do a third of my grading, which is actually pretty good for me. What next? I don’t know.

bye