Well, I didn’t do dissertation work yesterday. I did a lot of life-care things, though. Took the car to the mechanic (he can find no reason why the car smells like burning rubber when the engine is hot), grocery shopped, cleaned our filthy and chaotic house, got our CSA vegetables, cooked Spousal Unit a lovely dinner of Spanish Tortilla with a side salad of mizuna greens and tomatoes with a toasted sesame vinaigrette. Today is his birthday, so I thought I’d make things a little nicer in our world for him. It was good. But, the dissertation looms.
I did, however, have time to do this fun meme while waiting for car etc.
Seven things to do before I die:
1. Finish my dissertation, dammit.
2. Have/Acquire a baby. Just love the smell of those little suckers’ heads.
3. Visit the Pyramids. They moved all that freaking rock with human body power. Amazing.
4. Spend a month in Italy with Spousal Unit. Eating. Sex. Italian. What’s not to want?
5. Learn to play the Banjo. There’s something about the Banjo that speaks to me. I think it’s because it’s my peoples’ (a.k.a. hillbillies) music.
6. Paint a masterpiece. Or a minorpiece. Just love the smell of that linseed oil.
7. Live by the Ocean long enough to have my fill of its rhythm.
Seven things I can do: (well, presumably)
3. Knit. Well, that’s a sort of. I START a lot of knitting projects. I finish very few. But I love the yarn. I love the rhythm.
4. Pack for a road trip better than anyone ever. You will never want for anything when you’re on a roadtrip with me. Spousal Unit calls me “The Quartermaster.”
5. Paint. Walls, yes. Canvases, working on it. Objects, yes. (I have painted Starry, Starry Night onto an empty eggshell and Georgia O’Keefe’s Sunflower onto a ceramic tile.)
6. Read an enormous novel in one sitting. I just devour fiction. Particularly cheap paperback fiction from embarrassing genres like sci-fi and fantasy and mystery.
7. Imitate Elaine from Seinfeld’s dancing — while bowling. Apparently watching me bowl is like seeing order emerge out of chaos.
Seven things I can’t do:
1. Sing. Spousal Unit insists that anyone can sing. It is just a matter of training and confidence. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.
2. Sail. Spousal Unit is a sailor. I get seasick. I try, though. And only once did I have to be dropped of at a faraway location and fetched later in the car.
3. Math. (or Maths as the Aussies would say). It is why I married a Physicist. So that I never have to calculate the tip.
4. Inhale. I’ve tried it with cigarettes a few times. It just doesn’t work — so I never bothered with the more interesting stuff.
5. Hear you talking to me while I’m reading. Spousal Unit loves this one as well. “Put down the book and listen to me!”
6. Avoid procrastination.
7. Dance. I’m a pretty awful dancer. Like Elaine on Seinfeld. The order only emerges when bowling. Otherwise, it is just chaos.
Seven things that I find attractive in other folk:
1. Humor. Not just ha ha, but do they laugh at themselves? At the world?
2. Energy. People have to have the right kind of energy. Contained, but present.
3. Subtlety. I don’t need to be bashed over the head with everything. Folk who understand the subtle approach are really interesting.
4. Confidence. Not arrogance, assurance.
5. Expertise — there is something so devastating about someone who does things really well.
6. Passion. About their world, about the state of things, about themselves, about others.
7. Smell. I have a bionic nose. If a person doesn’t smell right, I just can’t be attracted to them.
Seven things I say the most: (perhaps I better clean up my act?)
5. Hey Spousal Unit, will you… He loves that, let me tell you.
6. You’re my Cookie. Which is usually accompanied by Lovey or some other embarrassingly shlocky adjective.
7. Get the fuck out of my way you slow ass Amish buggy, I’m late for class! (ok, not really… but sometimes I think it. Quietly. To myself. Where God can’t hear me.)
Seven celebrity crushes: (the far too revealing about my television habits list)
1. Colin Firth, baby. Colin Firth.
2. Michael Vartan. Hate post-second season Alias. Love Michael Vartan. He’s French. He paints. He skates. He dumped Jennifer Garner. What’s not to love?
3. Gwenneth Paltrow. I know, I know. But the woman is hot. She’s Mrs. Coldplay. And she named her baby Apple.
4. Joss Whedon. Yes, I’m a geek. Big surprise.
5. Owen Wilson. Sexy Ugly. Yes, indeed. And he can write. (Bottlerocket, Royal Tennenbaums). Too bad about the recent movie decisions. (Word of advice, O., ditch the sidekick buddy-gross-out film roles.)
6. Adam Brody. If only I were 10…15…oh, shit, 20? years younger and he could teach me about irony.
7. Did I mention Colin Firth?
Blog crushes abound, way more than 7. So, I’ll pass on that one.