My Life Today

I'm sitting at the dining room table, trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to ignore the mess around me.  Here's a strategy.  If the mess is so hard to ignore, I could a) clean it all up before proceeding, b) absorb the mess so that it become something useful instead of a distraction, or c) describe and/or explain it.

There's a dying evergreen in the corner.  I can't actually tell by looking at it that it is dying.  It still look good from here, even if it is set in a plastic pot covered in Chrismas foil.  I say that it is dying because I know I haven't watered it in at least a week and a half.  It stands in line with a nebulizer that should have been returned to my friend Linda two or three weeks ago, three bananas that are quickly ripening and that I hope I won't have to throw away, and a wooden bowl, filled with nectarines and oranges.  The bowl has been dropped and broken more than once.  This last time we didn't even bother to try and glue it back together.  The broken piece has been reinserted, but will not stay.

Isaac is sleeping in the Pack N Play in my bedroom, and Parker has come to the dining room table to beg for Cinnamon Roll flavored oatmeal, and dried fruit.  Now he whines because the pantry is locked and he can't open it.  He has refused my offer of banana or raisins.  He doesn't want the peanut butter crackers I expect he will gladly accept later.  The dryer is running and I know that when it stops Isaac will wake up, which in this case is good, because I have to go to a bible study this morning if mostly for the sake of getting out of the house and spending some time with adults who have more finely tuned critical skills than this amazingly articulate three year old boy who I adore.

I have to get the words out and that is why I have chosen to write this way on a Thursday morning.

My valentines and birthday roses has wilted in their vases so I threw them away this morning.  There is still a vase of flowers in the middle of this table because the daisys in particular still look lovely.  I wish that I could have fresh flowers in the house all the time, but even if I had the money I probably wouldn't often spend it that way.  What this woman needs is a flower garden.  Though the idea appeals to me while I sit here dreaming about it with dearth of knowledge, every time I start to plan something tangible I become discouraged.  The last time my mom bought flowers for me to plan in front of my house, I waited until they had become sparse and leggy before asking Michael to plant them for me.  The sun baked them; they went unnourished by the willful application of water, and so they never were quite pretty and then they died.  My little rosemary plant died in the freezing winter cold.  The only flowers I have in my yard were planted by a previous owner, and have gone untended.  I got out there and did some weeding once, but the effort was short lived.  It occured to me last year that what I need is for someone to come to my house, tell me exactly what to plant and where, stand over me while I do it, and then train me in the care of specific flowers and shrubs.  My yard could be so pretty if only I felt sure that I knew what to do and how.

The rest of the things that surround me in this room are cereal bowles and toys, compact discs and receipts, trash I meant to throw away yesterday and my church's telphone directory.  There are books on the floor because Isaac enjoys pulling them from the shelves.  There are crayons and coloring pages because Parker has enjoyed doing a lot of coloring just lately.  There are things here that have been here far to long and really should be put away.  Sometimes I wonder if I am making any progress at all, but hey, I'm sitting here and I'm writing.  I've described the confusion of only one room in my house.

Parker is now working his way through the bonus features on the Book of Pooh DVD while he sits on the sofa in the living room.  Isaac is still sleeping, and I am writing.  Me writing anything, anything at all, is progress.

I have not reread this and it is probably full of errors and omissions, but I am publishing it anyway, because "publish or perish" is taking on a completely different meaning for me these days.

Actors: Job Acceptance and the Possible Alienation of the Fanbase

It's such a random thing to write about when I haven't published anything in months, but I've been thinking about Orlando Bloom the last few days.  It came up because when Michael was recovering from the stomach bug, he tried to watch *Pirates of the Carribean* (whatever the first one was called) with Parker while resting on the couch.  I was passing through the room and I commented, "I don't really like Orlando Bloom anymore."  Why?  I don't know.  I know nothing about him apart from the few movies I've seen.  I liked him okay when I had only ever seen him in *Lord of the Rings,* although at the time I thought he was a little too blonde, and perfect looking.

I think it was while watching *Elizabethtown* that I decided he was more annoying than attractive.  Though that may have only been his character.  I enjoyed the film well enough over all.  So I wonder...

Do you think that an actor takes an acceptable risk when agreeing to play an unlikeable character?  Is it likely to do harm to their career in any way?  My case in point is Orlando Bloom as Paris in the movie *Troy.* Paris is a completely and irredeemably unlikeable character, but someone has to play him.  Someone has to wreak the havoc and through their own ridiculously unreflective actions bring about the destruction of the city, right?  I wonder if my dislike of his work as an actor is actually colored by my experience of him in this one movie.  I also wonder if he deserves my respect for the fact that he was willing to take such a risk.