yeah…hmmm… i still want to just find music/artists for soundtracks… oh and have my own record shop with a book store upstairs and a little club down stairs… oh and maybe just be an art history teacher at cool college like Ohio University… hmmm… or maybe finally starting a band with real intent… and do a documentry on the rise and fall of it all… like a real time behind the music…or maybe maybe maybe…if wishes were fishes…
I’m not quite sure what I want to do, but I do know that I want a patron for whatever it is. I would like a patron to finance my life as a explore whatever it is I get a fancy for – artist (paint, video, sound), philanthropist, curator, social activist, mountain climber (but just the short ones, I have bad knees), think tank partner, writer for the Simpsons, hermit, etc. What am I doing about it? I’m posting this in hopes that the rich and famous frequent tinypineapple.com and have always had a longing for a someone to patronize. Other than that, I’m working in a library reading stories to inattentive children and socially inept, rich mothers who don’t have a charitable bone in their bodies. I guess I’m the one who ends up patronizing them.
…Yeah, a patron…[vague facial expression, dreamy half-smile]…like the mother on “My Man Godfrey.” Incredible Wealth, negligible common-sense, marvelously impressionable. Either that or someone with impeccable taste who loves me and my work enough to feel that no matter what I manage to produce, it’s clever and matchless and worth any investment.
Hey. I don’t know about any of you folks, but I AM doing something about it! I am a professional actor. I am living the dream. I am getting payed nothing to play third guy from the left in a regional theatre. Oh, wait… my show ended. Now I’m getting $90 a week from unemployment while I look for a job as a waiter.
1) I purchase discarded, eclectic decorative items [and the occasional gently-used gem] for myself and others at the local thrift shop and pray that the items are quirky and not tacky. I also watch “Changing Rooms” and “Trading Spaces” and play Sunday Morning Quarterback, sitting on my fanny and critiquing what the designers are doing.
2) I purchase mismatched, eclectic clothing [as well as the occasional gently-worn gem] for myself and others at the local thrift shop and pray that it looks stylish and not pitiful. I also watch “What Not To Wear” and play Sunday Morning Quarterback, blah blah blah…
3) When my children peek into the circular file cabinet and find that I’ve “accidentally” crumbled and tossed their best drawing EVER, I iron the the pieces flat on the ironing board using a piece of cardboard underneath and a paper towel on top–very low steam, generally– and apply Scotch Magic Tape as necessary. I’m also good at super-gluing broken ceramic items and using acrylic paints to render the seams indetectable. I cover dings in wood with incredible accuracy using a complex melange of Magic Markers.
4) I get all excited each spring and head to the local garden shop, frenetically buying up all of the plants that appeal to me, and plop them in the ground with a little mulch, dreaming all the while of well-tended British gardens and cutting-bouquets. When the flowers begin to take shape I realize that I should have given perhaps more thought to continuity, levels, and variety of shapes/colors. Then by late June it gets too hot outside to maintain the garden comfortably, and everything’s left to its own devices.
5) I watch Sponge Bob or Disney cartoons, or listen to recorded books-on-tape, and think with much self-satisfaction “Phhhtht! [*harrumph*] I could do that!”
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Wouldn’t that be the best?! But like you I’m getting on in years, and I think that I’ve met just about anyone I might [secretly] be related to, darn it.
Or what if you met a lonely, wealthy elderly person and befriended them with your sparkling personality, sincere concern and empathetic manner. (Think Doris Day meets poor, neglected [rich] grandpa. The bottom of his grocery sack breaks and she picks up everything and totes it home for him up 5 flights of stairs. Purely platonic, of course.) Then out of the blue one day when you’e slaving away unappreciated in your cubicle or scrubbing out the toilet or something, you get a telegram telling you that this dear, dear friend has “passed on” and left his/her millions to “the one soul in this empty world who felt I was truly worth something…” blah, blah, blah.
Sounds like the sort of dream I’d have had when I was little and had just gotten in trouble with my Mom for doing [whatever]. I’d lay on the bunk bed with tears of injustice streaming down the sides of my face and onto my increasing soggy pillow, planning future glorious retribution of some sort or other.
Thanks, Jodi. I think you’re funny too. I’d love to have coffee with you but I don’t drink coffee. Maybe I could have an herbal tea and pretend it was coffee.
Actually dan, your excessive padding did fool me. I opened my browser and thought, “Well for Pete’s sake–fourteen comments!” and immediately fled to read them.
I’ll just add to the padding by saying that I’ve been thinking alot about coffee since the above comments. I think that if I did drink coffee, I’d be a full-out coffee addict. Night and day. Even when I was little I thought that the “General Foods International Coffees” looked like manna from heaven. And I’m a closet Postum/Pero addict, but that’s a genetic thing–been goin’ on for generations.
17 Comments
yeah…hmmm… i still want to just find music/artists for soundtracks… oh and have my own record shop with a book store upstairs and a little club down stairs… oh and maybe just be an art history teacher at cool college like Ohio University… hmmm… or maybe finally starting a band with real intent… and do a documentry on the rise and fall of it all… like a real time behind the music…or maybe maybe maybe…if wishes were fishes…
~i’m jack’s sense of wanting
I’m not quite sure what I want to do, but I do know that I want a patron for whatever it is. I would like a patron to finance my life as a explore whatever it is I get a fancy for – artist (paint, video, sound), philanthropist, curator, social activist, mountain climber (but just the short ones, I have bad knees), think tank partner, writer for the Simpsons, hermit, etc. What am I doing about it? I’m posting this in hopes that the rich and famous frequent tinypineapple.com and have always had a longing for a someone to patronize. Other than that, I’m working in a library reading stories to inattentive children and socially inept, rich mothers who don’t have a charitable bone in their bodies. I guess I’m the one who ends up patronizing them.
…Yeah, a patron…[vague facial expression, dreamy half-smile]…like the mother on “My Man Godfrey.” Incredible Wealth, negligible common-sense, marvelously impressionable. Either that or someone with impeccable taste who loves me and my work enough to feel that no matter what I manage to produce, it’s clever and matchless and worth any investment.
Now–if only I had a talent…
Hey. I don’t know about any of you folks, but I AM doing something about it! I am a professional actor. I am living the dream. I am getting payed nothing to play third guy from the left in a regional theatre. Oh, wait… my show ended. Now I’m getting $90 a week from unemployment while I look for a job as a waiter.
Whose dream job was this again?
Thought I’d make my own list. Let’s see…
1) Interior Decorator
2) Fashion Buyer/Consultant
3) Art Curator
4) Landscape designer/horticulturist
5) Voice-over artist
What I have done about this:
1) I purchase discarded, eclectic decorative items [and the occasional gently-used gem] for myself and others at the local thrift shop and pray that the items are quirky and not tacky. I also watch “Changing Rooms” and “Trading Spaces” and play Sunday Morning Quarterback, sitting on my fanny and critiquing what the designers are doing.
2) I purchase mismatched, eclectic clothing [as well as the occasional gently-worn gem] for myself and others at the local thrift shop and pray that it looks stylish and not pitiful. I also watch “What Not To Wear” and play Sunday Morning Quarterback, blah blah blah…
3) When my children peek into the circular file cabinet and find that I’ve “accidentally” crumbled and tossed their best drawing EVER, I iron the the pieces flat on the ironing board using a piece of cardboard underneath and a paper towel on top–very low steam, generally– and apply Scotch Magic Tape as necessary. I’m also good at super-gluing broken ceramic items and using acrylic paints to render the seams indetectable. I cover dings in wood with incredible accuracy using a complex melange of Magic Markers.
4) I get all excited each spring and head to the local garden shop, frenetically buying up all of the plants that appeal to me, and plop them in the ground with a little mulch, dreaming all the while of well-tended British gardens and cutting-bouquets. When the flowers begin to take shape I realize that I should have given perhaps more thought to continuity, levels, and variety of shapes/colors. Then by late June it gets too hot outside to maintain the garden comfortably, and everything’s left to its own devices.
5) I watch Sponge Bob or Disney cartoons, or listen to recorded books-on-tape, and think with much self-satisfaction “Phhhtht! [*harrumph*] I could do that!”
hmmmm…..I have no aspirations anymore…and damnit Jack is that a subtle slap…you know I’m working my ass off to learn that Violent Femmes song.
~I am Chet’s inflamed sense of rejection.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
Hey, Chris…what about me? How could you forget about your duly devoted patron? I also seem to be your agent lately, peddling your skills to my other rich and famous associates who we only happen to be related to. he he.
I am still waiting for that long lost uncle (dead of course) to make me rich. how long does this take? I am starting to get old!
Wouldn’t that be the best?! But like you I’m getting on in years, and I think that I’ve met just about anyone I might [secretly] be related to, darn it.
Or what if you met a lonely, wealthy elderly person and befriended them with your sparkling personality, sincere concern and empathetic manner. (Think Doris Day meets poor, neglected [rich] grandpa. The bottom of his grocery sack breaks and she picks up everything and totes it home for him up 5 flights of stairs. Purely platonic, of course.) Then out of the blue one day when you’e slaving away unappreciated in your cubicle or scrubbing out the toilet or something, you get a telegram telling you that this dear, dear friend has “passed on” and left his/her millions to “the one soul in this empty world who felt I was truly worth something…” blah, blah, blah.
Sounds like the sort of dream I’d have had when I was little and had just gotten in trouble with my Mom for doing [whatever]. I’d lay on the bunk bed with tears of injustice streaming down the sides of my face and onto my increasing soggy pillow, planning future glorious retribution of some sort or other.
Jenny is funny. I want to have coffee with Jenny.
Thanks, Jodi. I think you’re funny too. I’d love to have coffee with you but I don’t drink coffee. Maybe I could have an herbal tea and pretend it was coffee.
I think this entry has a lot of comments.
Now I’m just padding it so it looks really important (“two hundred and thirty comments? GOOD LORD! This entry must contain the meaning of life!”)
Actually dan, your excessive padding did fool me. I opened my browser and thought, “Well for Pete’s sake–fourteen comments!” and immediately fled to read them.
I’ll just add to the padding by saying that I’ve been thinking alot about coffee since the above comments. I think that if I did drink coffee, I’d be a full-out coffee addict. Night and day. Even when I was little I thought that the “General Foods International Coffees” looked like manna from heaven. And I’m a closet Postum/Pero addict, but that’s a genetic thing–been goin’ on for generations.