These are old archived entries from my journal, Ornamental Illness. I have eliminated all graphics (except those in context of an entry) to save on my bandwidth usage.

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Art Objects

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Friday, February 21, 2003

Eyes and Noses

I'll be damned if I know why I watched some stupid Fox TV Maury Povich-hosted 2-hour docu-thing on that idiotic M*ch*el J*cks*n (I don't want people coming here doing a search on it...I say it, not him. It is not a him. It is a gross abomination of a human.) interview that I never watched in the first place. It's the trainwreck's frightful and horrific, but you can't look away. Whenever I see pictures of it, I feel this visceral, gut reaction to retch. How can that make-up artist woman work on him without severe nausea? Am I the only person that experiences the urge to regurge? I mean the whole race-change thing is illmaking in and of itself (I always found Caucasian women who tried to tan to the darkest color possible quite disgusting as well) but the nose, the nose! What the hell is that thing? It's so small, it looks like it's the nose part of a skull, not of a living human. But then again, the humanity of it is questionable. After that, I felt like my system had been poisoned with hideous monsters. To detox, I watched my tape of "An Hour With Pink Floyd" from 1970 KQED Studios. Beautiful music, men with noses. Noses are necessary. And extremely underappreciated in this culture.

I saw the eye doctor yesterday. I'm beginning the journey into Middle-aged Sight. Not bad enough for bifocals yet (that is a frightening proposition when the time comes), but he gave me a prescription for over-the-counter reading glasses. Oh joy...I can't wait. I'm sure they come in many fabulous styles, too. As if my nearsighted and astigmatic prescription and my nodular corneas aren't bad enough, have a little farsightedness to go along with the mix! Happy times...

Posted by Ann on 02/21/03@01:18 PM CST ..::Link::..

Thursday, February 20, 2003


Tuesday night I talked to Bill some regarding Hieronymus. He still hasn't gotten a cat to replace Pan yet; he says he's waiting for one to find him. I remember one time when Stan and I were visiting Fort Fun, we were in Nature's Own with Bill and a salesclerk starts talking to us about a kitten that she's trying to give away. He could've had a kitten then, but at that time Pan was an old Curmudgeon Cat and wouldn't have appreciated the newcomer. I guess Bill does have good karma about having cats find time he was travelling and a wild kitten jumped on his lap when he opened the car door. For us, I think it's a different matter. I have to actively find them, but for some reason it's always the right fit. Maybe from the animal's viewpoint, they have to have the right person find them. I think I'm the way with music the way Bill is with cats; I have to have the music find me. If someone tries to get me into something, it won't work. It has to be around at the right time when I'm ready to accept it in my life, essentially, it finds me. Since Bill is a musician, I wonder if it works differently for him. I wonder if it is more of an intellectual thing for him, working on the advisement of other musically-knowledgable people, seeking out new bands and musicians rather than a more intuitive, passionate thing like it is for me, a non-musician. Not that I'm not passionate about my animals that I find. Oh what the hell am I trying to say, anyway?

Certain things you have to find for yourself, other things have to find you, and they vary by person. I think Stan and I sort of found eachother, but Bill, for example, found me. I have the worst luck finding jobs or work; I have to wait for it to find me. If I actively seek it out, I become a nervous wreck. A low-paid nervous wreck. I'm glad Stan understands that about my karma.

Posted by Ann on 02/20/03@08:46 AM CST ..::Link::..

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

The First Pug Dog

Hieronyus was our first dog together, and he was a very sweet pug dog.

When he was a puppy we introduced him to Vladimere and Natasha who were our two cats at that time. Hieronyus was so cute the way he tried to jump around them and be a playful puppy. Our cats weren't use to dogs and they only hissed at him and ran away. Then we decided to get another cat so he would have someone to play with. We bought a little gray kitty and named her Persephony to be Hieronymus's friend.

They were good friends and eventually Vladimere and Natasha warmed up to the pug too. Vladimere and Hieronyus were even sitting together sometimes, but then we got Plato out Boston Terrier. After we bought Plato the dogs were always closer with each other than any of the cats, but everyone got along well.

Having cats and dogs together has been lots of fun for Ann and I, and they've been there to soften the difficult times in our lives. It's much harder to be self absorbed with an emotional state of morbid despair when, in the back of your mind, you know there are little creatures who need to be feed. For the emotional well being of our pets we've found that they are happier if there are 2 or more of them. From now on we plan to keep 2 cats and 2 dogs as much as we can. I'm looking forward to finding a new puppy, but I still miss our pug a lot.

He was always by the door when I came home from work. Then Hieronyus would follow me everywhere while I made food for Ann and I. When I cut lettuce for salads he would stand under my feet just waiting for little pieces of lettuce to fall so he could eat them. I always made sure that I dropped a few pieces for him too. Plato would hear the pug eating lettuce and come to the kitchen for a few pieces too. Hieronyus always liked fruit too, and I think blueberries, cranberries and raspberries were his favorites. I always had to give a few berries to to pug when we were having some too.

One of the cutest things I can remember about the pug was when he ate raspberries off the bushes at Ann's parents house. He actually figured out how the pick the berries off the bushes with his floppy little face.

The kitchen is my favorite room in the house to be in and Hieronyus was always under my feet while I was in our kitchen. Now I miss having him there, and I'll always think of him when I'm making salads.

Posted by Stan on 02/19/03@10:51 AM CST ..::Link::..

DREAM - I am not a Basketball Fan, so...why did I dream this?

They just keep getting more and more disturbing...

I was with Stan in a home that didn't really look like ours; it was too modern and the interiors were too light/white. I was working on my iBook in Bryce, trying to construct a spiral staircase with a lightsouce that lit it up from high up on the staircase. It wasn't like a wraught iron staircase; it was like one that was in an old dungeon or castle made out of bricks or stone. It was very closed, not open, so it was very hard to construct it in Bryce and getting the camera angle right. I wanted to make the light flicker, like lights do in Twin Peaks (I guess I would have to animate it, which I don't know how to do yet). Stan was acting crazy, babbling on about how since we can't communicate anymore, he should just end our relationship, but the way he phrased it it almost sounded like he wanted to end his life. I was doing my best to try and ignore him, thinking if I ignore him, it won't feed into his delusions. Then I said something like, "isn't it time to take Plato outside?" It sort of snapped him out of his funk, but the next thing I knew, he was outside with Plato, Plato was unleashed, and Stan was naked. It was also raining. I didn't want to run outside and tell him to put clothes on because I thought that would draw attention to it more than ignoring it would, but I was worried that he'd get arrested and Plato would run away.

And if you thought that was disburbing, try this one, special guest starring Shaquille O'Neal (or however you spell I know)

I was in a store or something, and a bunch of people had to line up against a wall...I don't know why. We were just standing there. I noticed I was standing next to a very tall black man; I looked up at him and he sort of looked some sports figure. I then realized it was Shaquille O'Neal. I was thinking, "you know, your average person would be absolutely thrilled to death to be in my spot right now...and here I could care less." Then all of us started dancing. I guess "Shaq" (that is his nick, isn't it?) liked the fact that I wasn't fawning all over him, so he started bumping up against me as we danced. It was very sexual. I realized I was a lot thinner than I am and I was wearing a lightweight long dress with slits on both sides that went up very high on my hips...sort of the kind of dress that would be impossible to wear underwear with because of the high slits (unless your underwear had suspenders to keep it on or something). Then the dream mutated into being with Stan in that store and we were looking at things behind the counter. They had some cheesey Asian imports...satin stuffed dice, tacky glittery glass stuff...junk.

Posted by Ann on 02/19/03@09:59 AM CST ..::Link::..

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

Thoughts on the Pug, and such

Just did a web search on "Dana Parsley." Whew. No one turned up. That's a relief.

Stan and I were very bad parents. Saturday night, we had Hieronymus sleep downstairs so that we could monitor his sounds better. We put Plato to sleep upstairs. Plato started to whimper and bark a little. We thought it was because he didn't have his pug with him. We ignored his pleas for attention all through the night, and believe me, he barked ALL NIGHT LONG (I got no sleep). When Stan came to get him before he went to work in the morning, his bedding was stinky; he evidentally soiled his bedding because he had diarrhea the next day. (The diarrhea was probably stress-induced...he's fine now after not feeding him for 24 hours) At the time we thought he was barking because his pug wasn't there, and he was just being a spoiled brat. We thought that he'd probably pull the same thing last night because Hieronymus is gone, although he was quiet all night. Now I realize that he was trying to tell us, "hey, mom and dad, I had an accident, help me!" and he wasn't being a spoiled baby who can't bear to be alone. Bad parents. I'm relieved, though, that he was able to get through last night alone just fine.

I've been doing massive searches trying to find dog breeders. All I'm doing is getting myself extremely frustrated and exhausted looking at pictures of French Bulldog puppies. They are so damn cute!

It's kind of strange how I've been feeling before Hieronymus's end. Just the other day, I was thinking how well everything was going, and how happy I was that we all were healthy and our pets all got along and everything seemed so perfect and wonderful in our little universe, but that I knew it couldn't last...something had to give. And it did. Monday or Tuesday of last week, I forgot which, I was watching the Westminster Dog Show and they repeated the tale they often tell regarding an Irish Wolfhound:

In the 13th century, LLewelyn, Prince of North Wales, had a palace in Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert, his faithful hound, who was unaccountably absent. On Llewelyn's return, the truant hound, stained and smeared with blood, joyfully sprang to meet his master. The Prince, alarmed, hastened to find his infant son, and found the bed empty, the bedclothes and floor splattered with blood. The frantic father plunged his sword into the hound's side, believing the hound had killed his beloved son. The Wolfhound's dying call was answered by the child's cry. Llewelyn searched and discovered his son, unharmed. But nearby the child, lay the bodies of several wolves, slain by Gelert. The Prince, his heart filled with remorse and shame, is said never to have smiled again.

I've heard this story many times, but I just couldn't stop crying after I heard it this time. My rational self was telling me it was riduclous to be crying over such an old, oft-repeated tale, but now I know I was crying not over the story, but because of what was in my future, or Hieronymus's future. This has happened to me before, I'm unexplainably sad for no reason whatsoever, and then something happens in the future which explains it. Dammit, I hate being psychic. I want to experience my emotions when it's appropriate to do so, not ahead of time.

I'm now the odd sign in our house, a water sign. Everyone else is an earth sign. All the pets are Virgos now. Weird.

I just realized...we never got a phone book this year. I guess that's what the phone company does once you're not a customer anymore. Not only do you not exist in their eyes, but you're not allowed the courtesy of knowing the current phone numbers of others with landlines in your locale. The neverending revenge of, excuse me, SBC. Harrrrumph.

Posted by Ann on 02/18/03@05:33 PM CST ..::Link::..

DREAM: Who is Dana Parsley?

Stan and I were sitting on barstools with wheels in the drop off area of an airport, locomoting ourselves with our feet (pushing ourselves along on the wheeled stools) along the area where cabs drop off and pick up passengers. It was night, and there wasn't any automobile traffic, just pedestrian traffic. We kept going by the same windows where airport officials were watching us, and we were wondering when someone was going to pull us aside and ask us what we were doing (not that we looked like terrorists, but I'm sure we looked weird). Then we wheeled inside the airport and had to go through a turnstile, but there were other people that kept getting in line ahead of us, so it was really hard for us to just "wheel through." We decided to just stop and get in line as well, but people were really crowding us out. There was one family with a bunch of kids that was especially annoying. We tried to push ahead of them, but they were really crowding us, especially their obnoxious pubescent boys who kept playing with my hair. You know how when you were a young kid in school and your class sat down on the floor for some reason and you had long hair and the girls in back of you would play with your hair? That's what it was like. It felt sort of good, but considering my hair was being played with by 12 year old boys that I didn't know, it was rather creepy.

Then I had another dream that is really hard to describe the situation because it didn't make any sense. The closest I can say is that I was standing in some line and there was a girl who I recognized from jr high/high school (the person is irrelevant because she was just a classmate, not a friend nor an enemy) and her sister, who looked just like her (I don't know if this person really had a sister). They seemed extremely tall. Then there was this man who was very tall as well, maybe 50-ish, and he had two tall daughters with him who I also recognized one from my jr high/high school, and a sister of hers. Naturally, these women all seemed to be in their early 20s, although IRL they would be in their early 40s and their father would probably be around 70. Weird how ages change in dreams. I turn to the first set of sisters, and they're talking about the other set of sisters, wondering what their names were, and one of them says, "what was her name...Dana...Parsley?" The older man must have overheard because he turns to them and starts talking to them. It was so very strange and nonsensical.

Then I remember being with Stan and it was as if we were still going out, not yet a "pair." He told me he would give me a ride home to my parent's house. I told him I'd appreciate that, but that he wouldn't be able to talk to me or my parents when he dropped me off because my dad would be watching television and wouldn't want to be disturbed. We had a laugh about that, as I'm sure we will IRL when he reads this.

Posted by Ann on 02/18/03@09:27 AM CST ..::Link::..

Monday, February 17, 2003

No More Pug.

We had Hieronymus euthanised today. They spent forever trying to find a vein in all four limbs and his jugular, with no luck. All his veins had collapsed because of his illness. He put up no fight with their poking, totally different than the feisty, snapping pug that we'd taken to the vets in the past. The last resort was to put him under anaesthesia for them to inject the serum directly in his heart. We watched them put him under, but we didn't watch them perform the procedure. We opted for a private cremation so that we can have his ashes; probably in a couple of weeks we'll get those. I guess for some reason, we weren't supposed to see him actually die, or dead. I was greatly surprised that he didn't die in the middle of the night last night.

I'm holding up well, considering. I guess it's because he was a good old age, and the illness took him quickly, unlike Natasha who lingered for weeks.

Plato was very upset when we came home. He had started shredding a package of toilet paper we had in the kitchen while we were gone. He was shivering. Stan opened up a package of Dentabones that we had bought the other week to give Hieronymus after we clip his nails. He gave a bone to Plato, telling him that it was a present from Hieronymus. Plato took it in his mouth, looked at Stan, started to walk away, turned to look at Stan again in disbelief, walked a little more, turned again to look at Stan as if to say "This is for me? Why? What did I do to deserve this? I didn't get my nails clipped. I can't believe you're giving me a bone without clipping my nails first! Is this really mine?"

I hope Plato can sleep tonight.

We will be looking for another dog, I'm not really sure what, but I am interested in either a black Pug (those fawn ones shed way too much light-colored fur for our house!) or a French Bulldog. Either of those will be pretty hard to find, I think. I guess there's no hurry, although Plato would probably disagree with that.

I think it was right around this time of year (to the week, probably) 12 years ago that Hieronymus came into our life as an 8 week old puppy.

Posted by Ann on 02/17/03@02:23 PM CST ..::Link::..

DREAMs, past and present

DREAM 2.17.03

I found someone's website and they had dedicated some entry in a journal to me with pictures of me and the things I liked (it's very vague, but I think there were pictures of my animals, Stan, Pink Floyd, was rather cheesey, actually) and the headline was something like "Ann should be rich and famous!" with some subtext of *why* I should be famous (because I'm talented and good-looking, according to the site). I couldn't tell if it was being sarcastic, or authentic. I think I clicked away because either way it was spooky. Upon clicking, I think I went on to another dream. I really hate internet-related dreams. I hate them with a passion.

Stan and I were in a motel in a different city because I was there to pick up art from an art show. In the gallery as I stood at a table to sign out my pieces, the women working there were trying to get me to contribute financially to their gallery, like a patron or benefactor, or pledger. I was trying to explain to them that I didn't have any money. Back at the motel, I was leaving leaflets for Kinko's Copies (!?!) in the motel before we left, like I was on a religious crusade for Kinko's. Weird.

Also dreamt something about Stan and I being at home together and the doorbell rings. We're not expecting anyone, but Stan goes to the door and it's UPS delivering a lot of boxes. It seemed that Plato accidentally got into the entry way and I start to chase after him. Stan is keeping the door open to get the boxes, but he tells me that it's OK and Plato is allright and didn't get outside.

DREAM 2.15.03

I had these dreams a couple nights ago, but they were a bit disturbing (in very different ways from eachother). I didn't write them down at the time because I was trying to deal with a sick dog.

One of the dreams was very surreal. I felt like I was older than I am now, I think, but not sure, or maybe I was a ghost because I obviously travelled back in time. I don't know. I was in what appeared to be a city park. Roger Waters was there...he was young, like before he was even in Pink Floyd, but he looked different, like maybe older than his early 20s (which he would've been at the time), but I knew it was still him. He was sitting on a park bench and I sat down on the bench next to him and take his hand and start telling his future (because I'm from the future, right?). He looks at me strangely and I tell him that he has to believe me because I know the future. Despite the fact that I'm talking to Roger Waters and holding his hand (under normal conditions this would thrill me) the dream was highly eerie. I really don't want to know the future, even though the only future I knew in the dream was what had already happened in the past....if that makes sense.

The other dream I am in an old building, like my former high school. For some reason I'm running down all these staircases trying to get somewhere. The stairwells are made with yellow cinder brick with red paint on the handrails. I'm with a group of people and someone wants to rent a bus for a field trip or chartered trip or something, but the person in charge of renting it would have to pay $1000 for it, and they don't have the money. I'm sitting in a stairwell and see my dad. He's talking to a bunch of other students, who now look more college-age rather than high-school age. My dad is being unusually outgoing and sociable. I think he's talking to a woman who looked a lot like the actress who played Donna from Twin Peaks. He catches my eye and pretends to ignore me because he knows that I'd be embarrassed if he said "hi" to me, although I wanted him to say hi to me because I was seeing a side of my dad that I never saw before...the normal side. Then I'm running down more stairwells and end up in an area that leads to the outside. There's a bunch of plants in the hallway, and it's crowded with people waiting to go on this chartered trip. Then when they announce that the bus is loading, we have to run up the stairs again. There's a mad rush of people, and this one extremely ugly, legless, barrel-chested butchy-type woman gets trampled. No one stops to help her, except me. I really don't want to help her because I don't like her, (she was sort of a hybrid of someone unimportant I knew when I was a kid) but I feel obligated to because no one else is helping, however, helping her means I'll miss the field trip/chartered bus ride. It was a highly annoying dream. It was so..."young grasshopper...choose between saving the life of someone you dislike or go have fun and know you let someone die in pursuit of your own pleasure."

Posted by Ann on 02/17/03@01:42 PM CST ..::Link::..

Sunday, February 16, 2003


Our pug dog, Hieronymus has become very ill. One evening he was acting a little crabby and the next morning he was barfing blood with his food. This sudden turn for ill health took us by surprise, because he has been very active and happy. Now when I hold him I can tell that his strength is very low and he has that "I'll be crossing the river soon" smell about him. (Most people who have had an older cat or dog pass away know what this smell is like.)

According to my best understanding of the veterinary tests he is suffering from an auto immune disorder, and this condition has many potential causes. The problem is that his immune system is attacking his platelets in his blood. this means his blood won't clot. He is developing internal ulcerations and starting to loose blood internally. There are, of course endless tests and treatments available to try and root out the cause and return the immune system to normal. However most of the possible causes for his condition would be untreatable terminal conditions like pancreas disorders, cancer and other things which are loosing battles. Our pug is 12 years old and treatments, surgery or chemotherapy would be long shots at best.

Were trying to keep him comfortable, but I'll be very surprised if he lives through the night.

He has been a beautiful companion in our lives and well always remember and love our pug, and he is the first dog we've had together.

Posted by Stan on 02/16/03@09:18 PM CST ..::Link::..
By Ann @ 20:55 PM CST:02:20:03 ..::Link::..