Nebulous Mooch

In an alternate reality what job would you be doing? Some people wonder about things like this. I’ve tried all kinds of different jobs and I’m pretty sure that my personality is most suited to being independently wealthy and waited on by servants. This post isn’t about me though. It’s about someone else.

Apparently, the musicians in this area wonder about what their jobs would be in alternate realities too. There’s a list that gets passed around that suggests possible alternative professions for area musicians. It’s good to have options in case the whole music thing doesn’t work out.

My husband recently saw the list and of course he was on it. His suggested profession is rodeo cowboy. He seems a bit disappointed by this, but I think its perfect. I can picture him in a cowboy hat and boots.

What do think?

We had kale greens with our lunch today.

Me: I love greens. They’re my favorite food.

My husband: That’s not true.

Me: Yes it is. I love greens.

My husband: How many times a day do you think about eating greens?

Me: I don’t know. None.

My husband: How many times a day do you think about eating cereal?

Me: Maybe six or seven.

My husband: Looks like cereal is your favorite food.

Me: Silently thinking about eating some cereal.

The ways to decorate a home are as varied as the people decorating those homes. Some people want to paint their walls black, some want to cover everything in their house with gold leaf. It’s all fine with me. There is one thing that I’ve never understood–doll collecting.

If you collect dolls maybe you can enlighten me because I’ve never understood the appeal. Earlier today I was in the home of a doll collector. The whole time I was there, porcelain baby dolls with pink painted on mouths and unbelievably rosy cheeks stared at me through blue glass eyes. It was creepy.

How could you sleep in a bedroom with shelves and shelves of dolls looking at you? Haven’t these people ever watched a horror movie? Don’t they know that dolls can come to life in the night and try to kill you?

Not too long ago, I worked in a day program for the mentally disabled. There was a man in the program, I’ll call him Bob, who was afraid of dolls and rightly so. One day we went to a folk museum and I couldn’t find Bob. Okay, I admit it, I lost him. After looking around the museum frantically, I finally found him in a small room with a giant doll display. Behind glass on all of the walls were dolls from all around the world. A voice played through a speaker in the ceiling and talked about each doll as it was lit up by a light. In the center of this room was Bob with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He was muttering, “They can’t hurt me,” over and over. When he saw me he said, “They can’t hurt me, right?”

“Right,” I said. “They can’t hurt you. They’re behind glass.” But what if they weren’t, I thought.

Sitting in that house today, I understood how Bob felt in that doll display. I’ve seen the ads in magazines for ceramic dolls that look just like real babies. I sometimes wondered who would buy such a thing and what they would do with it. Now I know.