Sunday, September 4, 2016

September 4: Gene Wilder, Willy Wonka, Classic Saint Marty

I'm sitting in my living room, watching Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory with my wife and daughter.  As my two Constant Readers are probably aware, Gene Wilder died this past week, so I've been feeling a little nostalgic.  I used to watch Willy Wonka on TV with my whole family when I was a kid.  My mother would cook up a big pot of popcorn, and we would all gather in the living room.  It's one of my fondest memories as a child. 

I used to wish two things when watching the movie:  I wanted to be Willy Wonka, or I wanted to be Gene Wilder.  Either way, I would have a purple velvet jacket, top hat, and cane.  Even sitting here tonight, I sort of feel some kind of yearning.  Perhaps for a simpler time, when I believed I could have an edible chocolate room.

Planning on sleeping in tomorrow morning.  Not setting an alarm.  I can't remember the last time that I've gone to bed and not set an alarm.  It will be absolutely heavenly.

Tonight's episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired two years ago, when I was pretty sick.  An early autumn case of tuberculosis.

September 4, 2014:  Hard to Sleep, Coughing, Book Bag

The night seemed long.  Wilbur's stomach was empty and his mind was full.  And when your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it's always hard to sleep.

Wilbur is excited.  A voice has promised to be his friend, and the voice said she would introduce herself in the morning.  Therefore, Wilbur is unable to sleep.  He waits and waits for the first rays of sun in the sky.  For his new friend.

I use this paragraph as an introduction because I have been having great difficulty sleeping this past week.  Not because of some disembodied voice.  Not because I'm hungry.  And not because my mind is full.  It's because I spend most of the night coughing up a lung.

I caved this afternoon and made an appointment with a doctor.  The doctor told me I have acute bronchitis, exacerbated by possible asthma.  Basically, the cold I had last week has settled in my lungs and is now turning my nights into tuberculosis time.

I have not had the energy to read a whole lot this past week.  I recently started the book Struck by Genius by Jason Padgett.  It's about Padgett's traumatic brain injury and onset of acquired savant syndrome.  Basically, Padgett went from being a shiftless, partying 30-year-old boy to a mathematical genius.  So far, the book is brilliant.  More to come on that.

That's my book bag at the moment.  My thoughts are clouded, and my lungs hurt.

That's all Saint Marty's got.

A portrait of last night

1 comment:

  1. The world without Gene Wilder is a harder place to live. Thank goodness he left us movie-memories that can be reviewed over and over.