Monster in the Box of Wine

I was eating my Mac & Cheese Spirals, drinking wine (WAWA, twist-off, tasty yield) and caught the end of "Monster in the Box", the filmed monologue of Spalding Gray's wherein he discusses, among other things, his role as the Stage Manage in Thornton Wilder's "Our Town," a play that I also performed in, with the Pius Players in the late 80s (I was Howie the Milkman, or something). Anyway, Spalding Gray, dead these last few years (and still so), is fascinating to watch. And while it's him I'm watching, he's so skillful in speech that it is his imagination that engages me. I've been watching his movies for years and they so perfectly scratch that proud intellectual humorly itch of mine, like Woody Allen's films, but in an even friendlier way. I'm almost tempted to refer to him simply as "Spalding," a practice I typically find repulsive where celebrities and other strangers are involved.

But what is a stranger? I'm prompted to contemplate this issue when considering artists with whose work I am so familiar. And by extension, am I so familiar with the artist as well?

Yep, there's that wine, one glass away from empty...

When I came across the film on IFC, I was like, "Excellent, Spalding Gray...", and then, "Ah, Jeez, he's dead now." But now, that's Spalding Gray: another favored writer of mine whose work is done but whose influence remains.

I think then of those most influential artists in my life: Lenny Bruce, Charles Bukowski, Philip K. Dick, William S. Burroughs, Spalding Gray, Robert Anton Wilson. All dead. There are others, of course, some dead too, others, not so much...

I find Spalding Gray the most pleasant of the bunch, though I hesistate to even gather them all into a "bunch". Outside of my "favorites" list, I would certainly spare them the indignity.

Indignity? Have I ever written that word before? Is it even a word? What word am I thinking of?

It's 8:45pm. Urn's asleep on the couch. I'll have a headache in the morning. But perhaps I'll be a little lighter in my view of the day. Because when I freshly read my favorite authors or watch them on TV or DVD, I'm lifted slightly and I see over the pettiness of humanity into the possibility of people, and then see them as persons. The world becomes a bigger place, as crowds are dispersed to groups, and groups to individuals. I prefer this as I believe I can explain things better to you than them...

Wednesday Wine. What? Anyway, I don't think I even had a point to make. I just needed to take my fingers for a walk. And Spalding looked like a perfect path tonight.