He says the best thing about most art painted in the past 50 years is that the paint smells interesting. That was the deepest insight I've received from him since we returned from Maine, and I have to admit I would not have thought of it myself.
So, I work and he lies around theatrically, leaving me to wrestle with The Art of Our Time all alone.
I'm wondering if he might like a wading pool for his birthday. He seems to be outgrowing the sink, or else it's shrinking:
I can just imagine him lounging poolside with us up in Maine. How he would love it. Unfortunately, the innkeepers won't invite him. I imagine that they think he'd cause too much commotion with his movie-star looks and magetic personality. It's a quiet little town and they aren't accustomed to so much dazzle. I'm used to him, and it's still tough to stay focused when he's showing off.