Birthday Girl!

Well Fuck!

I can't post the one picture I have of Steph on her birthday.

She is probably grateful, it's not a very good picture nor really OF her. How did this happen?!?!?

Mrs. X has some amazing photos of the whole fam on Easter but I haven't managed to steal any from her yet. Phooey!

Anyway, I met Steph when she was about 6 years old. She is both entirely different and exactly the same now as she was then.

I remember coming home from college one time, giving her a hug and thinking, "Oh my god, she has breasts!"

We sat at a Mexican restaurant once when she was in college and spent the entire time talking but also staring at each other. Her mouth looked funny. She was wondering when I would notice. She'd just gotten her tongue pierced.

She is a beautiful, articulate, conscientious, passionate nutcase and I love her so very much.

She used to write to me when I was in college and she was in high school. Long tales of what her life was like, poems, lyrics, pictures. For over a decade I have wanted to put those letters into some sort of scrapbook or keepsake box for her to read to remember that time of her life and to give back to her even one portion of what she gave to me.

Well, this year is not that year.

This year I busted the balls of a smoker in her honor. By tomorrow this time this violator of the Clean Indoor Air Act will more than likely be cited by the Health Department.

I hope you're having a fabulous birthday!

Is this the sort of person?

Performing at Nanny's home. Note the electric bingo board behind me!

The reason I cannot keep plants in my home.

Part of an art project I'm doing to make sure Alita doesn't forget me just because we live so far away now.

My new hair. I can tell the difference. Can you?

Performing at Auntie Blanche's home. The woman over my shoulder is Mim, she only has one leg but it doesn't hurt her piano playing any.

This is the reality of my home right now.

Does any of this look like a person who has paid off all her student loans?

'Cause I did.

Local boys

Shout out to fabulous age-appropriate (for me) New York-based actors.

Brian F. O'Byrne of Doubt and Shining City, among other things.

Denis O'Hare of Take Me Out and Stephanie Daley, among other things.

Lies in Omission

Vanx has an interesting discussion going on over at Verb-Ops about interpretable art. He takes issue with some of the premises in The Da Vinci Code. Go check it out.

On a similar note, this week I've seen a pretty bad play, Shining City, and a truly wonderful movie, Stephanie Daley.

They are similar in that they both rely on what is not said in order to get to the center of their characters.

Yeah, that's about it for similarities.

I'm a fan of Faulkner. He uses a lot of words but the loudest things go unsaid. All those other words, all the jewel-toned descriptions are the frames that show you what puzzle piece is missing. You may see 2 or 3 things that could fit in the empty spot, you may have to make that final decision on your own, but you're brought right up to the edge of it so you know what you're looking for.

Hilary Brougher, the Brooklyn based writer and director of Stephanie Daley, gets that. Her movie is neither long nor verbose but it is specific. The choices are clear without being heavy, the performances have breadth and depth, and the story is complex without being complicated.

Let me see if I can blurb it for you.

A teenager (Amber Tamblyn) is accused of killing a baby to whom she gave birth in a public bathroom. The county prosector hires a forensic psychologist (Tilda Swinton) to discover the truth. Huh, look at that, imdb's blurb is almost exactly the same: "Pregnant forensic psychologist Lydie Crane is hired to learn the truth behind the case of 16-year-old Stephanie Daley, who is accused of concealing her pregnancy and murdering her infant."

So, anyway, it's a character driven movie with room for interpretation and plenty of food for thought. At the Q&A after the screening this evening Ms. Brougher let us know that there are a couple of distribution deals on the table and she's hoping to be able to announce the result soon. If you have an opportunity to see this movie, please do, please give it the support it needs and deserves and give yourself the gift of a highly pleasurable experience that's also good for you.

So, anyway, Shining City. I hear that Conor McPherson is a famous Irish playwright and well-renowned as well. I guess I would recommend seeing one of his other plays instead. It's sort of an interesting premise - Ex-priest with new girlfriend and young baby kicks off a new career as a therapist. His first client is recently bereaved and may be seeing ghosts. Their parallel experiences inform their growth. Or at least that's the hope.

We're dropped in the middle of the action. Which would be fine, it's not a bad format to use, Aaron Sorkin loves that shit, but you have to find a way to tell us who these people are, to give us the opportunity to care about the characters, so that when the action comes to a head it matters to us. Also it's helpful if the action, whether physical or emotional actually comes to some sort of head. I think Aristotle said something about that. We get spotty back story, we only meet the girlfriend once and most of her dialogue in the scene is "fucking this" "fucking that" "fuck you". I have no problem with profanity, no fucking problem at all, but I need a few more words as well to get actual information across.

There are a lot of words. Oliver Platt, as the client, has more words than the motherfucking Da Vinci code. Some of them are pertinent, some of them speak to the important omitted items. Hard to mine them from the verbal diarrhea, though. The waterfall of information doesn't point us in the direction we need to go. I know you can't make a horse drink but you do actually need to lead them to water.

And then. THEN! Then there is a surprise ending. Big, shocking, gasp-inducing, Friday the 13th surprise ending. I'm not going to tell you what it is. If you decide to read or see this play you deserve it. (To be clear I mean that in a Brittany and K-Fed deserve each other way not in a you were really good at Grandma's you deserve an ice cream way.) But I will say this, it's unearned, it's cheap and it's stupid. Either find a different way to make that point or go back into the rest of the play and earn the right to make me sleep with the light on for a week. It's not just an arbitrary rule of creative writing class, it's a proven method for getting people to believe your story. I know, nutty, but true.

It wasn't a crappy play. It wasn't terribly executed. It was decently executed for a world where you don't get a lot of rehearsal or prep time and the actors are taking on accents. The set design was beautiful but it's Santo Loquasto, of course it was. The costume and sound designers are relatively young and I feel like they could have gone a few extra steps and it would have supported the play a little better. I don't know if that was an issue with the director's vision or their own plans to work together. It's a fine play, an interesting configuration of people to take a look at, but there wasn't a lot of meat to it. I feel like the next draft might be truly engaging. Sadly, it was on Broadway so there probably won't be another draft.

Go see Stephanie Daley instead. It's a beautiful piece of writing elegantly executed. Then come back here and talk about it. Miflohny (who discovered this series at BAM and this specific movie in the series and invited me along and purchased the tickets - THANK YOU!) and I need more input for our discussion!

Striking similarities

My student loan 10-day payoff is very close to the amount of my recently deposited tax refund.

My student loan interest rate is very close to the interest rate of my savings account.

I am able to and I want to pay this baby off right now.

Why am I scared to push the button?

He's no Casey

Only a few of you will understand the conflict that I experience when posting JD as part of the hot people series.

Anna went to her first live baseball game last night. She loved every second of it and she told me she thought Damon was hot. So, after I delivered the oral presentation of my dissertation on his traitorous qualities I told her he was hotter with the long hair and I'd post a pic or two for her tonight. Looking at the images I found, though, it's like he's a totally different person, neither one is hotter, it's like he changed species or something. Weird. See helpful comparison below from USA Today. *Edited to add: Not sure what happened but you have to click on the strange outlined box below to see the comparison. Not sure how to fix that.

Frankly if I'm going to warm my cockles over a defector it's going to be Nomar.

Gaping hole

Good lord, how could the series get so far before the empirically hot Viggo was included? Core premise = hot. Hot = Viggo. Whew, back on track now.

Bits and bobs

So, the whole "my ear is sick" is back on again. Sorry, I'm as sick of hearing it as you are. Anyway, as of this morning in the specialist's office I felt like I was on the road to recovery. Right now, not so much, but I'm trying to stay optimistic.

Which one of you told me that you read another Martha Beck book and you found out she was divorced? Whoever you were, I'd love to talk to you about DJ Blurb's recent entry.

Yeah, Rob Lowe had his moments (see: Oxford Blues, West Wing) but he's no Patrick Dempsey. Also, apropos of the West Wing (is that a correct usage of apropos?), can you believe that Moira Kelly went from Sorkin-era West Wing to One Tree Hill? I'm an avid watcher of both but there's no contest in terms of writing. Imagine eating some hand crafted Belgian chocolate then following it up with the stuff they make Kinder Eggs out of. Her shell must be well and truly shocked.

And moving on to the Dempsey portion of our evening. I love serialized things. I love TV, I love fanfic, I love blogs. I think it's because I hate shit to end. But it's also because I'm really character driven and because I get attached to characters so I love to see them change and grow. If, as I was talking about today, I ever went to grad school and studied literature I think I could make a great thesis out of some sort of crazy comparison between the serialized publishing of Dickens and today's fanfic. Since I don't have enough money, or enough legit reason to spend that sort of money on grad school for such a thing, I will have to speak my mind on the subject here.

The most important thing a serialized piece can do is stick to its core premise. Gilmore Girls - unusual mother/daughter team finding strength in each other, Rescue Me - troubled man fights to keep his inner demons from piercing his heroic outer persona, Friends - 6 friends have zany adventures in apartments they could never afford if they were real.

A lot of hoopla has been written all over the internet and the media about how Gilmore Girls fell apart when Lorelei and Rory stopped speaking. The Sherman-Palladinos strayed from the core premise. Now, since I trust Amy Sherman-Palladino, I thought that surely she must be going for exactly that. Showing us that when the Gilmore ladies are apart nothing works right in the world and then putting that world back together to show us that dreams can come true. It turns out that wasn't what she was doing. OK, I don't know her, it may have been what she was doing but, in my (and a lot of other people's) opinion (s), that isn't what she accomplished.

This morning I watched the second season finale of Grey's Anatomy. If you haven't, and you intend to, be warned that spoilers are ahead.

A lot of shit went down in the last 2 hours of the 3 hour finale. There was a heart transplant and ovarian cancer and a prom and a proposal and extra-marital sex and a dog was euthanized and the aftermath of a workplace shooter and that's only the things I think of right off the top of my head. All these things were beautifully executed, well written, handily acted, nicely shot, etc. But what impressed me most was that, in the middle of all that, they stuck to the core premise. They didn't tack it on at the end, it was supported fully throughout not only the episode but the season and they made sure to focus in on that premise as they faded out (and left me grinding my teeth at the months before the next episode is available).

Gilmore Girls Season 2 (I think, feel free to correct me) finale finds Lorelei and Rory in the town square telling each other HUGE secrets, jumping up and down and hugging.

Gilmore Girls Season 5 finale (last season, whatever that was) is Lorelei proposing to Luke. Fabulous cliffhanger, made me practically chew my fingers off I was so mad I had to wait for months for an answer but couldn't be further from the core premise.

Grey's Anatomy premiere Mere and McDreamy have hot one night stand sex then learn they have to work together.

Grey's Anatomy Season 1 finale Mere and McDreamy are basking in the glow of their newly solidified relationship and McDreamy's wife shows up. Nice cliffhanger since we didn't know he wasn't actually divorced. And it sticks to the core premise.

Grey's Anatomy Season 2 finale PROMSIDE Mere is asked to choose between hot ex-comic-book-hero new guy and just-fucked-him-in-a trauma-room McDreamy. It's got it all.

It's just a well done show. Shonda Rimes is one of my new favorite TV creators. Look at what a beautifully written, brilliantly cast, solid character Sandra Oh gets to play. She may be the best character on TV right now. There are a lot of moments where JUST as something is happening you think, "Oh! This should happen!" The writers lead you right to water then let you drink. Last night it was the unfreaking of Izzie. She's lying on a bed cuddling her dead ex-sorta-fiance and refusing to move. The troops are called in. Her 2 housemates are there first. Cranky Cristina comes in with the tide. George's girlfriend attends, cementing her place in this family nest that the writers have spent 3 episodes feathering for her. Izzie is unmoved, she doesn't want to hear it, she feels awful, she won't move because nothing is OK. She's also not really crying. George tries to talk her out of it. No go. Then Mere. Absolutely not. Cristina I think even has a shot. And she's unmoved, entirely. I think, "Oh, right, Alex has to do this. He's the only one who has the position." 2 seconds later Alex walks in. LOVE THAT! And then total squee as he proves his (ridiculous, unsustainable) love for her by picking her up off the bed and sitting in a chair with her in his lap while she SOBS. Also, nice choice by the actor there not to kiss her as part of his sweet soothing. He just leans his cheek against her and whispers then sticks close to her for the remainder of the episode.

So, anyway, impressive and fun to watch not just because Patrick Dempsey grew up hot.

But the point is this: if I'm ever in a position to write something serialized like a TV show, or a story or a 3 picture deal from Sony or whatever, please watch me, please find my core premise and if, in any given episode, you don't see it, make sure I'm doing it on purpose and for a good reason.

And make sure I get back to it.

Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!

Mom spent her day trapped in the house. It is apparently monsoon quality at home and half a tree had fallen on the cars, taking an electrical wire with it. She couldn't go anywhere until the electric company came and removed the wire. THEN someone else would have to come to remove the actual tree. Given that the electric company was dealing with flooding and enormous outages so it's possible that she's still waiting.

I called, we chatted. Remind me to tell you about what. I'm still agog.

Did you call your mother?

That is all

The Power of Three

I love when life throws you a bunch of things at the same time that belong together. Sometimes it's pretty average. Last weekend I accidentally had a Phoebe Cates marathon with the movies that came in from Netflix. Now that, maybe, I could have done without. But then there's this weekend and it's all worth it.

I've seen The Time Traveler's Wife around. It's been on sale in Costco, people have been talking about it here and there, it's a TV Book Club pick for heaven's sake, it's not been hiding its light under a bushel. Probably because of that I have, on numerous occasions, chosen not to read it. I have picked it up and set it down on no fewer than three trips to Costco. But ProfDoc sent it to me, she wanted me to read it so I was game.

It's a book that wrecked me. I am shattered inside, really. I mean, it has jewel colors of emotion washing all over it, it's a fairy tale love story co-written by Walt Disney and the Brothers Grimm. I want to write on it specifically but I don't know that I'm ready yet. God, maybe I do need a book club. Anyway, short synopsis is it's about a man who time travels and his wife and all the attendant kinks that the non-linear nature of time and the unpredictable nature of love bring us.

Then a movie called A Home at the End of the World rolled up on my queue. I'd put it on there ages ago when I decided to look at the Colin Farrell canon. A little indie film, "alternative lifestyles", based on a book by Michael Cunningham who wrote The Hours. It's about three people, 2 men and a woman, who fall in love and try to make that work.

Neither of the pieces is one tenth as simple as I make them sound here.

What's similar is the fact that no one person can be everything another person needs. There is a wholeness to 3 people that is comforting and simultaneously completely isolating. Even promising to do anything for love can't force something to work because the minute you throw yourself to the wolf of it you've changed in a way that doesn't serve the relationship. But there's a beauty to the trying. Also an inevitability that will gut you and leave you for dead without a second glance.

I found the end of A Home to be somewhat dissatisfying. I wanted a bit more and, at just over 90 minutes, I think they could have given it to me. But both pieces are well worth looking at. I think I might want to be buried with a copy of TTW, there's enough in there for an eternity.

No, thank you

I just got home from seeing Thank You For Smoking. It's a delight. A delightful learning experience, even. I want the Bricklayer and Crash, my own personal Sultans of Spin, to see it immediately.

About 10 minutes into it I realized that I'd been laughing almost continuously since the movie started and so had everyone else. I thought, "Oh, they can't keep this up for a whole movie." Turns out they can.

If you enjoy a game watch the movie and then identify one time in the movie where someone smokes a cigarette. I don't think anyone ever does. Someone chews on a cigar and a background character chews on a pipe but there's no smoke. It's brilliant.

For a couple of months now every time I've heard or engaged in a conversation about this movie the refrain has been, "Oh yeah, great cast, I heard it's supposed to be good, can't wait to go."

Shut up, just go.

Poached

I found a way to poach the new photo. What did I tell you? Hot, huh?

Go! See! Please!

Sadly I could not find you the hottest picture of my girl, Julie Flanders. It's somehow embedded into the announcement she sent out today and I can't seem to steal it. Damn her protecting her information! In light of that I hope she's able to forgive me for using a somewhat outdated but lovely photo of her that I was able to steal and use entirely without permission.

Anyway, Miss Julie is doing a rare solo gig this Monday night. Apparently the Songwriters Hall of Fame is having an open mic night at Makor and Julie is capping it off with a set of brand new tunes with her lyrics and the music of her partner, Emil Adler.

It's often the lyrics in things that hook me and Julie's lyrics are twisted and painful and tough and yet precariously delicate. Emil builds music around those words that buoy them and sneakily build the emotion in them until it seeps into your skin.

So, I recommend the evening highly and I would be extremely grateful if you could support my friend.

Here are the details as sent to me by the woman herself:

JULIE FLANDERS
Performing at MAKOR
with Chris Benelli, Dom Richards & Emil Adler

MONDAY, May 15, 2006
35 West 67th St (between CPW and Columbus)

A 45-minute set of NEW songs by Flanders & Adler
Please arrive by 9:15 pm
Show begins and ends promptly (9:30 - 10:15pm)

Admission for the whole evening is only $6.00!!! and Makor is a lovely venue

EVEN BETTER:
Attend the way-fun Songwriters Hall of Fame Open Mic, which begins at 7pm and let us hear your beautiful voice! If you're shy, you don't HAVE to sing, (you can just watch and enjoy!) but if you want to share your talent, read on.

Monday, May 15, 2006, Open Mic
The Songwriters Hall of Fame & One Vision Music co-sponsor Open Mics. These events will take place every first & third Monday of the month, excluding July 3rd, September 4th & October 2nd. They will be held at Makor, 35 West 67th Street (between Central Park West & Columbus Avenue). Subways: Take the 1 or 9 to 66th Street/Lincoln Center or the B or C trains to 72nd Street. Sign-up begins at 6:30. Performances run from 7:00 to 9:30.

Admission is $6.00 & this covers both the Open Mic & a 45-minute show by Julie Flanders of October Project. That's on May 15th from 9:30 to 10:15 PM.

There are vocal mics & a grand piano available for your use. Otherwise, please bring a guitar or a CD with the lead vocal removed. All are welcome to perform. Hope to see you there.

Trying

Roasted a chicken and veggies and made gravy and watched an AWESOME night of TV and worked on a writing project and on the DVD. No time to write. Combo-ing the hot person* and the daily missive. Past my bedtime. More tomorrow!

*Not exactly an inspired or unique choice but come on, he's Irish, he's a bad boy, he's ripped, he's funny, what's not to like? If he were a couple of inches taller he'd be the male Angelina Jolie.

Double shot

Since I don't drink caffeine anymore I have to get my jolt somehow.

This'll do it.

Every day

This writing every day thing isn't easy. And I've just had one of those days where every thing you do turns a corner and becomes something else. It's not a day that's bad necessarily it's just wholly different from the plan. Some people might say that a day that alters from the plan is, by definition, a good day, but I'm not one of those people. Take it or leave it.

The most banal thing I could tell you, that I keep forgetting to record here, is that I have bursitis. (Swelling and extra fluid in the sac of fluid that helps joint bones hang together correctly.) It's in my knee. Feels gross. Sounds like old people. Treatable but not curable. Buy me reusable ice packs for Christmas!

The most exciting thing? Er...uh...well...oh! I had good news on the music recording front. Sounds like I can get cheap studio time to record my song starting in July! (Everyone send a big kiss to Alex.)

The best thing I could tell you is about Cancer Map. I thought this was going to be a way for people to mark themselves and their cancer type on a map and perhaps lead us to notice cancer clusters. It turns out that it's Media Guy's homage to his grandmother. She had recently moved to a city in New York State and didn't know what health care facility options she had there. When she was diagnosed with cancer she didn't have the sort of information about services that could have saved her life. Cancer Map is a map linked to message boards. When you click on your area you go to a message board about that area so you can read up on things that other people have posted about the services they've used or heard about or seen or whatever. In a fight where knowledge is power this sounds like a great way to disseminate knowledge.

That being said, I've never posted on a message board in my life and they intimidate me so I'm not going to be a lot of help to users until I get over all that. But I urge anyone with information to share to share it through this outlet. You know, if you feel comfortable.

OK, got to set the VCR up to tape Everwood and Medium before my call!

Not exactly right for the series...

I used to date this guy.

I swear it's not just the family that came with the picture frame.

Raise your hand if you could have told me before we dated that a born again Christian was not the right choice for me.

Damn, they're cute, though.

(Totally posted without permission, please run it by me before you decide to stalk them.)

Reader opinion

I'm working on figuring out how to get some writing published. My first steps are going to be short stories and learning how getting published works. I have no clues. If you have clues on this front I'd be grateful if you'd pass them along to me.

Here's a piece I think I might send out. (PG-13 for sexual situations) I'd like to know what you think, see if anyone else thinks this is publishable. (Please don't tell any publishers that I make up words like that, k?)

This is Where They Lived

This is where they lived. In the smooth stroke of his hand along the side of her face. In their feet stacked boy-girl, boy-girl and toe to sole rubbing short strokes back and forth. In the rise and fall of breath bringing their skin together and apart, together and apart. In her breath condensing on the sleek muscled skin inside his bicep. His breath stirring her hair, tickling the nape of her neck, making her smile. In the gentle but insistent warming of his groin against the curve of her bottom.

When they left this place they were undone. Not useless, still able to go about the necessary business of life but somehow not quite living.

Which, if you think about it too long, isn’t right. It’s not healthy.

And they’d thought about it. They knew.

But how do you convince yourself to leave home? Even a bad home? Isn’t home, by definition, the place you’d be a fool to leave?

In the spirit of balance they’d both tried to leave once.

When she had left he called her within the week, refusing to believe she meant to stay away. His low chuckle and urgent almost-whisper like a fishing line reeling her back. The words immaterial, the emotion like cool water poured down her gullet on a hot day. She just kept swallowing. She was back home before her lips dried.

She returned the favor when he left but she only lasted 2 days. She didn’t use any words at all, simply sat on the stoop across from his house in the morning. He saw her and felt as though he had no other choice. Neither of them went to work that day.

One night she woke up. The way you wake up when your breath has stopped and only waking up will remind it to start again.

She felt…

…nothing.

Cool sheets, empty pillow, open window and curtains fluttering wildly in a chilly spring breeze.

“Mmmm?” words weren’t her best thing.

On sleep heavy feet she thumped into the kitchen and found him leaning against the counter, spoon in one hand, ice cream in the other. Both unused, his gaze was trained out the moonlit window, his breath came shallow and heavy.

She fit her lips to the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He turned his head a little further away.

Surprised, her tongue slipped out and licked along sinew to jaw bone. She tasted salt and pulled back, not abruptly but in one sure movement.

For this he turned and faced her full on. His tears blatant.

She drew breath…

…and he kissed her, mouth working while he found the counter with his fingers and set down the frigid pint and spoon. Sliding those to the side he pressed her back to the cupboards and walked his fingers up her ribs, spreading them wide to encase her. It took all the leverage she could muster with her hands planted on his shoulders to pull back and see him.

He stared.

She knew.

And she wriggled desperately out of her pajama bottoms so he could boost her to the countertop.

His boxers fell and he hardened against the smooth inside of her thigh. Her heels dented his skin and the joints in her hips popped gently. Their breathing quickened bringing skin to skin over and over. His stubble grazed her arm, her head rolled against the cabinet doors while her fingers held his hips close.

And, before either of them really decided to begin it was over. Her hands fell back against the formica, his forehead banged against pressboard. She let the momentum pull her head to the side and kissed his cheek lightly.

After a few deep breaths they gathered themselves together. They left pajamas and boxers there on the floor, put the ice cream away and paraded silently back to the bedroom.

Each covering a separate side of the bed they studied the ceiling. Finally his palm slid across the top sheet and he covered her hand so they could sleep.

In the morning they were alone again, washed in sunlight and feeling slightly burned.

Curled around her pillow to face him she decided she had to be brave.

“We…”

“…can’t live this way.”

We already aren’t, she thought.

“I know how hard it was before and that we couldn’t do it but I…”

We aren’t living. Even that thrilling, dangerous, way we used to live, where we were killing ourselves slowly, and extremely happily I might add, we aren’t even doing that. And I thought that at some point we would move on, move on to a new life, to something grown up and evolved. I thought that we had to get through this life to get to that one and that, because I couldn’t breathe when you were gone, that we would do that living together. But we don’t. We aren’t. I think I’m breathing but I can’t tell and I don’t care. And I need to go and you can’t follow me. I want you to. I want you to pin me here and keep me forever but you can’t, please don’t follow me because I don’t want to die this way. I love you. Remember that I love you. And to breathe.

“…so you should probably go.”

Self conscious in only her flimsy camisole she gathered the clothes she’d worn the previous day and put them on in the bathroom.

By the time she surfaced he had located a pair of jeans for himself and folded her pajama pants from the kitchen floor. Handing them to her was awkward and made them smile, which helped.

She tried to get his keys off the ring with hers and broke a nail to the quick. He reached for the hand, to comfort her, and she quickly substituted the key ring.

After that was done there was the obligatory blank staring until the wind blew some papers off his desk and she startled.

With a head ducking smile she opened the door and hit the hallway.

Outside, on the stoop, she closed her eyes to the sun for a moment and inhaled.

Now, this was where she would live. In the warmth of the sunshine on the naked spot on her chest that her scarf didn’t cover. In the sound of the children in the schoolyard down the street. In the smell of bacon from the diner on the corner. In the bounce of her hair on her shoulders as she jogged down the steps and off toward home.

This is where she would live. As soon as she figured out how.

Here's another one

If you know me you know I won't be able to make this a daily thing forever but for now I continue to give you hot people.

Conjugal visit anyone?

Not exactly corrections

As PapaKizz has pointed out in the comments I got his big news utterly wrong. Sometimes this happens to me. Like on Thursday I was being asked to remember something that happened in September I was able to say to some woman, "I remember speaking to a woman in particular, we were worried about getting the check there so I asked her to call me when the messenger arrived and she did. I don't remember her name but I can find it...it began with...A" And it did and I was right. However, after I got off the phone with dad I was sure that it was a play that began with H so I googled Pinter and found a play that began with H and it sounded right so I went with it. Um. No. He's in MOONLIGHT and he's playing Andy, I believe.

Something else PapaKizz and I talked about that should be clarified.

Me: I have to go to the apple store tomorrow to get a new power cord for my laptop. It's almost out of juice and the cord is totally gone now.

Him: Just go, you go, it'll be about $20 and that'll be that, it's not a big deal.

Me: I know, it's just a matter of going, I was waiting until the last minute.

So, I went today and wowee, were we wrong. $79. Seventy-nine American dollars.

I bought myself an iHome, too, because I really, really, really wanted one.

Smokin'

Last month I was on a jag of posting pictures of hot people. I'm not sure why I stopped.

Don't worry about that steam rising from your monitor, it's just my girl Katherine.

Let's see...things to say today.

Quote of the day: "He told me but...but...I wasn't listening."

Kudos to Chili! She had a huge presentation today for school and she fucking nailed it! The principal accepted her invitation to attend but let her know he'd have to leave early. Then? He didn't. Stayed through. Guess he liked what he saw.

Lot of talk about cancer today. I'm still mulling my "perfect entry" about what we do. Or at least the next in the series. But my Rockstar is having some real trouble with her treatment so she's been doing a bunch of research and I've been soaking in the secondary learning. We've mulled, we've chatted. She's shopping for oncologists and plastic surgeons now. As if I didn't dislike shopping enough already. Yeesh, can you imagine? Well, if statistics are correct I guess a good chunk of you don't have to imagine, you've had the "pleasure."

PapaKizz got some super news, he's starring in one of his favorite Pinter plays. Wait here, I'll go see if I can figure out which one it is.

I'm back. It's The Homecoming and it's at Boston Center for the Arts. This is a very big deal and a really good thing. Yay dad!

Hey, love the Recover Post button on blogger. Am disturbed by the frequent crashing of Firefox these days. Perhaps I should upgrade. Any suggestions?

Read the memoir Marley & Me, wrote more about it but it was killed in the last Firefox crash. Suffice to say dead dogs are sad and the wife consistently pissed me off throughout. Perfectly adequate memoir, very happy I didn't end up reading the dying dog part while on the subway or bus. Finished it at home then called Teddy's Girl to go dogwalking with us.

Oops

Oops, I forgot to write last night.

This is a picture I took of a door in my neighborhood. I just liked it. As I clicked the shutter, though, I realized why. My childhood home had a red door of much the same design as this one. So this picture drew me because it combines the door from the past with a classic brownstone, the symbol of the place I love living now.

"Pivotal self care"

I have identified the 3 things I want to be sure to do for myself this week. As you already know if you've talked to me in the last 48 hours I don't feel good. "I feel crappy." "I feel shitty." "I'm sick (and tired)." "I feel like shit." "I don't feel good, not good at all." "I'm not good and I'm cranky, it's making me cranky." "I'm sick of being sick!" "I'm still not cured." etc., etc., ad nauseum. Literally.

Someone, in much kinder, sweeter words, reminded me last night to practice what I preach. I know that I am, while not ancient, old, older than I have been previously. I am fond of telling my friends that as we age it takes us longer to heal and we have to give ourselves the room and time to do just that. I'm not entirely certain why they haven't blackened my eyes early and often when I spout that shit 'cause true or not it SUCKS 12 INCH DONKEY DICK!

My 3 things that I am promising myself/giving myself permission for/forcing myself to do are:
1. Sleep
2. Eat healthy food
3. Have/get/clean apartment

That second part is tricky since I have pretty much no food in the house. So I extended it to a lack of guilt over ordering out. And on the way home I also stopped in at the deli and spent $7 on a litre of cranberry juice and a pint of ice cream. Then I ordered in Thai food.

This whole taking care of yourself thing is pretty good. I've had 4 spring rolls and a bowl of curry over rice and whenever I'm ready I can have ice cream.

For next week perhaps I'll have figured out how to rig up a homemade cranberry juice IV, 'cause my taste buds are going to rebel any second.

Good food and good rest aside, guys, this sucks, 'cause you know what? I'm still sick.

Er.....

So, I don't know what to say tonight but I said I'd say something every night.

Seems like I'm not the only one trying this out in one form or another.

When I post stuff like the previous entry and say that I try to take responsibility for stuff my brain thinks two things. 1. Oh my god someone is so going to write to me all, "You do NOT! Hypocrite!" 2. I sort of want my friends to give me a score on how well I'm doing with stuff like that. "B+. Would have been an A- but you had a couple of grammatical inconsistencies and your conclusion was incomplete." "9.3! Would have been a 10 but it turns out the French judge CAN be bought." "True enough, you aren't perfect, but hey, remember what you were like in college? So, yeah, big improvement."

Ideally I'd prefer any of the options under #2, but I know I've got to be open to #1 since this is the internet.

By the way, antibiotics are finished. Ear infection is not. Definition of "urgent" in my doc's office? Friday at 1:15pm.

Have some balls!

So 2 ladies made fun of me on the train today. Grown women. Church going women. I know this because they talked about God a lot and loudly. In theory I am old enough for it not to bother me that they thought my hair or my book or my jacket or my attitude was worthy of a wholely uncovered set of giggles accessorized with eye rolling and a "covert" conversation about what they were laughing about. (For the straphangers in the audience, they were seated next to each other on the train and I was standing directly in front of them with my feet in between theirs. I could see and her them and they knew it.)

But anyway, that's not what I'm talking about. Once they moved on from how hilarious I am they talked about other stuff. Apparently Muttina has the opportunity to move into Jeffisina's apartment sometime in the nearish future. Muttina is not jumping at this chance and Jeffisina is hurt and confused. So Muttina explained that she had other hopes for where she will live but that "if God doesn't work it out" for her then she'll take the place.

Weird things get you thinking. That phrase stuck in my head. "If God doesn't work it out" Frankly, if they hadn't made fun of me I probably would have just turned up my iPod and not even heard this part of the conversation but God worked it out for me that I did. So I got to thinking. And I notice that in our current climate of renewed fervor for organized religion people use phrases like that a lot. "Give it up to God" "God worked it out for me" "God's will" "If God sees fit for me to ____" I wonder, is this new, dare I say, dependence on organized religion another way for people to let go of taking responsibility for their actions?

That's one of my pet peeves, people who don't take responsibility for their actions. I'm not perfect but that's something I try to work on, to take responsibility when I've done something stupid or bad or just plain wrong. I find a complete refusal to take responsibility borders on a common trait in the teenagers I meet lately and it makes me crazy. But it also makes me think, how do we teach kids to take responsibility for what they've done?

Though I'm not big into the whole organized religion thing myself I was thinking it was helping to teach some kids some decent lessons. That it's a useful routine and construct to keep someone grounded and responsible to a community. Then I got my feelings hurt on the subway and I looked at these religious women in another way and I wonder. Is religion teaching people to just let go of everything - free will responsibility, decision-making altogether? That sucks!

What do you think?