Blog Talk: Dancing With the Stars, 'To Do' list addictions, and bladder situations. Among other things.

So here’s today’s randomness:

1. Maybe it’s just because I’m feeling old these days, but I am officially out of patience with the likes of Miley Cyrus, Rihanna, Lady Gaga, and the whole hip and happening crop of body grinding, cleavage bearing, butt-crack flaunting young female singers. I guess that’s why I hate myself a little more each time I realize that the awesome song stuck in my head, the one I can’t stop singing over and over, the one that makes me wish I still taught spinning class so I could use it for hill climbs and flat sprints, happens to belong to one of these … kids.  Why oh why must their music actually be … good?!  (And saying that I simply like the songs for their catchy beats and great rhythms makes me no better than the beer-bellied, middle-aged men who say they read Playboy for the articles.)
2. We got our first real snow of the season last night.  Can somebody please tell me why, with every year’s first snowfall, I act shocked and dismayed, as if I didn’t know snow was coming, before I proceed to whine and complain, to anyone who will listen (and many who won’t), about the slick roads, the backed up traffic, and my soaking wet socks? Time to bundle up for the next six months.
3. I’ve been watching “Dancing with the Stars” this season and I’ve pretty much fallen in love with the entire cast. I ‘m not a reality show person, but I do love dance, and, in the privacy of my own home, I often convince myself that, had I stuck with the weekly tap/jazz/ballet classes of my youth, I, too, could have been flipping and leaping and spinning around the dance floor with Derek or Maks.  Also, I would very much like to tell Len Goodman where to stick it.  And I’d also like to have a mani/pedi day with Bruno Tonioli .
4. Even though I am an introvert by nature, lately I have been wanting to resurrect two former passions: my yoga practice and my involvement in community theater.  Since I belong to Meetup.com (even though my schedule rarely leaves me available to attend many events), I actually went to the site in search of something that looked ether yogic or theatrical in nature.  So how lucky did I feel when I found an upcoming meetup called “Yoga for Singers” being offered nearby, on a day/time that worked for me?!  I quickly RSVP’d “Yes” before I could talk myself out of going.  Turns out, I’ve found another reason why skimming quickly instead of reading carefully often creates more problems than it solves: I just received my confirmation for “Yoga for SINGLES” this Saturday afternoon.  Um, no thanks.  If I want to flaunt my single status, I’ll go to a wedding and sit at the kiddie table until I get hit on by drunk Uncle Ned, the  close-talking taxidermist-by-day, adult-movie-theater-owner by night who has never met an ass he didn’t grab or an onion he didn’t like.
5. Today’s “to do” list included the following item:
1. Make tomorrow’s “to do” list

I wish I was kidding.

6. Today at work, a colleague asked a group of us what we liked best about Thanksgiving.

Me: (Jumping in first) Watching the parades and seeing all the floats and performances in Times Square!

Other coworker: Being with family and friends and feeling gratitude for another opportunity to spend time with the people I love most in the world.

Me: Wait  … Can I change my answer?

7. Today when my doctor asked whether or not my generalized anxiety symptoms had improved, I responded: “I don’t know. Sometimes when I’m at home, I do wonder who would find me if I fell down my staircase and knocked myself unconscious.”    I’m gonna title this book:  “Coming Over to the Dark Side: How My Honesty Turned My Holistic Health Practitioner into a Zoloft Pusher.”
8. I work in a cubicle environment, which makes for a very close and intimate space-sharing situation, whether or not you’re into that sort of thing. Sometimes I feel guilty overhearing office conversations, so I put on my headphones and blast the jam while I work. Other times, like now, I become so totally immersed in eavesdropping on the pieces of a conversation about what someone’s eighth grade daughter saw in biology class when she looked at a hot dog under a microscope that I simply can’t bring myself to do anything other than Google “hot dogs” and silently thank God for soy and legumes.
9. What’s the medical term for “I’m worried that I may have hypochondria”?  I’m wondering if my copay would cover a quick office visit to either confirm or rule this out.
10. Now that I’m 40, I answer to one of two masters at all times: Shy Bladder and Overactive Bladder. The real heel kickin’ fun comes when they team up and work together in an “I have to, but I can’t, but I have to, but I can’t, but I have to, but I can’t” sorta way.  Just another of nature’s reminders that self-control is the ultimate unattainable goal.

That's all.

Blog Talk: William Shakespeare, Wabi-sabi, and Boone's Farm

So here’s this week’s randomness:

1. I value Lifetime Television for its ability to summarize an entire movie in a title:
1. 'Crimes of Passion: She Woke Pregnant'
2. 'Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life'
3. 'My Stepson, My Lover'

With titles like those, you need not spend two hours watching the movie.  And although most people choose to veg out on a Sunday afternoon with a snack and a blanket and watch the movies anyway, Lifetime could be on to something.  For example, I am imagining how much more palatable Shakespeare might seem to high school English students if he’d had the Lifetime titling staff at his disposal. 

a.    The Blood Shall Remain on the Hands of the Killer (MacBeth)

b.    The Poison Drinkers Who Totally Made the Wrong Call (Romeo & Juliet)

c.    You Only Thought I Was Crazy But Guess What? I Win!  (Hamlet)

2. Yesterday, when doing research on my novel, I came across the term wabi-sabi, which the Japanese use to express the combination of joy and sorrow.  I think that’s pretty beautiful. Though it is not to be confused with Wasabi, an extremely hot Japanese sauce usually eaten with rice or sushi. The one and only time I ever (accidentally) ate wasabi, I did feel a moment of joy, followed by a hybrid sort of sorrowpanicpainhorror. Followed by copious amounts of water. But I think wabi-sabi is expressing an entirely different kind of joy and sorrow, and not the kind that requires immediate hydration.
3. I keep hearing about “agreements” between the US and Iran.  And all I can say is this:  Every single thing about Iran scares me.
4. I’ve started something new (and I encourage you to try it): Before I go to bed each night, I write down three things that went well for me that day.  I don’t analyze them or try to repeat them the next day, I simply acknowledge them for what they were, and for how they made me feel.  Kinda makes going to bed more relaxing, and I seem to be getting up each day feeling a little more hopeful.
5. I submitted an essay to a local arts/writing program called Bookmarks, where writers can send in work on various selected topics to be judged -- and hopefully accepted -- for a community reading.  I just found out that my piece “Recipes” was selected in the "Eat the Past" category and that I will be reading it at the Arts Center on January 6.  I submitted this particular piece for two reasons:
1. It was an excerpt from my thesis, and I cut it down from 3,467 words to the required 750, which was a fantastic writing exercise and an achievement in and of itself. I'm finding that a thesis is a lot like a bridesmaid dress -- you’d like to invest in something you’ll be able to wear more than once. And (if you're lucky and have a few tailoring skills), you hope to mix and match and hem and bedazzle and accessorize the hell out of it, to turn it into a sort of all-occasion, or perhaps multi-occasion ensemble that works for just about any event or venue.  So, three cheers for a repurposed thesis!
2. “Eat the Past” was looking for essays about the ways in which food has figured into our former selves and families to shape our current selves and identities.  I had the option of sending in a lovely piece about learning to make cookies with my mother, or taking the road less travelled and sending in piece that was painful to write, is still difficult for me to read, and that proudly refuses to end on a happy note.  So I guess I’m thankful to food for giving me the big ol’ gut that never leads me astray as long as I listen to it.
6. I turned 40 a few weeks ago, and sometimes I am overwhelmed by how sad I think I should feel about not having a biological child.  Can it possibly ok to be ok with my lack of progeny?   Society says “No.”
7. I’ve done a lot of Christmas shopping this year. I started early, and I bought really thoughtful gifts for people – things that have personal significance, one-of-a-kind things I had to order in advance and have specially made. Even so, I’m recalling the Christmases of my childhood, when I often got tee shirts and underwear folded inside a recycled Barbie box, or socks and dance tights folded inside a festive looking cookie tin. Yes, I got all the nice stuff too, but those red herring wrappings made for some bittersweet gift opening moments. I think I’ll resurrect that tradition this year. Anyone got an empty 1869 Château Lafite bottle big enough to hold 60 ounces of apple flavored Boone’s Farm?
8. We’re expecting a N’oreaster the day before Thanksgiving.  It may snow two feet. Or not at all.  But instead of fretting over whether or not I’ll be able to head North as intended, I’m doing something I never do and have often thought would result in a painful, spontaneous death: I’m playing things by ear. If it doesn’t snow – great.  I’ll pack myself and Beckett into the car and follow through with our plans.  If it snows us in, no big thing.  I’ll go serve food at the local food kitchen and then take Beckett to the nursing home to do pet visits with people who are truly confined and alone.  Either way is a win for everyone – myself included. So suck it, Mother Nature. You’ve got about as much power here as the Wicked Witch of the West sans the ruby slippers.
9. Moment of self-disclosure: I horde elastic hairbands and avoid mirrors. You see, I can’t remember the last time I had a good hair day from morning til night, a sad fact that seems truly unfair and unfortunate.   Granted, the first ten minutes after I finish styling and spraying everything into place in the perfect lighting of my bathroom leave me looking supermodel-perfect.  But by 10am, my formerly flawless coif has turned into supermodel-used-to-be.  This whole phenomenon seems a trivial thing to worry and write about, which is why I horde elastic hairbands and avoid mirrors.
10.  The world consists of two kinds of people: Those who enjoy whistling, and those who hate listening to others whistle. Don’t believe me?  Try finishing your hour long treadmill run at the gym next to the guy whose workout music consists of his own whistled versions of Broadway show tunes and all six verses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”  On repeat.

That’s all.

Blog Talk: Lifetime Television, Boone's Farm, and Wabi-Sabi

So here’s this week’s randomness:

1. I value Lifetime Television for its ability to summarize an entire movie in a title:
1. 'Crimes of Passion: She Woke Pregnant'
2. 'Cyber Seduction: His Secret Life'
3. 'My Stepson, My Lover'

With titles like those, you need not spend two hours watching the movie.  And although most people choose to veg out on a Sunday afternoon with a snack and a blanket and watch the movies anyway, Lifetime could be on to something.  For example, I am imagining how much more palatable Shakespeare might seem to high school English students if he’d had the Lifetime titling staff at his disposal. 

a.    The Blood Shall Remain on the Hands of the Killer (MacBeth)

b.    The Poison Drinkers Who Totally Made the Wrong Call (Romeo & Juliet)

c.    You Only Thought I Was Crazy But Guess What? I Win!  (Hamlet)

2. Yesterday, when doing research on my novel, I came across the term wabi-sabi, which the Japanese use to express the combination of joy and sorrow.  I think that’s pretty beautiful. Though it is not to be confused with Wasabi, an extremely hot Japanese sauce usually eaten with rice or sushi. The one and only time I ever (accidentally) ate wasabi, I did feel a moment of joy, followed by a hybrid sort of sorrowpanicpainhorror. Followed by copious amounts of water. But I think wabi-sabi is expressing an entirely different kind of joy and sorrow, and not the kind that requires immediate hydration.
3. I keep hearing about “agreements” between the US and Iran.  And all I can say is this:  Every single thing about Iran scares me.
4. I’ve started something new (and I encourage you to try it): Before I go to bed each night, I write down three things that went well for me that day.  I don’t analyze them or try to repeat them the next day, I simply acknowledge them for what they were, and for how they made me feel.  Kinda makes going to bed more relaxing, and I seem to be getting up each day feeling a little more hopeful.
5. I submitted an essay to a local arts/writing program called Bookmarks, where writers can send in work on various selected topics to be judged -- and hopefully accepted -- for a community reading.  I just found out that my piece “Recipes” was selected in the "Eat the Past" category and that I will be reading it at the Arts Center on January 6.  I submitted this particular piece for two reasons:
1. It was an excerpt from my thesis, and I cut it down from 3,467 words to the required 750, which was a fantastic writing exercise and an achievement in and of itself. I'm finding that a thesis is a lot like a bridesmaid dress -- you’d like to invest in something you’ll be able to wear more than once. And (if you're lucky and have a few tailoring skills), you hope to mix and match and hem and bedazzle and accessorize the hell out of it, to turn it into a sort of all-occasion, or perhaps multi-occasion ensemble that works for just about any event or venue.  So, three cheers for a repurposed thesis!
2. “Eat the Past” was looking for essays about the ways in which food has figured into our former selves and families to shape our current selves and identities.  I had the option of sending in a lovely piece about learning to make cookies with my mother, or taking the road less travelled and sending in piece that was painful to write, is still difficult for me to read, and that proudly refuses to end on a happy note.  So I guess I’m thankful to food for giving me the big ol’ gut that never leads me astray as long as I listen to it.
6. I turned 40 a few weeks ago, and sometimes I am overwhelmed by how sad I think I should feel about not having a biological child.  Can it possibly ok to be ok with my lack of progeny?   Society says “No.”
7. I’ve done a lot of Christmas shopping this year. I started early, and I bought really thoughtful gifts for people – things that have personal significance, one-of-a-kind things I had to order in advance and have specially made. Even so, I’m recalling the Christmases of my childhood, when I often got tee shirts and underwear folded inside a recycled Barbie box, or socks and dance tights folded inside a festive looking cookie tin. Yes, I got all the nice stuff too, but those red herring wrappings made for some bittersweet gift opening moments. I think I’ll resurrect that tradition this year. Anyone got an empty 1869 Château Lafite bottle big enough to hold 60 ounces of apple flavored Boone’s Farm?
8. We’re expecting a N’oreaster the day before Thanksgiving.  It may snow two feet. Or not at all.  But instead of fretting over whether or not I’ll be able to head North as intended, I’m doing something I never do and have often thought would result in a painful, spontaneous death: I’m playing things by ear. If it doesn’t snow – great.  I’ll pack myself and Beckett into the car and follow through with our plans.  If it snows us in, no big thing.  I’ll go serve food at the local food kitchen and then take Beckett to the nursing home to do pet visits with people who are truly confined and alone.  Either way is a win for everyone – myself included. So suck it, Mother Nature. You’ve got about as much power here as the Wicked Witch of the West sans the ruby slippers.
9. Moment of self-disclosure: I horde elastic hairbands and avoid mirrors. You see, I can’t remember the last time I had a good hair day from morning til night, a sad fact that seems truly unfair and unfortunate.   Granted, the first ten minutes after I finish styling and spraying everything into place in the perfect lighting of my bathroom leave me looking supermodel-perfect.  But by 10am, my formerly flawless coif has turned into supermodel-used-to-be.  This whole phenomenon seems a trivial thing to worry and write about, which is why I horde elastic hairbands and avoid mirrors.
10.  The world consists of two kinds of people: Those who enjoy whistling, and those who hate listening to others whistle. Don’t believe me?  Try finishing your hour long treadmill run at the gym next to the guy whose workout music consists of his own whistled versions of Broadway show tunes and all six verses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”  On repeat.

That’s all.

Blog Thoughts: 11/18/13-11/24/13

 

So here’s this week’s randomness:

1.    I blame Shonda Rhimes for my Friday morning exhaustion.  #ScandalHangovers

2.    Perspective, in a nutshell:

a.    Pimple at age 14: End. Of. The. World.

b.    Pimple at age 40: Yup. Still got it.

3.    Most recent “reason to hate townhouse living”:  Next door neighbors who never say “No” to garlic.

4.    I think my dog Beckett is having some anxiety issues.  Or perhaps he is once again sublimating his rage by literally eating my home. Either way, this (below) used to be my upstairs carpet. (Note, if you are able, the plethora of chew toys, rawhide bones, and the long, blue unnamed rubber thing he has at his disposal all day.  And yet, he prefers the taste and texture that only a finely laid carpet can provide.)

5.    I've been trying like hell to fictionalize my memoir. Which was originally my MFA thesis. In general, memoirs just don't sell - not unless people already know who you are because you've either written a bunch of other stuff or achieved some kind of "celebrity" status or have managed to pull a well-timed Britney Spears in public. I don’t generally work in outlines, and I don’t generally prefer to work in outlines, but the truth is this: if how you work and how you generally prefer to work is getting you nowhere, then you may want to make a change. Unless Nowhere is the place you intend to hang your beret.

6.   
rs" could mean so many things. All of them bad, but all of them helpful in terms of publicity).

Anyway, I've been fighting the inevitable, and today -- I am choosing to embrace it. I. Am. Outlining. Chapter by chapter. Character by character. Plot point by plot point. The whole lot of it. It's not how I generally work, and not how I like to work, but the life lesson here is this: If how you generally work and how you like to work has gotten you nowehere, you may want to make a change. Unless Nowhere is the place you want to be.

Lesson learned. But just know this: I'm going in kicking and screaming and hoping to make it out alive.

My writing room wall is now covered with fresh, bare white poster board and I am armed with my index cards and highlighters and markers and post-its.

Bring it on, Left Brain.I don’t believe in using words like “Never” and “Always.”  That said, I will never be a skilled user of emoticons.  And I will always rely too heavily on the “LOL” and the “Haha” in most of my electronic communications, just to make sure people don’t mistake my sarcasm for angrybitchy.  Even when angrybitchy is precisely what I’m going for.

7.    This morning, I saw a commercial ThiThis morning I saw a commercial for a drug whose name I can’t recall, but whose main side effect is Gynecomastia, which, loosely translated, means “the development of breasts in men.”  I don’t know what this drug is used to treat or what it’s other complications are, but I would like to order a year’s supply of the C-cup formula for myself. So $20 and my collection of training bras goes to the first person who can locate this medication by name and secure me a refillable prescription.

8.    It snowed last night. Not a lot.  I think there’s about an inch on the ground.  Even so, I hate it.  Or at least I did, until I watched Beckett frolic through it as if he’d never seen it before.  This is his third winter, but it doesn’t matter – everything with him is a new experience with a very simple message: I need to frolic more.

9.    I’ve started writing for a fantastic publication called Elephant Journal.  They posted one of my pieces yesterday and I have three more in the hopper waiting to go live. I write for the sake of writing. I am my own audience.  I have no aspirations to become a world famous novelist or a nonstop book touring, book signing phenomenon. That said, it’s nice to see my work existing outside the bowels of my own hard drive.

10. At some point in my life, I was told, or overheard, that a good way to “save” a really ripe banana was to peel and slice it, and then pop it in the freezer, where it would stop ripening and would last for a really long time.  Most people use the frozen slices in smoothies or breads. I just generally pop a few in my mouth when I want a quick bite of something sweet.  Problem is: at any given moment, my freezer is home to no less than ten ziplock baggies full of peeled banana slices. This is part of my selective hoarding condition that extends to a odd few food items (think: bananas, canisters of oatmeal, and cans of low sodium chick peas), several cleaning products, and, apparently, the multiple bottles of mouthwash taking up space on the bottom shelf of my bathroom closet.

That's all.