REPOST: Heard On The Bus

I am a reasonably well brought up girl, brought up  in the suburbs with, to a large extent,  small town values. 'Please' and 'thank you' are tattooed on my DNA, and the idea of occupying (say on a bus) a seat while someone older or more infirm than myself is unthinkable. Unthinkable to a degree that I've never given the objects of courtesy much thought at all. When I thought of the elderly at all, you know, in the group sense, it was as I knew them in my own smallish burg. Quiet, well-mannered, nice, etc.  However, it never occurred to me to wonder, what they're like. What they are really like among themselves. 

What were they like when thrown together in public, at the front of a bus this one with cataracts, that one hobbling on a walker, another in a wheelchair? My role in such situations is clear, to provide assistance and get out of the way. The pecking order is clear, age and experience, 'there but for the grace of god', 'this'll be me one day' and all that. And it was that role which provided me for the first time a fly on the wall perspective of how one might behave when a member of the Silver Wing of bus riders, a club in which everyone is just as infirm as you. 

One of my good friends and I are standing on the bus after a day of sightseeing, barely speaking. But...let's not go into that. We're standing toward the front, when it comes to a stop. A gravely voice somewhere in the direction of my right elbow comes to me. "Excuse me...excuse me," it growls. "Watch your feet." An older man wearing a baseball cap rolls into sight, attempting to maneuver his small mechanical wheelchair past the other seniors who occupy the front of the bus. "Excuse me, watch your feet," he repeats. Things are going well, well relatively well, considering the crowd on the bus.  

Oops, spoke to soon.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute! (Blasphemy!) (Profanity!)" A white-haired old guy with wrap around sunglasses takes a couple of aborted leaps into the air. "You're running me over! (Blasphemy!) (Profanity!)" "I said, 'watch your feet'." The fracas dies down as the old guy in the wheelchair manages to wedge himself into the doorway. As the bus's lift lowers him to the ground,an elderly Chinese man with a New York accent speaks up. "That chair (two syllables)--it's so big! You'd think he'd pick a smaller chair." "These schmucks in wheelchairs," the old guy with the sunglasses growls back, "most of them got no consideration at all." Aahh...welcome to San Francisco.

Tags: san francisco, public transportation, funny stories, senior citizen

Human Target Season 2: Rest in Peace?

Does anyone remember the last time an action show successfully broadened their target demographic? I don't. The Human Target  I fell in love with, boys-will-be-boys action and all; is all over. The network is attempting to reel in the women viewers. Girls have been let into the tree house.  Sadly, the old and new sensibilities before and behind the camera have failed to produce a result equal to more than the sum of its parts.

Nobody loves changes to their favorite show but most of us can be bribed with good writing. Unfortunately something is not quite working under Human Target's new regime. Some of the first season's dialogue, while not Sorkinese, provided much of the humor. 

Winston in the third episode, Embassy Row:

Alright listen; I put a call into Galveston's office to give him a heads up but I ended up having to leave word. Hopefully he's not still  holding a grudge after what you did to his boat. And his house. Oh god and that poor horse--well, maybe the horse wasn't really your fault.

Apart from action and humor, characterization was Human Target's big strength. Occasionally we'd get a tantalizing glimpse of backstory (Guerrero has a brother somewhere??)and a lot of the funny or interesting was found in what someone did versus what they said. 

These days Chance (Mark Valley), Winston (Chi McBride) and Guerrero (Jack Earle Haley) are faded, pretty much riding their rep from last season. Ames (Janet Montgomery) and Ilsa (Indira Varma) are flat out...flat. Cardboard story devices.

The writers are struggling with ways to create engaging tension involving the Ilsa character. Rather than making the tension sexual; or turning Ilsa into 'Mom' and the rest of the team into chastened little boys who sneak around behind Mom's back; there have got to be more interesting options.

Right now Ilsa is used to spout exposition or to state the obvious (a particularly annoying and cynical habit of network shows); she shrieks away in the background the length of the episode, driving everyone, including the audience, crazy. As the guy on the ground, Winston is  stuck selling operational decisions to their new partner. 

Instead of flirting with a Moonlighting will-they-won't-they story for any members of the cast; let the high stakes struggle for control over Chance, Inc. influence Human Target's 'B' storylines. Chance and team were performing their high-wire personal protection act before Ilsa came along with her bags of money; they could do it now without them. Whether a negotiation or no holds barred cage match, let Winston and Ilsa go at it as equals.  And for pity's sake unless they're better written...stop, stop STOP with the Cosby Show moments at the end of the episodes.

While last night's return of both John Steinberg and Lennie James was welcome refreshment, it may not have been enough to keep this viewer interested.

Thursday Thirteen: Happiness Is...

]

1. A brand-spankin'-new pair o' monkey slippers.


 

2. A good book you know you will love even before reading the first sentence.





3. Living a well-tree'd existence in a...

4. Temporarily roommate-less apartment.

5. A flashlight which requires no batteries (it's like we're livin' in the future).

6. Having a bookcase which perfectly matches a randomly acquired chest of drawers.



7. The fact Trader Joe's dutch waffle cookies come in tins during holiday season...

8. And that those tins so sweetly hold pens and silk handkerchiefs.





9. My new comal pan, which I use to make everything.


10. Working on a new screenplay...


11. After being done for the day.

12. A Scents Worth Clean Linen room spray, which comes in a pretty blue bottle with a pretty pale blue label.

13. The fact that my lovely little jewelry box plays 'Fly Me To The Moon'.

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Return of the Laughing Baby

DO NOT, I Repeat DO NOT Laugh.

Of course, if you don't...you're probably a cyborg or some such and should plug yourself in to the nearest outlet.

Of My Favorite Quotes From My Favorite Movies -- The One That Got Away

My favorite novel of all time is Jane Eyre. And I'd love to love, really for my favorite movie of all time to be based on my favorite novel of all time. Every version of Jane Eyre (save one) I've ever seen transforms Jane from an independent, slightly temperamental woman of strong character into an insipid Cinderella. It makes me nuts. 

The intermal monoloque with which she answer's Rochester when he asks: 

Is it better to drive a fellow-creature to despair than to transgress a mere human law, no man being injured by the breach? for you have neither relatives nor acquaintances whom you need fear to offend by living with me?

has yet to appear in any film adaptation. Which is a shame. Apart from being beautifully written it reveals the depth and breadth of the heroine's...well, all the stuff I wrote above. I'm hard pressed to imagine an actor who wouldn't love to get her teeth into it. As it couldn't be added to this week's Thursday Thirteen; it is here shared in this special post.

I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself. I will keep the law given by God; sanctioned by man. I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane, and not mad--as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth--so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane--quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.

Thursday Thirteen: Of My Favorite Quotes From My Favorite Movies

1. Ada Doom: I saw something nasty in the woodshed.

Earl P. Neck: Sure you did, but did it see you baby?  -- COLD COMFORT FARM

2.  Cousin Angus: There's NO butter in hell! -- COLD COMFORT FARM

3. Noah Praetorius: The woman has yet to be born who doesn't in her heart believe that she'll make her husband a much better wife than he has any possible right to expect. -- PEOPLE WILL TALK

5. Professor Barker: What a bloody mess. 

Noah Praetorius: And who's fault is it, my fine atomic friend? You can't go around smashing everything you see, you know. Everything isn't atoms. 

Professor Barker: Yes it is. 

Noah Praetorious: Not for smashing it isn't. Not in my house and not my train. Debra, get out of the way before Professor Barker smashes you. He's on a smashing bend. -- PEOPLE WILL TALK

6.  Debra Praetorius: It's just that I love you so much. And I went and put all those candles on that cake when you're really only nine years old. -- PEOPLE WILL TALK

7. Gilbert: Come on, sit down, take it easy. What's the trouble? 

Iris Henderson: If you must know, something fell on my head. 

Gilbert: When, infancy? -- THE LADY VANISHES

8.  Gilbert: Can I help? 

Iris Henderson: Only by going away. 

Gilbert: No, no, no, no. My father always taught me, never desert a lady in trouble. He even carried that as far as marrying Mother. -- THE LADY VANISHES

9. One of the best 'Thanks, but no thanks" lines ever.

Reggie Lambert: I already know an awful lot of people and until one of them dies I couldn't possibly meet anyone else.

and then...

10. Peter Joshua: Well if anyone goes on the critical list let me know.

Reggie Lambert: Quitter.

Peter Joshua: What's that?

Reggie Lambert: You give up awfully easy don't you? -- CHARADE

11. Ned Seton: You know most people, including Johnny and yourself, make a big mistake about Julia: They're taken in by her looks. At bottom she's a very dull girl and the life she pictures for herself is the  life she belongs in. -- HOLIDAY

12. Linda Seton: You wouldn't care to step into a waltz as the old year dies, would you Mr. Case? -- HOLIDAY

13. Flora Poste: Highly sexed young men living on farms are always called Seth or Reuben. -- COLD COMFORT FARM
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Thursday Thirteen: Things: What I'm Grateful For This Week

1. Dark Chocolate...'nuff said.

2. Buying books. Adding to my collection for pretty, pretty bookshelves is such a joy.

3. New Kitty, of course; and the cat condo a friend gave me.

4. The gorgeous, beautiful whether we're having. Maximum awe, minimum heat.

5. My antique pieces. I don't have a lot of antiques (don't want a lot of antiques, a preponderance of which I find slightly creepy) it's a lovely feeling to use a jewelry box or table or lamp which has a long history.

6. Poetry. Specifically that of Edna St Vincent Millay. She speaks to a wordless part of me, in the same way as music.

7.  Essential oil candles. Yumm.

8. Wasabi Almonds

9. Seeing Abbott and Costello's WHO'S ON FIRST for the first time in over a decade.

10. The Sartorialist. Fashion. Heaven.

11. The addition of BABYLON 5 to Netflix Instant Watching. My heart pitter-pats, yay.

12. New friends.

13. Old friends.

Tags: thursday thirteen, wasabi almonds, dark chocolate, babylon 5, sartorialist, friendship






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Cover His Face,...He Died Young

When I got the news, I would have given anything for it not to be true. Day and night, for many weeks this poem ran through my head.

~Jason, my baby brother.

1975-2004

ELAINE

OH, come again to Astolat!
  I will not ask you to be kind.
And you may go when you will go,
  And I will stay behind.

I will not say how dear you are,
  Or ask you if you hold me dear,
Or trouble you with things for you
  The way I did last year.

So still the orchard, Lancelot,
  So very still the lake shall be,
You could not guess--though you should guess--
  What is become of me.

So wide shall be the garden-walk,
  The garden-seat so very wide,
You needs must think--if you should think--
  The lily maid had died.

Save that, a little way away,
  I'd watch you for a little while,
To see you speak, the way you speak,
  And smile,--if you should smile. 

--Second April, by Edna St Vincent Millay

It Was Like A Mafia Don's Funeral

She was a little runt of a stray...but wow, talk about personality, she had wayy more than her share.

She had no front claws (I hated to, but she kept her claws out all the time, I still bear the scars), she was teeny tiny, old and rickety, but still made huge dogs cringe.She has defended her territory against all manner of intruder; from three-year old kid to fully grown realtor.

Even with me, the only human she adored; Nina was cranky and demanding. Every little inch the curmudgeonly; "you kids get off my lawn!" lovable. 

These qualities and many more besides made her memorable. I wish I had a nickel for every time my friends have said: "How's your crazy cat?" "How's Nina doing?" "Do you still have Nina" "How's your cat? She does not like me."

And then late last year, she began to get sick. Really sick. Not "you made me move one too many times so now I'm gonna pull out all my hair' sick. But, 'there's a funny little thing under my tongue. Did I hurt myself when I pulled out all my fur' sick and 'I can't groom myself, even thought it's my favorite thing', sick.

I felt the ticking for months. The clock counting down the minutes to the end of our time together.

When she came home with me, I was twenty and she could fit in the palm of my hand. The kittens at the shelter were sleeping balls of fur. All except for this adorable, svelte black kitten, who curiously tested the air in my direction. When the lady came in to open it's cage, all of the kittens woke up. And suddenly I was eye to eye with a fluffy grey and black striped tabby with huge green eyes and a very pink nose. It was Nina. She started to purr. And I was lost.

She was afraid of wind. And hands...but not feet. At first I was always stepping on her because she'd follow me into a room and curl up behind my heel. She loved french fries. But only if they were hot. She did not like children. She did like men. There was another kitty in the mirror, but Nina would only try to get at it if she thought I wasn't looking.. Being laughed at offended her dignity.  And she preferred to drink her water by dipping a paw and licking it dry.

I tried denial until it became delusional. I tried bargaining.until the deal-breaker. When 'I can't groom myself, even thought it's my favorite thing', sick,  became "I can no longer eat," sick. Sitting in the car on the way to the vet's I was still hoping, hoping, I was wrong. I knew what I was preparing to do and yet could not imagine coming home with an empty carrier.

My grief did not surprise me. My friends did. My former roommate and 'sister from another mother' surprised me with flowers and a card. Another bought an orchid. All called, or wrote, or in some way honored the loss of my crazy feline friend.  And honestly, given her personality...the outpouring of support surprised me a little. It was a little like a Mafia don's funeral. Either that, or the measure of true and dear friendship.

Thursday Thirteen: What I've Learned So Far

On Becoming Film Producer

1.  Failure is your friend. I could trot out the expected cliche, 'Failure is a great teacher'. It's true, but not my point today. Each failure adds value to the next attempt. 

2.  Never take no for an answer. Sooo obvious, right? But it's a miracle how many times we chicken out when someone puts an obstacle before us. I grow feathers far more often than I'd like to admit. 

3.  Be humble! If we were Spielberg, we wouldn't be talking to the assistants.

4.  Assistants are your friends.

5.  Don't be seduced by the glamour. Say this to yourself whenever your ego starts resembling that of a mini-mogul; "It's about the work." 

6.   It's the screenplay, stupid. If the story sucks, don't bother.

7.   Don't let the perfect become the enemy of the good. Sometimes we must compromise in order to win the bigger battle. So what if this film is going straight to video? You're building a reputation. Which brings us back to...

8.   Reputation is everything. The movie business, probably more most, is a relationship business. Don't be a jerk and don't lie; unless you want to be known as a jerk and a liar.

9.   Learn from everyone. 

10.  Help others wherever possible, you never know how that might come back to you in the future.

11.  Don't give up.

12.  Don't give up.

13.  Don't give up.

These are some of the things people have taught me matter so far. It's mostly common sense stuff. But you'll be amazed how quickly sense flies out the window when getting started in the biz of Dream Making. Yes, I'm still uncredited...for the moment. However, this is still good advice and your mileage may differ.






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...A Thousand Words

I'm shy.

Sort of.

Not really.

Okay, it's like this. It's my face. I have zero control over what appears on it. Every stray thought and emotion starts in my eyes and makes its way over my lips and cheeks (complete with wait for it...a visible blush. Lovely!) and into my eyebrows.There are few people who like playing their cards close to the chest more than I. There are even fewer who are as spectacularly bad at it as I am.

Want to know what Maya *really* thinks? Ask her a question and then watch her face.

Perhaps, there is some lingering tribal suspicion regarding little soul-sucking boxes, perhaps not. At any rate, the notion of my naked soul, preserved in the moment for whomever cares to see; sets off reflexive butterflies in my gut. The idea of seeing revealed and preserved some stray thought not covered by my personal Freedom of Information Act freaks me out. So when "smile pretty for the camera" time comes around; what would I do? Go blank and paste on a smile.

This is crazy. I know it's crazy. None of us can expect to move through the world completely invulnerable. Our vulnerability is what elicits the best of human emotion in others; compassion, empathy, generosity, protectiveness, love.

Still, in my younger days, my primary goal was self-containment. This woman was an island. Looking back, I realize few people were more ill-equipped for that role than I. At my core, I feel deeply connected to humanity, it is in my nature to love deeply and forgive freely.I'm a sap. Such people are rarely invulnerable. Why was I so afraid for others to catch a glimpse of that girl?

Nowadays I'm better. But still, If you want a great picture of me, don't let me see you comin'.

REPOST: Is Worth...

Fingertips trail ancient walls, the occasional tree gets hugged; the mood of a city filters in through my senses. Years later, a sound or scent or taste will take me right back. Even better, I have only to call the experience up in memory to know how a place felt. I've learned that snapping pics along the way tends to inhibit, rather than inspire this process.

During the first leg of my first European journey, I took reams of pictures. The Moms recorded video and snapped photos of every train station and street corner across five countries. And for a while, their camera-enthusiasm was infectious and I clicked along with them. My prepared travel mode; plugged into my CD player, the book in my hand a handy camouflage; was great for savoring a city and it's denizens. In addition to providing a soundtrack for my memories, the music calmed me during the hectic rush between taxis, trains and buses. Reading a book is a great way to observe unobserved. And because Rory Gilmore and I were separated at birth (omigosh...just realized, that the phrase "could be my daughter" is more applicable...ouch) far too many books weighed down my luggage when the trip began. I developed the habit of leaving them behind when they were. To this day, I wonder about the travels of those who read them after me...and whether they were as freaked out as I was by the ending of Carol O'Connell's "Judas Child".

Giving up my camera however, was, like most good things that happen while traveling, an accident. Five weeks into the trip, the Moms had gone. My travel partner and I were spending two weeks at a resort just outside of Assisi. A resort, which, due to an extended fight  with my friend and the determined pursuit of the Neapolitan handy man, was feeling just a tad cramped. So a beautiful snowy day found me in Siena, a couple of trains and a bus away...without my camera

Dang it.

Only, not so much.

I remember scattering pigeons as I crossed the piazza, cursing my forgetfulness. I can feel the suspicious gazes directed at me from the white haired ladies on the bench ahead. I walked all over old Siena that day, not missing my camera nearly as much as I thought I would. And then I found it.

Down some side street, I will never find again was a gallery of modern art. They were just opened, some of the rooms had not yet been finished. The art...it was mostly okay. Some pedestrian, some self-consciously cool, with a couple of truly awful and brilliant pieces thrown in. I went up and up and up,  and was on the roof. To this day, I'm not sure whether it was the installation or the view which first took my breath. Maybe it was one of those moments where art and life collide to create an impression far more evocative than either could on its own. It's true, I know; a good photo of the scene would be more descriptive than words. Instead the experience is private, jealously guarded in my own heart.

An immortal moment...something in Siena which exists only for me.

The Age Of Innocence; and why I love it's ending ~spoiler alert~

"And [I] walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme/ A ghost in marble of a girl you knew." Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thirty years after looking down into his wife's triumphant, frightened eyes; thirty years after the news of her pregnancy broke and bound up his heart, the widowed Newland Archer sits on a Parisian bench, below the window of the woman he'd loved and lost.

Will he go up to her? Will they find a way to be together after so long a separation? I don't think so. Madame Olenska had become a part of the private world to which he retreated. The world of beauty and letters and transcendent love. She belonged to the inner life which sustained him through a long marriage to a woman who could not hope to be his true mate; through the mundane trivialities of daily family life and New York society.

Approaching her home, he realized that the desperate, clutching, painful process of turning the dream of his beloved into the reality of relationship; would invade and lay waste to his private landscape. And for what? In his memory's halls she reigns supreme, his lovely girl in marble. How can the real Madam Olenska, aged thirty years possibly measure up? And how can Newland at fifty, measure up to the ardent lover of twenty? He is wiser, richer, yes. But also coarser, more plebeian and more frightened.

It is not only the memory of Ellen, the girl, he preserves by staying put on the bench beneath her window; but that of Newland, the boy. He preserves the illusion of the man he could have been, if only.

Thursday Thirteen: Reasons I Love/Hate British/American TV

1. Pro-Am: Long seasons. There's nothing like the wondrous 25 weeks of new eps of my favorite show. This is the main inspiration for my Fall Happy Dance.
2. Pro-Brit: Short seasons. It took me a looooong time to come around to this way of thinking. But short seasons keep everyone fresh. Mamet once said that writing for TV is like running as fast as you can until you die. That can't be good. Plus, it's cool to see your fave actors in different roles throughout the year.
3. Anti-Am: Too, too shiny. Everyone and everything is just too slick and pretty.  I find it hard to empathize with the plastic-ness of it all.
4. Anti Brit: For pity's sake break a window!  I swear, if I see one more action sequence with someone trapped inside a many-windowed house banging on the FLIPPIN' GLASS -- I'm gonna have a heart attack and die.
5. Pro-Am: The adrenalin-laced, testosterone-driven glee with which action guys break stuff: glass, limbs, automobiles, spaceships (Enterprise shout-out)...oh yes and entire buildings. Sooooooohohohoo much fun.
6. Pro-Brit: The actors, the actors, the actors....omigosh, the actors. The care, feeding and education of actors in the UK has created a pool containing the best actors in the world. And the killer thing is you're just as likely to see them playing a minor role on TV as you are to see them playing a big role on film.
7. Anti-Am: The actors, the actors, the actors...omigosh, the actors.We live in a world where character actor means: 'good actor, but not pretty'. Too many of our actors look as if they've never had a real emotion in their lives and wouldn't know how to express one if they did. 
8. Pro-Am: Shows that are so much better than they have any right to be. My favorite trend right now is the hour show which takes the formula and stands it on it's head. From the description, you think you know what you're getting into (or avoiding), and then blammo, you're hit with something very, very cool. Fave examples; Invasion, In Plain Sight, Life, Life Unexpected and Veronica Mars.
9. Pro-Brit: I dunno, maybe it's the short seasons or theater-centric creative culture; but I love the varied genres in UK TV land. A lot of their best programming would be absolute non-starters in the States. Can you imagine trying to pitch Lark Rise to Candleford in Hollywood?
10. Anti-Am: Encroaching commercialism. Ten years ago, the television hour ran about 47 minutes, now it's down to 41 or 42. Seriously? Seriously? Advertising suits have the nerve to complain because TiVo'ers avoid the mulchfest of cranky, crass and crude; which now makes up nearly 1/3 of a viewer's hour? Cry me a river.
11. Pro-Brit: Doctor Who. Need I say more? Probably, not but I will. I'm not sure about the new guy...he's all wrong. His name is Matt Smith for pity's sake and he's like, 12. His main problem, though? He's not Eccleston. Eccleston's my Doctor. I had the same issue with Tennant...right up until I didn't.
12. Pro-Brit: Cast musical chairs. At first I hated it, but now I love it. Perfect (though perhaps not the best) example of how cast musical chairs keeps a show fresh; MI-5, or Spooks as it's known everywhere but here. There's a dimension of suspense added to a thriller when you know that no cast member is safe. 
13. Pro-Am: Comfort of the franchise. We have a lot of franchises here in the States. And we love our genre-rated TV. I love (or am in at least strong like with) all the Law & Orders. I love court shows and medical dramas. I like other things too, and it's good Hollywood is picking up on the developing appetite for more variety, cause I like a lot of the new stuff too. We do good TV pretty darn well. But I'm not always in the mood for good or thought-provoking. A lot of times I'm just looking for a show to hit all it's marks and give me a satisfactory ending. We do that, spectacularly.

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Tags: thursday thirteen, meme, television, british TV, American TV, lark rise to candleford, veronica mars, life, life unexpected, doctor who, matt smith

Room For Rent

So I've finished my screenplay.

As in, really, mostly done.

It's sooo funny, the first week or so after completing it, I was like 'yayyy! wooohoooooo! How much do I rock!!!!' It was fabulous. I love celebrating. Then...something happened. Thoughts about being finished triggered starting up with the noise-makers and party hats again. I'd do the Dance of Joy again. But really, it was starting to feel a little forced, a little phoned in; more of of a 'whoopee' than a truly heartfelt 'WAHOOO'.

Writers 'get it'.These things, these, books, poems, whatevers we write; they're a part of our lives. The story takes up lodging our brains. Until it's finished, we have no idea how much real estate it occupies.

Then we're done. Or sort of done, or mostly done; done as we're going to be at the moment. And it's as though the really annoying renter upstairs; the loud one, with insomnia and the polka dancing; has moved out. First we enjoy the peace and quiet, then the house starts to feel empty-ish, we realize, 'oh yeah, that room doesn't have to be empty, I can rent it out to someone else'.

So I'm taking applications; doing a mental search for the fresh or unfinished.

I wonder what I will write next?

Thursday Thirteen: Thirteen Things I Wish I Hadn't Never

1. Said nice things about Mimmo. When that guy asked me to tell him what I thought of Mimmo in Italian, my response should have been two words; "Troppo giovane".

2. Started pretending I can add and subtract. I. Cannot. Balance a checkbook. It's online banking for me, baby!

3. Told a certain person he could come see me. We weren't just on different continents, we were on different planes of existence.

4. Started Tweeting. 'Cause now, even though I rarely tweet; I still think about tweeting when I'm not tweeting.

5. Finished my screenplay. Um...'cause I don't exactly know what to do with myself...hence, the blog.

6. Left when the vet told me I shouldn't stay while he put down my cat. I promised her I'd be with her. There will always be a blank space where I should find the end of our lives together.

7.  Had root canal. Whoof!

8. Started watching The Bachelor again. They pullllled me back in.

9. Been at my brother's funeral. It was a circus.

10. Let my mother co-opt my relationship with my niece. I was very ill at the time, but I should have fought harder to have her brought to see me.

11. Heard the song, 'I Shot The Sheriff'. The version which continues to play in my head is a really bad rendition by an American Idol hopeful. Yikes.

12. Tried sushi. I had no idea how much I'd love it; or how much I'd miss it now that I have nooo money.

13. Been exposed to the Thursday Thirteen. Now I'm completely hooked.

Tags: thursday thirteen, meme, death, siblings, italy, cfs, cfids, regret




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So...Spring Has Sprung

I should be happy, I know. I am kind of, almost happy. The weather is beautiful; which is wonderful. But I'm filled with dread.

Heat intolerance. One of my least favorite ME/CFS symptoms, looms in my non-to-distant future. I have Spring Fever and I want to rejoice with everyone else. But there's this doomsday countdown taking place inside of me. How many days, weeks until my body feels as though it's cooking from the inside? How long until the recurrent low grade fever becomes an ever-present mid grade fever? Heavens to Betsy, I really want to love Spring and look forward to Summer, I really, really do...oh well.