What makes a good writer?

What makes a good writer? I compare it to the phrase how people "practice" medicine...I "practice" writing, and I'll never get it just right.

The question I had pop in my head is a subjective one, and it's one that I'm always struggling with when addressing my own talents (or lack thereof). When I was a kid, I knew I rocked at all things that had to do with having a firm command of the English language, in my kid-like way of thinking. I knew I wanted to write, I wanted to tell stories, I just wanted to have my way of being heard without needing to be seen. Being an introvert, writing is a perfect way of getting myself out there without really needing to be seen.

College rolls around, and I think oh, I want to be a journalist. Short stories, lot of research, and I want to get in to get my hands dirty and have something different to do every day. My thought was that a desk job just wouldn't jive for me, at least, not a desk job where I do the same thing every day. But I still question whether that was the right path, seeing how I couldn't quite quantify what it was I wanted to do, whether I had the talent, and more importantly, whether I had the passion.

I read one of my favorite writers say that she panicked any time she published something. For one, it's nerve racking because it was as though people could peek into her thoughts and she felt exposed. The other was that she worried that whatever she wrote it would never be good enough, she'd never feel like it had been polished to perfection, and I can relate to both. It's maddening, really. I feel this constant need to improve, and even though I'm confident in my skills, I also feel as though it's never good enough.

Yawn.

Hollywood livin' ain't half bad minus the problems I've had in this damn apartment. Hot water, water pressure, nowhere to put litter box, storage issues in bathroom, etc. etc. but w/e. Comes with the territory of being a poor 20 something.

Speaking of poor, I miss horses sooo much. If I miraculously become win the Nobel in some literary form I will buy myself a horse barn and ride every day and go to horse shows across the nation. Sigh. I would put my heart and soul into it just as I have before but right now I have no time or money for it. I suppose I would make time if I had funds but alas, no.

Am I bitter? Shrug. Falling asleep. Ever since I had my sinus surgery I've slept much more like a normal homo sapien than ever in my life. I still hate waking up in the morning. If I had my own way, I wouldn't deal with mornings between 2 a.m. and 11 a.m., ever.

I miss Spain and Italy. Next year I'm going back to Italy for a trip with my mom + cousin Samantha + a few aunts, and I cannot wait. I'm really rusty on my Italian but oh well. I have a year to practice. I have been reading up lyrics to Mozart arias in the (old) Italian and reading side-by-side translations, such I can juxtapose my love of classical music with my nerdy love of languages.

Someone told me nerds create an alternate fantasy world in which to live because "real life" is too, um, "real" for them, or harsh, or what have you. That's not me. I don't know what I am. I suppose I'm just an idiosyncratic semi-loner.

Good night blog, good work. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.

New life developments

Sometimes life has a funny way of letting all the pieces fall into place after a long struggle of trying to figure out what you want. I'm much happier this year, at this point, than I was last August. Well, in most aspects.

Turns out I'm not moving in with anybody else anymore. I'm going to move into my own place for the first time since senior year of college. I actually really enjoyed having my own place. In fact, I'm a bit of a social hermit. Being alone is something I enjoy, but I decide when I want to socialize. I think I've always been that way. The only thing I'm worried about is that when I was in school I had a built in social network (not FB, real-live-human-beings network). Now I'm in the so-called "real world" and there is no such safety net. Part of the reason why I'll be getting a second cat, so I can substitute animals for people. Ha.

It look a loooong time to find what I wanted, apartment-wise. I don't like to settle. Again, champagne taste, beer money. And I was not willing to settle in a roommate selection, either. I have a bit of a personality quirk where I don't click with just anyone and I cannot fake friend-chemistry. My face betrays my true emotions, all the time. I originally wanted to live with a good friend in West Hollywood, but then I'd have to live with 2 dogs and my cat would have free access to the (fenced) backyard. I thought I'd be cool with that, but I just wasn't. So started the great quest to find my own place.

The new place is in Hollywood near the subway, which is awesome, because I've long been fed up with driving to work. It's an unimaginable pain in the ass. Now I'll also be getting built in exercise in my walk to and from the subway, which I'm in desperate need of. I've been too tired, too busy, too lazy to exercise much and it's been a hassle trying to get off these excess pounds I put in those months of idleness. The good news is I lose weight easily, but the pounds creep back on just as slowly but surely. I just have to keep my weight loss journey slow but steady to ensure the pounds don't come back. I'm not a yo-yo dieter (I don't diet), but I do fluctuate weight like nobody's business. In fact, that's true for a lot of people in my family except for my dad, whose skinny genes (lolz) i did not inherit. Well, he's pushing 60 and he's still in EXCELLENT shape and the same weight he was in high school. He does work hard at it, though, and eat right.

Nodding off...I haven't been sleeping well lately because I've been too wound for sound about new life developments and I've been too deep in thought about how weird friendships can be. You think you know someone and then they surprise you (negatively). But oh well, onward and upward.

Oh yeah, I am going to move next weekend. The thing I am most dreading is setting up my fish tank again. Blaaah. I've invested a lot of time and money into that damn thing and I want it to go smoothly. I also bought a pimped out filter and the local fish store showed me how to put it together. I'm pumped. My fish are very high maintenance (angels and discus) so this move is really anxiety-inducing. Yes, they're just fish, but I'm nervous about them, anyway. I also don't know where my tank is going to go. Hmmm...

K back to bed.

Good grief

Sometimes I think I'm an equal opportunity misanthrope. Shrug. Fifty Shades of Grey was god-awful. Repetition galore, pacing problems, crap dialogue, flat characters, and apparently written by a 15-year-old virgin. That's the only demographic I'd imagine would enjoy it. That, and 45 year old soccer moms who never get any. Feeling very tired and unmotivated...someone find my motivation.

Whoa, Nellie.

Apparently Blogger decided it needed a face lift and the format of my new blog entry is all whacked out. Well, from how it used to be, anyway, so forgive my bewilderment while I write this.

I've been neglecting my blog for lack of material. Well, that's not true. I could spout off any number of things, but the spirit hasn't moved me to do so. Or something. I've since gone through many a change since I last wrote in here, but *shrug*. This ain't no personal diary. In fact, I created it to chronicle my adventures in Spain and didn't think I'd keep up with it whatsoever post-expat life. But, knowing me, I need an audience for what I write so I kept up with it for that reason.

Found out I'll be moving in the near future, to Weho. Very exciting development. I plan on taking my cat and the fish tank with me. Speaking of, my fish tank has apparently replaced my horse habit in expensive hobbies. Let's get real, it's nowhere near the cost of boarding a horse (and all the other lovely expenses involved in horse riding), but it's also a bit pricey. All the upkeep and whatnot. Thinking about getting some discus fish (current occupants are all angelfish and a pleco) once I switch out my current tank for the 60 gallon acrylic tank I got off Craigslist.

Which brings me to another point - Craigslist can be creepy as hell, but it has its uses. I saved a ridiculous amount of money on a fish tank that would've cost more than I make in a month if I'd gotten it new. Ain't cheap. But I can't help myself, as my mom always tells me, I have champagne taste and beer money.

What else - oh yeah, I've been continuing on my Jane Austen kick. It has been taking me forever to get through the annotated version of Emma, but whatever. Those who aren't Austen fans should give it a whirl, particularly the annotated version. It really puts your in the mindset of these people when it can be tricky for the modern reader to appreciate it.

Well, I've been a stranger to the world today. I've literally spent all morning and afternoon up til now listening to the babbling of annoying children outside my window, at the pool. My motivation to clean my room is at an all time low, but I have to in order to prep the apartment for viewings. Grumblecakes. Sigh. Groan. All right, going to turn on some Netflix and clean.

It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside

Once again, because of my prescribed pain and sleeping pills, I cannot attest to the coherence of this writing specimen. Just trying to give a blow by blow account of my recovery.

Day #1 was pretty much agony - at first I was able to breathe through the nose, then that went away in a matter of hours as residue and scar tissue blocked everything. Then there was the puking from Percocet, a lovely side effect due to not having enough foodstuffs in my tum tum other than a couple of popsicles. It's difficult to eat when you have zero appetite (something I would like to carry with me post-recovery! lol) and it hurts to swallow, but I have to eat something to keep my throat hydrated.

Day #2 No nausea, thank god, just a lot of lolloping around doing nothing and every time I'd take another Percocet I'd be down for the count for several hours. I always wake up with cotton mouth and dread that first sip of water that will hurt as it goes down, the way a shot of whiskey may have hurt before, no joke. Everything is more tender today, less blood from my nose, more mucus or dried blood. Sometimes there are fleeting moments were I can get a (highly obstructed) breath through my nose that makes quite an unpleasant noise and I just say screw it, wait til Harvey vacuums out the debris in there and hopefully I'll be able to breath comfortably.

So, yes, feeling rather useless these days. I can't even watch a whole movie without getting aggravated by the sound (ears hurt, a residual problem since ENT are all connected in this great circle of life).

OK I think I'm too exhausted to write more on my Percocet and Ambien cocktail. Nighty night.

Tonsillectomy and Septoplasty recovery (among other nose issues)

Fair warning -- includes details of a medical procedure and its recovery. ---

I'm writing this little entry because from what I've seen, not many sources are available online describing the duo-procedure of a tonsillectomy and septoplasty at the same time (also had the adenoids and turbinates reduced, but laypeople don't usually know what those are, so moving on....). Also, this provides me an opportunity to vent.

The other inspiration for me to write this, and far less Helpful Hannah, is that I've been sleeping on and off and naturally waking up when I'm due for another Percocet (which has to be crushed in apple sauce, because there's just no way I could swallow that horse pill with my throat like this).

Percocet is no longer what I consider a gift from god. Oh sure, it was at first, but I think that when you're on a semi empty stomach of a spoonful of applesauce and a few popsicles (which are a challenge to get down and only tolerated because they help soothe the throat), the Percocet adds a new and entirely unwelcome monkey wrench: extreme nausea. Yeah. Already yaked a few times, not really sure what the contents of my stomach had to provide, but it was gnarly. At least I find that when I lay down flat on my back with my head elevated, I don't feel so nauseated.

Still attempting to breathe through the nose to little avail. It's filled with goo and dried blood and scar tissue, so now I really can't breathe through it hardly at all. It bleed excessively if you don't keep your head above your heart, e.g., if you decide to bend over or, y'know, hug the porcelain throne while silently cursing god for this painful affliction. What happens when you do put your head below the heart area is a massive nosebleed -- happened to me a couple times already because I forgot about that rule. And I can't blow my nose or anything normal, I have to clean it out with a q tip and hyrogen peroxide and neosporin every few hours, then change the gauze pad under my nose which collects blood.

I'm sure this will all be worth it in the end, because my sleep will improve dramatically once my nose is fully open and doesn't congest as soon as my head hits the pillow. Not to mention my tonsils were obstructing my airway to a degree that dictated their removal, as well.

It's not just sleep, either, but that in exercise I find myself needing more air in my lungs and I just can never get it. Even while riding horses I needed more oxygen.

One more log of discomfort to throw down on the fire is my EARS. Loud noises really hurt. I can only watch the TV at a mere hum, or when I chat with people they have to take down the volume.

I'm not really trying to complain (maybe just a bit), I just want to detail what it's like to go through these procedures. And it'll be worth it. The doctor said I had "monster tonsils," big adenoids which really obstructed my breathing (which were removed, too, but the funny thing is that part of the anatomy usually disappears after age 13), then that deviated septum, which I had no idea was a factor for me at all until I met my doctor, so they just included the procedure, too, so more air can flow through my nostrils.

As of now, I can't attest to the success of any of these procedures yet, since my nose is blocked, my throat hurts like none other, and I'm just exhausted and a bit nauseated from my pills. Something tells me I will be a very happy camper in the end, though, so I'm looking forward to being able to breathe!

Tonsillectomy and Septoplasty recovery

Blog rhymes with log

On a gothic romance novel kick - re-reading Jane Eyre and then onto Rebecca (another one I've already read). Still gotta unpack my books in my new place, I'm sad they are in boxes. Any other novels from the gothic genre people like, or am I the only literary nerd out of my friends? I know books are an ancient form of entertainment, a primitive version of digital video recordings, etc.

Oh yeah, and I'm in a new place. We got to move in a few days earlier than expected, but the lease officially will start tomorrow. I will have to take pictures of it when I get it unpacked and more decorated because now it doesn't have too much of a personality. I have to get the bed frame and headboard put together so my mattress is sitting on the floor right now - well, on top of the box spring doodad, but yeah.

Love the new place. It's very odd to drive out of the parking lot and then be in a city. I'm unused to living in an urban area, excluding my brief stint in Florence when I studied abroad. Florence is a mini big city, IMO, because you can pretty much walk across the whole city in about an hour and all the sights of the city are in walking distance. I could write a whole blog entry about Florence but that will have to wait.

Other new life developments are in swing, but I don't want to jinx them by jumping the gun and mentioning those now.

In any case, I'm starting to nod off after a relatively long day/week. Time to read a couple pages of Jane Eyre before turning in, although at the sleepy rate I'm going it may just be a couple paragraphs.

My Spanish love affair (while in the USA)

OK so let me start with this: Spain has its own social networking site that is called Tuenti (http://www.tuenti.com), which I signed up for while I was living in Spain in 2008-2009. I haven't been on the site in probably more than a year, and I hardly used it while I was there, either. I only logged in because I got an email saying I had a message on the site, which I found intriguing, because who would send me a message on Tuenti instead of writing to my email address or on Facebook? Well, the answer is much like you'd expect: someone who I've never heard of in my life.

Here is the message from some dude named Michael Jose - click to enlarge:


Now it's been a while since I've taken a course in Spanish/English translation, so forgive me that this will not be a professional translation, but this is what Michael Jose wrote to me (with proper grammar and punctuation as much as possible, although it is pretty tricky with MJ's run-on sentences):

"Hello, I been have trying for like half an hour to think of a way to write you a message that wouldn't be really long, and you know what? It's impossible, thousands and thousands of messages with the same ending or the same wording, only to tell you how spectacular you are, but you know what, what I would particularly love to know if this "spectacularness" that you have with your body also is in your personality, because seriously that would be a magnificent surprise to know that a person as magnificent as you are, I'm not looking for anything more than your friendship and please respond to this message if you read it. Well, I could go my whole life writing to you, maybe now I should say goodbye and just wish that someday I will check my email and be surprised to find your response, bye, kisses, if you would like to add me on MSN it is (redacted). Sorry for the sermon."

OK now there is the possibility that this is just some big prank and he's like "oh, I'm going to message the guiri on Tuenti, jejejeje!" "Guiri," by the way, is the word Spaniards use for foreigners as a kind of derogatory word similar to Mexicans calling Americans "gringos." I doubt that, however, seeing how he replied to me again when I sent my response. Either way, this is what I said in response to MJ:


This is how I responded: "How do you know me? Good God, man...I don't remember you, but thanks for the compliments..." and he said "Well the truth is I sent you a message so I could get to know you."

Alas, MJ, it appears we are destined to be star-crossed lovers. You live in the land of delusion (err, Spain), and I live in Southern California. Thanks for playing!

Ah, the technological age.

Sometimes I lament that I'm living in a technological age where everything is fast-paced and anyone can Google my name and find out where I live, work and any number of things about me - including that I write this blog. That I'm a Libra, listen to opera and jazz music, and I like walks on the beach (wait...um, sure).


Ain't no joke!

Then there are times when I'm just flat-out amazed that we have all this technology at our fingertips, and I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been living in what I imagine was a time when our private information was just that: private. Nobody knew from Adam about where you lived, at least not without finding a phone book in the vicinity of your home. These days, who even has a phone book? I can tell you right now that if a phone book were delivered to me, I'd toss it in the recycling bin and think "why do I need that crap, I have a phone/computer to look up where people live?"

http://theoatmeal.com/comics/minor_differences3

This mindset, of course, spells doom for my chosen profession, in a way. The fact that I decided to become a journalist and write for newspapers perhaps was not a wise one, seeing how no one will buy a newspaper when they can read the news for free online and it's more convenient to just poke through what you want to read rather than having a cumbersome newspaper delivered to you when you might not even read half of it. In fact, even though I am a journalist, sometimes I wonder why my parents have multiple newspapers delivered to them. Why? Why not just read it online without paying the subscription? Of course it's ironic that I think that way, but I can't help thinking this way, given the fact that I'm a "Millennial," as my mother called me the other day when we went out to dinner and I had to check my cell phone several times - a pet peeve of hers.

This whole Death of the Newspaper thing really gets to me, of course, since it is how I chose to pursue my livelihood and it is disintegrating before us, much as any old technology is eventually replaced by a new one. Examples: the printing press replaced hand-written documents, automobiles replaced carriages, films replaced vaudeville, and oh yeah, "video killed the radio star." It ain't no joke.

The fact that I've been able to pursue writing as a career in any capacity is a blessing, really, considering how it is an extremely competitive field, much like any creative field is competitive. I remember when I was in high school I toyed with the idea of pursuing a music degree, but I told myself I lacked the talent, dedication and knowledge to make a go of it, and I didn't want to go ahead with anything knowing off the bat that it wouldn't be my passion and it would be half-assed. I love music and I sing in my car all the time without shame even though my P.O.S. car is totally un-sound proofed. But anyway, I digress.

The point I'm making is I'm conflicted about whether I am happy or not that we live in the age of incredibly advanced technology that shows no signs of becoming even more advanced, probably fulfilling the prophecy of George Orwell's 1984 which first brought up "big brother."

In any case, I've come to accept that we're living in a time where you can Google me and I can Google you. Hey, it comes in handy for my journalism gigs - it makes it much easier to do research when I can type "hyperbaric oxygen benefits" or "Resource Conversation District of the Santa Monica Mountains" into a search engine. I remember when I was in elementary school how excited I would be to look through encyclopedias or Encarta (it was basically the Wikipedia of the '90s, a CD Rom program version of an encyclopedia). These days, it's much easier for me to satiate my unending curiosity about even the most mundane things by typing it in a search engine instead of having to jump through hoops to find the information I want. And I am a highly inquisitive individual, obviously, that's another reason why I chose to become a reporter, because I'm naturally nosy, I guess.

Anyway, I think I'm going to go back to sleep. I've been kept awake with racing thoughts of various things from horses to job searches to apartment searches to even the Casey Anthony trial proceedings. That's my problem and what leads to my insomnia - my mind is always racing and it won't let up. Oh well! Blame it on the technology: it is what helps me derive unending information, and that's what I live for.

...Sidenote: I can't believe I ended that last sentence in a preposition and I'm okay with that. I must be really tired, or just lazy. Maybe both.

"I tell you that I wanna go, but I wanna stay"

Listen, hark! out in the dark
A mockingbird in the tall oak tree
Busts his throat on a high sweet note
Nobody knows he's there but me.


From "Solitary Singer" by Ahn Trio
Lately I've been indulging one of my greater obsessions, that is, reading about and watching movies dealing with British history. Why? Search me, other than I like the eye candy of the beautiful costumes and looking at the vast differences in culture between modern American society (well, from the places where I've lived, that is) in contrast with the Regency, Victorian or Edwardian periods. Then, of course, the Georgian one(s). There are others, of course (let's not forget my love of all things Henry VIII, more specifically, the wives).

Then I recently saw Winter's Bone, which is another sharp contrast from my obsession with the Brit history. So incredibly bleak, for the majority, anyway. I really found myself with a huge respect for the heroine, the 17-year-old Ree Dolly who is forced to quit high school to care for her catatonically depressed mother and her two younger siblings, while her meth-head dad is off god knows where. The story also reminded me of a Law & Order story, where instead of the NYPD it's a Missouri teenager in the role of detective in a hostile crowd of people who have no inclination to talk, relatives or not. Anyway, I was really glad that the little movie that could got recognition from award committees or else I never would have heard of it.


What else? Oh yeah, I've been writing a lot. Lots of stuff in Malibu, and then some stuff here and there. I've been looking for a gig here, a gig there, shooting my lance freely. Sometimes when I think of freelancing, it seems like a fancy way of saying "yeah, I'm unemployed." Sometimes I wonder if it's called freelancing because it actually means "for free." Truthfully, I'm way too flighty to be dedicated to one place. I'd go insane. Maybe that's why I decided to study a subject that would almost assure I'd be spending my life living in a cardboard box? OK, not really...maybe I'll be the next Stephen King or John Grisham.
...HA.


*Stretch*

Been riding the horse a lot lately, and it has been going well. I've been trying to keep it on the down low, despite wanting to go to the horse shows. Alas, lack of funds and not wanting the horse to be seen and thus more likely being sold keeps my whims in check. Usually. I'm more prone to following my whims than logic, at times, depending on my mood.

It's so fun bringing along the adolescent horses and their progress from week to week. Also, you learn so much more by training a young horse than hopping on a "made" animal. And anyway, I should add that this horse was already, I suppose, installed with the right elements that would ensure he'd be golden if trained properly. Excellent breeding, conformation and health just mean the humans have to be dedicated in order to make the right package. I've been working at it a lot, despite the frustration that pops up from time to time...not to mention the occasional concussion from being bucked off into next year. Seems, though, that unless I pull a Christopher Reeve or have a rotational fall (unlikely) that I'll get back on and tinker around. Not to mention I can be so insanely determined that if I think a challenge is almost too much, I plunge ahead relentlessly in order to get what I want. That's probably what drives me more than anything, my desire to get what I want. Mwahaha!


But yeah. Horse = good. I'll go buy lottery tickets on the off chance I'll be able to get him, myself. :-D

What else? Well, I'm not entirely sure why I'm awake, other than because of insomnia. Oh, that reminds me: I got my blood panel back, and I do not have a jacked up thyroid. I'm healthy as a (GONG) horse. *slaps knee* In fact, my blood panel shows I was within normal range for every category. Not that I wanted to have to deal with hypothyroidism the rest of my life, but it would explain my inability to sleep the night. I shall content myself with the fact that I'm normal as far as my bodily systems are concerned. In the head, well, I can't vouch for that.

I'm bored. I'm gonna go watch some more Pride & Prejudice then possibly sleep.

The End of an (Ambien) Era

The good doctor (who wears a monocle, at least in my mind) --


has cut me off from my supply of Ambien. Let us bow our heads.

Look, I was asked to model! I figured facing away from the camera in the fetal position would truly convey the angst and suffering of such an affliction.


...Actually, truth be told, I wasn't asked to be the model, I just have a chip on my shoulder that I wasn't given the job. *sulks*

Why is that, doth ye ask? Let me not use words, but this cartoon, to explain:

OK, enough with the freaking pictures. So yeah, no more of them pills. I was getting too whacked out while taking them, since they didn't help me sleep so much as go on some sort of a PG-rated acid trip. I'm often up late at night reading or watching a movie or in the midst of some other time wasting activity, and I'd start seeing things and being in some sort of a trance. Nothing like a talking walrus (shame), just like I was in a snow globe or something and I couldn't see clearly through the fog. It was kind of fun to take the trip into La La Land, but oh well.

Am I a hypochondriac? Oh well. It's fun to say you're afflicted with an odd...affliction. I watch a lot of Intervention, afterall.

Hum dee dum, what else? Oh yeah, speaking of weird illnesses, my cat has something called FORL - Feline Oral Resorptive Lesions. She had some disgusting receding gumline issues and it looked like her molars were disintegrating, somehow, which I was totally unaware of until the vet told me I should be brushing the cat's teeth. Uh, right. Anybody tried to give a cat pills? You're lucky if you can toss something down their gullet, let alone get them to sit patiently while foreign objects are polishing the chompers.
And it gets more dramatic! She had to go in for extractions, so she is now sans 2 of her molars. Poor cat. The good news is that she won't be in as much pain and she can eat around the yanked out teeth; the bad news is its a progressive disease with an undetermined prognosis. Shrug. She's 8 years old, so we'll see what happens.

The equine is doing well. Let's leave it there so I don't get in trouble because of my propensity for overshares for animals I don't own, but merely have the good fortune to ride/help train. =D

I'm fading, too, so it's not like I'm going to say anything that makes much sense.
The end...I'm off to dream of walruses!

Perhaps becoming an agoraphobe.

Yes, yes, one of those crazies who decides she'd rather live in solitude and never see the light of day.

Actually, The Doc thinks I may have a mild case of hypothyroidism. Huh? Yeah, that's an under-active thyroid. The thyroid controls how the body uses energy (Thanks for providing me with this info, Web MD) Symptoms include fatigue, depression, not being able to crap, and memory problems. I have always had major issues with my short-term memory and it would be just magical to know that there's something I can blame for why I can't remember where I put my keys, or why I'm constantly freaking out at a horse show about learning my courses. I make tiny hand made maps and carry them with me until right about when I go through the in gate.

So now I try to drug myself to sleep at night, but it doesn't really work a lot of the time, no doubt because of my increased tolerance to it. It just makes me slightly chilled out, I become more impulsive, and then my eyes play tricks on me sometimes where it looks like they're dancing or hovering above the screen. It's really not as freaky as it sounds, it's kinda cool. Not that I'm into hallucinating, or anything. It's just a by-product of my predicament.

Oh, and then there's the awesome memory loss of some of the things I've done by the time morning comes around and I'll have 20 emails to respond to from long lost friends who I decided I must chat with. Or old bosses to see how they're doing. Those kinds of weird things that are partially the fault of the Ambien, partially because I am me and prone to impulsivity. I see an opportunity, I want it, I take it. Better to take a risk than not.

Tomorrow I have to get my culo in order to write some more stuff for The Malibu Times. Nothing too terribly exciting - some feature about wine making in Santa Monica and some drain pipes being replaced in Malibu. Then there will be a film screening for Blue Valentine and Biutiful.



Those are two films I'd really like to see. I'm not sure if I'll go see it unles they snag a high profile visitor to chat with the crowd, I hope so! For me, I'd become a 14 year old girl to have a shot at talking to Ryan Gosling.
And It's been a while since I saw a Spanish language film, for real. I mean, I saw "Frida" but that hardly counts. I bet the real Frida Kahlo wouldn't be so pleased that her likeness would speak English. But if she had spoken Spanish and everyone would just be subtitled the whole movie, that wouldn't sell as well, and in the end it's all about the billz. Also, I'd be curious as to her opinion about Salma Hayek taking over her role, when Salma is super sexy and Frida had relentless pain flayed out her whole life. It was kind of blah in the way Frida and Diego interacted. They had the open marriage, but clearly jealousies arise constantly, until the marriage can't be healed when her husband sleeps with Frida's sister. OOh lawd.

I'd really enjoy being a film or stage critic. Everybody hates a critic, they say, wellll.....shrug. I remember thinking way back in high school that it would be such a great way to combine my love of theater and writing. Of course, high schoolers have these ideas of grandeur about what they can do, what they'll see, without all th ework it'll take to even be the lowest on the proverbial totem pole. You could argue I'm not qualified to do either, but I want to. Also, I'm determined when I want something. I'm pretty sure the fan club for reporter isn't that high, either. Odd that someone like me, or is hypersensitive to real or imagined hypersensitivity, would take on a role where you're expected to glean personal information you willingly gave me, then whittle it down further into how I think it sounds best.

So many more films I'd like to see. And of course lots of plays. Not that they're hard to find in LA, but the Broadway and off b'way stuff is much more happenin' in New York.

For now, this will be sufficient for my rambling, at times lacking cohesion/coherence, will end, for mow. For now I attempt to sleepand I hope the word "deeeeeaaaadddddlliiiiiiine" doesn't haunt my dreams. OK, maybe a bit.
Arrivaderci!

Woops, awake.

"Writers are such private, solitary people. they may become things other than that, but writing almost without exception gets done because of an inward-ness, a sense of privacy that you retain, even though you know that the piece you write may go public. The perspective the writer has on himself or herself seems crucially important to me, regardless of other people's perspectives." -- Ann Beattie in her essay "Melancholy and the Muse"

Sounds like me. Mostly solitary, cynical, content in smaller groups. Or if I'm in a group setting, I'll try to just be with a few people at a time. Shrug. This is how it goes. I'd question it if I cared.

Oh, another part of this essay I found funny was this another part. It's exactly how I feel whenever I sit down and look at my enormous, rambling mountain of notes and transcribed interviews, when I sit down in my non-work clothes in the dead of night to write an article:

"Past writing performance -- at least, in my experience -- counts for little. Neither the routine, nor the triumphs that sometimes results from adhering to that routine, can be depended upon. I have sometimes taken down books I've published from the shelves and been amazed that there was time when I apparently wrote on sentence after another, followed by even more sentences, to form a paragraph. Such an odd activity: needing to simultaneously remember and to forget something in order to bring into focus what did not happen, but might have."

Reading this essay, I almost felt like this woman had tapped into my brain. I found it particularly amusing, the part where she talks about her lack of a solid schedule and working in the dead of night in her underwear. Sounds exactly like me, and it's no wonder I'm an insomniac -- it lends itself nicely to what I like to do, though, doesn't it? I hardly ever write an article during the day. I feel creatively stifled...and man, doesn't that sound pretentious? Shrug.

Moving on.

I have this steel trap memory for the most random things ever said to me. I remember my 6th grade teacher told me next to start a thank you note with the words "thank you" (sorry, Mrs. Albee, I've broken that rule a few times out of laziness). My 10th grade English teacher told me not to start a sentence with "there is/are" because it is an immediate snooze fest for the reader. Again, sorry, Ms. Scobell, broke that rule, too. I remember when I moved to Long Island from Michigan, I wrote a note to her and I didn't include one form of the verb "to be," because of an assignment she had given us where we weren't allowed to use any form of it. Talk about a stretch -- that just meant I'd use "to have" in its various forms, more often.

Another thing that stuck with me -- my 9th grade teacher told me I'd never truly appreciate literature because I told her I was sick of talking about symbols in our assigned books. What possessed me to say that, I don't know, but I tend to speak without editing my thoughts, at times. That really incensed me. I also remember being infuriated when she docked me a point on a spelling quiz because my cursive letter "i" looked like an "e," even though she agreed she could see the dot above it.
Oh, that's another thing -- ever since probably 3rd grade, I've written in cursive unless there's some reason not to, like when a college professor told me my handwriting was hard to read (woops). I read an article about a year back, or so, about how cursive writing is going to be a thing of the past and I thought that someday I'll be that 80 year old who still writes in cursive, like some sort of relic of the past. Granted, my penmanship probably could leave something to be desired, but I don't care too much. As long as we have word processors, there's no need to worry about such things as penmanship (crap, there I am, giving in to the argument I just presented -- oh well).

I'm not sure what the point of this blog entry was meant to be, but oh well. Sometimes ya gotta do what etc.