Law & Order is over?! Are they serious? I’m so glad they didn’t off the chief. Good call. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a bad ending, but still. No sexy cops and crafty lawyers come Fall? What’s a girl to do until football revs up?
Lost Yes, lost in a dumb storyline you can’t write your way out of. I’m glad all the writers are now out of work. They should be shot to ribbons for that lousy ending then forced to sell knock-off handbags from little pushcarts for a living. Walk into the glowing light? Seriously? Seriously? The fact that the doctor was the hardest to make give up on life was profound; otherwise, my, how trite. The polar bear could’ve penned a better aloha.
The best part of this time of year is my separation from the cord that runs from the TV into my ear from September to June. Now my brain can edit away the sticky months, pausing only for that little the Bachelor(ette) addiction.
Saddest ending this week: Gary Coleman. Sad to see him go. What enjoyment he brought to my generation. ‘Nuf said.
I’m so resistant to the idea of typing fiction that’s been sitting in my journal since Fall that I just compiled two poetry collections to revise and submit when I only needed to finish one for the second draft of my trilogy. Who knew that if I scraped together all the miscellaneous poems lying around there would be 50 additional publishable, theme-linked poems? Yes, I also discovered about 50 totally crappy poems that ought to be lining a bird cage, but that’s the writer’s life.
I guess I know how I’ll be spending my summer “vacation” since having paid employment doesn’t seem to be on the ol’ calendar. (No, I will not be in therapy trying to figure out why I can’t finish one freakin’ novella!) This economy nonsense is getting old. More jobs are springing up every day! Yeah, where? Not in liberal arts land, as far as I can tell. Jiminy Cricket!
OMG! The water main broke, so we have to boil water here in Beantown before drinking it. It tastes nasty as hell boiled! Well, technically, it tastes like absolutely nothing. Boston water, even with the too-much chlorine and other junk added since I was a kid drinking the good stuff, is like its architecture. It has Chahm! I don’t even care that I brushed my teeth in the iffy back-up reservoir water before getting the FYI on that; I just care that the water tastes too pure, like unspoiled woodland or rainforest water. This is the city, baby. Give me some rust.
Whew! I made it through NaPoMo. Nothing much has been up outside of poetry. Still job hunting, will be working on one social commentary/ response to current news piece per week this month (my own NaMeMo?), and I’m anticipating with dread getting back to typing. 13 years, 5 books, 1,ooo words later, I ask again: why didn’t someone tackle me when I decided to write an autobiography, and why is it hardest to finish the last 80 pages or so? I spent three hours outside today, yet I feel a need to get the heck out of here!