Skip to main content
I have a confession to make. Ready?

I really don't like Seinfeld. Let me make that stronger, in fact. I dislike the show. It is funny. It is hilarious, really. I've probably seen every episode. The writing was great, the actors, the directors.

But I don't like it.

(Interestingly, I've done an informal poll over the years and most – as in all but one – of the people that I've found who have disliked Seinfeld have been female.)

I also don't like talent shows of any kind, particularly if anyone I know is in them. I've paced a lot of hallways in my life waiting for talent shows to finish. My heart in my throat, my fingers ready to go to my ears (lest I hear anything).

Then again I've been known to run out of the room during crucial plays of professional ball games (so I won't see my team "fail"). I missed several of the Patriots' key plays two years ago as a result. And there's no way I can bear to sit and watch the balance beam competition in women's gymnastics. "Ack, any moment she's going to slip and her career will be over!" But – I'll return to see the replay of her fall.

The suspense kills me.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

This has been a very long week -- perhaps 16 or 17 days, at least. I have been offered -- and accepted -- my younger sister’s finished basement for the next year and a half. This will be a major cost-saver for me and a big help for her (she has two toddlers and is expecting a baby in August.) So that was a humongous start to the week. My other sister and her teenaged son have had to make some really hard decisions. She gave me permission to quote her: “spent yesterday at the hospital with my son. about eleven hours. sitting here writing and rewriting this entry trying to find just the right words. how to explain-- he is not healthy. he is mentally ill. he is not safe at home. none of this really covers it. so here's one image from the day. we walk into the east wing at maine med escorted by security. the very nice guard LOOKS like a skinhead but actually has incredible kindness and compassion for my snarly boy. he tells us gently that he has to check ian for weapons and sharp o...
3 comments
Read more

Foggy morning

Next to my bed , I keep a pad of paper and pen (and flash cards and water and ear plugs and an alarm clock…). All the writer’s guides suggest this for writing down middle of the night inspirations. This is a fine plan. I’ve had great results. I’ve come up with solutions to difficult plot situations. Names of evil villainesses. Entire worlds. I’ve remembered doctor’s appointments. Occasionally the light of day reveals something less like a solution and more like the mystery of all mankind: “the plumber trumps! Seventeen children, be aware.” But usually the pad of paper holds something… useful. This morning’s result: One word. Mist. Is it a metaphor for my future? A laundry detergent? A new name for Sprite? A weather report? I don’t remember waking. My dreams remain stubbornly opaque. My subconscious mind obviously felt “Mist” to be of enough import to rouse me to reach for the pen. I even capitalized the word. Hmm. I wonder how many seeds of “great Ame...
Post a Comment
Read more
Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.
17 comments
Read more