Sunday Night

Now that So You Think You Can Dance is over, there is only one night a week that I watch television. Sunday night. Why? True Blood, Mad Men, and Rubicon. Except, they're all kinda pissing me off. Is it me or...

• is True Blood especially bloody this season? I mean, wasn't the whole premise that the vampires now had the synthetic blood to drink and therefore it was safe for vampires and humans to mingle? I mean, sure, this whole season seems to be about the fact that vampires and humans are not really equal -- or even remotely alike -- but then again who the heck in Bon Temps is actually human? Seriously, people. I know I should accept a certain about of blood in a TV show about vampires, but this is a blood bath! (Or, as last night's episode showed, a blood shower...)



• is True Blood especially misogynistic this season? From Bill throwing a flaming torch at Lorena's head and setting her on fire to Bill twisting Lorena's head around while raping her as she declared her undying love for him; to Bill feeding off of Sookie until she's almost dead to her just forgiving him and jumping in the sack with him by the end of the next episode because she just loves him sooo much; to Tara's weirdly fun and sadistic relationship with Franklin, all the women on this show are suffering from Battered Woman Syndrome, and I'm finding it a little uncomfortable.



• is Mad Men especially depressing this season? Don Drapper as a divorced alcoholic = no fun at all. Even his womanizing is now creeping me out (Anna's niece? Ew).




• is Mad Men revealing a little too much in the damaged side of their characters? I'm looking for a little redemption here, people, and that New Year's Eve episode was almost my undoing. No, not Layne Price, Don! Betty is an unrelenting, miserable shrew. One felt bad for her when Don was cheating on her, but now that she's divorced her vendetta against the man is almost unpalatable and it makes Henry Francis less of a man in the process. Thank god for Peggy.



• is Mad Men gearing up for Stonewall? The riot happened in 1969, and it's only just 1965 in the show, but almost every episode this season there has been a gay vibe to it. From Lee Jr. forcing everyone to take a turn on Roger's lap to Don and Layne being identified as "queer" on New Year's Eve to Peggy's new lesbian friend, it definitely feels that way. Just bring Sal back already!



• is Rubicon going to say that 9/11 is a conspiracy? Right in the pilot, they let you know that Will's family perished at the top of the World Trade Center where he was supposed to meet them. Um, WHY were they at the top of the WTC on a Tuesday morning at 8:30AM? The restaurant didn't open until lunch. I'm completely ambivalent about Rubicon right now. I adore James Badge Dale. (He's my new fake husband.) But I cannot stand one of the executive producers of the show! (Side effect of working in Hollywood.) Plus shows like this never end up being as smart as they want you think they are. (See, Lost.) I'm watching for now, but there's already little tiny cracks in my interest. Fissures that might just break wide open and make me pissed off that I ever spent one minute of my life watching it. I'm just putting it out there....

A Little Personality

One of my little nieces has been very sick recently and continues to be in the hospital. Complications from her surgery last year, it seems. She's doing fine today and doctors say she might be able to go home on Saturday. Through it all, I've been very calm. Unlike last year when I was a complete mess. But Cara is quite the little trooper. And believe me when I tell you, the kid seems to be a daredevil, too. When I last saw her back in May, she was so very confidant that she was bodily throwing herself off the couch head first...at eight months. It was enough to give me a heart attack. Strangely, because of her innate fearlessness, I have a feeling that the only thing that is ever going to slow this kid down are things that will be beyond her control. Other than that? Look out world.

About seven years ago, one of my very close friends gave birth. I visited her about three months into her new motherhood. The baby, Sarah, calmly watched me as I fed her a bottle. The steadiness of her gaze, the curve of her lip, gave me the feeling that she wasn't too impressed with me. While usually babies will look at you blankly or close their eyes contentedly or wait happily to see what you're going to do next, this kid was considering me, dare I say judging me. It was a bit disconcerting. From the moment I met her, I knew that Sarah was going to be Serious. (And boy is she ever.) Don't get me wrong, she's still a carefree, jubilant child. But she considers. She is a thinker. Always has been, always will be. But it was the first time that I ever noticed that babies come pre-programmed with a definite personality past the bland Happy Baby and Cranky Baby monikers kids are slapped with.

The twins seem very much like babies I've seen before (probably their father, my brother). While Cara goes head first into the world, Chloe seems to be a bit more hesitant. While she too went for the edge of the couch, she thought twice about swinging her body over the side. She voiced her need for help, and my brother put her down next to the already-on-the-ground Cara. Abby, for her part, is a watcher. An observer. Why bother getting involved when you can just entertain me from here? Thanks...

I'm excited to see these three grow up, even if it is from a distance. These days, I've been wondering how I can close the 3,000 mile gap, but nothing is presenting itself. In the meantime, I will try to get to the houses of the babies in my immediate vicinity (yeah, A., I'm looking at you and J.), and appreciate small toes and fingers and fine baby hair, and little emerging personalities.

Today

My brain is on fast forward today. Things I'm thinking:

1) I cannot believe that my gorgeous twin nieces are one today. I'm seriously missing me some baby right now.

2) I'm missing baby so much right now that I texted my sister that she needs to get on a plane with her baby -- my other niece -- and come visit me. When she shot me down, I promptly booked my flight back to Connecticut for Christmas.

3) I booked my flight home for Christmas. Let me tell you something, it was pricey this year, and I had an awful feeling it was only going to get worse.

4) I need more money for a few reasons: (a) I need a vacation; (b) it would be nice to go back east for a week or two (see 1 and 2); (c) see 3.

5) I bought a belated birthday gift for myself. I saw this on Romancing the Tome (see Blogs I Read and You Can Too) and had to buy one. It was between the Flannery O'Connor house or the Emily Dickinson house because blue and pink are accent colors in my bedroom where the poster will hang. The Dickinson house won only because its Massachusetts and I'm a New England snob.

6) I want that poster to arrive, like, now.

7) I want to go home now. The funny thing about that statement is that I'm not thinking of a particular place, but a feeling. I want to feel calm, at peace, and content. I'm done with the running around, pursuing a career, and trying to gain or acquire something. I want to live the life of a dilettante. I want to have a very nice house by the Atlantic Ocean where small nieces can come to visit and where I can write whatever piece of literature I want whether it be a romance novel, screenplay, or kids picture book without worrying about how I'm going to finance such a life.

I'll Tell You a Story

When I was a little girl living on Candy Lane, my mother used to take me to the library once a week to pick out a stack of books. I loved this ritual. Really, I can't express the brilliance of going to a place where books are stacked to the ceiling once a week, pick out ten titles, read them over and over for seven days then bring them back and pick out ten new titles. Who ever came up with this, must have had a place in his heart for novelty or known small children who bore easily. Anyway... One of my favorite kind of books to borrow were picture books. The kinds with no text. Why? Because I liked to make up my own story. In fact, I was pretty sure I was very good at this storytelling and used to make everyone in the house -- mother, grandfather, uncle, baby sister, babysitter -- listen to me while pointing out the pictures. And can I just tell you, sometimes one page would take three minutes. (I was very long-winded as a child. I bet you're shocked!) Flash forward thirty years....

After a business trip to New York where I met up with a friend and her six-year old daughter, I was inspired to write a children's picture book about the experience. I came home, wrote up the text, and sent it off to my former roommate and asked her to illustrate. The pages came last week with my birthday card. Over the weekend, I laid out the pictures to rewrite and shape the text so that visuals and story flowed seamlessly. About mid-way through the project, I got light-headed and had a bit of a flashback to when I was a young girl racing outside to show my father a picture book I got from the library and to tell him the story that I imagined it told. Here was that same exact experience, but this time in real life. It was no longer a fantasy, I was actually writing the story the pictures told.

Whether the book gets picked up by an agent or whether it gets published is almost not the point (almost), but it occurred to me that I've been a very fortunate individual. I have lived out most of my childhood dreams and fantasies. I have created them and made them into adult experiences. And that does count for something.