Me So Funny ...........................................................................

Occasionally, I will consider a career--really consider it--and decide I would be great at it. For example, I would be an excellent architect, teacher, golfer, professional Boggle player, and writer. But to be an architect I would need to go back to school for an entirely different education, which I can't afford. To be a teacher, I would need to get over my fear of being mistaken for a student, and I would probably need to be more excited about the actual teaching and less about the long vacations. Golf--maybe I wouldn't be a good golfer after all, but I would bring some long needed style to the game. Boggle--I'm not sure anyone can do this game professionally. And writer--ah, well, I'm still working on that one.

The most recent profession, and I think I could actually do this one if I put my mind to it, is to be a standup comedian. I began watching NBC's Last Comic Standing this season, and after seeing all the failures who think they really have something to offer, I decided there no reason I couldn't join them. Now I go around making up comedy routines in my head. I'll start with a not-so-surprising statement like, "I hate picky eaters," and then I'll imagine a picky eater in my head and I'll make fun of them. Then I'll segue into how I'm not a picky eater, but I'm picky about preparation. I won't eat chicken unless it's been so processed that it looks like a bulging finger. Or how Chinese food is so greasy, and, well, I'm still working on how to turn this into a joke. Clearly I'm not stage ready.

But as with most of the other careers I've failed to realize, something holds me back from being a comic. The fear of rejection. I've been up on stage before, enough that I would be able to guage the audience's reaction if things weren't going well. It seems like some comedians never practice the art of translation from their head to their mouth to the ears to the brains of their audience. They never really stop to think if someone else will think their material is funny. They only practice in front of the mirror, playing both parts. They recite their routines to no one in particular while walking down the sidewalk on the way to buy another rubber vegetable for their prop box. And one time, they told their best joke to their mom, and she loved it.

That won't be me. Instead, I'd rather attempt to be funny on this blog, and hopefully, one day, someone will read it and laugh a little.

I Live in My House

Finally, we are living in our house. We have searched, found, closed, and started to paint. Here it is:


The inside is not pretty. We've been painting the upstairs so that we can move all our belongings up there. Then we'll gut the kitchen and open up the spaces on the first level. The house sits back on the property so that there isn't really a backyard, but there is lots of privacy from the street. The patio area (pictured here) is situated between the garage and the house, and has lots of potential to become the fairy-garden I've always wanted.

The work we've put in has been very rewarding so far. I can't wait to have everything put in order, to walk through it all and think "I can do whatever I want here."

And, finally, I'll be constructing my writing room over the next year. It will need a new desk, some inspirational colors and textures, and some cozy sitting places. The ultimate goal is to create a sanctuary that neither television nor general laziness can penitrate. I'm convinced that once I have the writing room I'm thinking of, the room will do half of my writing for me. In fact, I'm blogging in the room right now, and I'm pretty sure the view from the window urged me to write some words, anything at all. "Don't argue," it said, "just write."

The Summer of Harry

I am a mediocre Harry Potter fan. I read all the books and see all the movies and am entertained by them, but am not willing to wear Hogwarts robes or memorize what spells each witch and wizard specializes in. I paid the extra bucks to see the new Potter movie in 3-D (only the last 20 minutes are presented in this format), and I had the new book delivered to my door on the release date. Currently, I am in the middle of chapter 12, but am still able to tear myself away to do laundry, check the housing market, and, apparently, blog.

Reading this book, I wonder how one person could concoct this whole new world and set of characters and captivate the entire planet. I try to get my own wheels turning, wondering what the next craze could be, and if I might be able to create it. It's exciting and yet very depressing to think about. Exciting because it all sounds like so much fun, and depressing because every other writer out there would love to do the same thing, but obviously can't.

Either way, I have to admit I'm still inspired. That is why I deem this the Summer of Harry. It's the last time he'll be so omnipresent, and who knows when "the next Harry Potter" will arrive.

Oh Money! Oh Job! Oh No Thank You..................................

If I could still get away with stomping my foot, clenching my fists, and wringing my face up into an unattractive pout (lower lip turned way down, eyebrows plunging toward the ground), I would throw a temper tantrum right now.

"But I don't want to get a job," I'd screech.

That's how I feel inside. My inner child is scraping at me under my skin, urging me to find any way out of this horrible, horrible thing Responsibility is making me do. "Surely there must be some way out of it?" the little child asks, "Please don't say we have to work. I'd rather play all day."

My eye has been caught by various entrepreneurs and speakers. By jobs that claim not to be jobs. By schemes promising me I'll never have to leave my house for work again. Work as a personal shopper or a mystery shopper or someone's grocery shopper. Learn how to get paid to travel around the world. Make up to $75 per hour on your computer.

But I have yet to find the one I am looking for: Sleep in for big bucks. Bonus checks for staying up late reading and writing.

Please keep your eye out for this job listing. I'm sure I'd be perfect for it.

Happy National Women's Confidence Day

What a great idea. I heard about this on the radio last night exactly while I was reading Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. Woolf was talking about how women (in the 20s) were overcoming the expectations set upon them over the centuries, how the day to day life of a middle class woman was virtually a mystery up until the 1800s, and how even through the 1800s a gifted woman had to hide her work behind a male pseudonym. I started thinking about the obstacles women face in the 21st century, and hearing about National Women's Confidence Day (NWCD) helped to clear things up.

Women are still trying to prove themselves, yet maintain their identity as women. Any year now I'm going to face the decision to continue working or to stay at home raising kids. I have to seriously consider how my priorities will have to adjust when I have a family. And all along the way, I have to have the confidence to make it all work: to maintain whatever work schedule I'm on, to sell my passion as a viable living, and to be the kind of parent I hope to be. Getting much more into the detail than this begins to make my head spin, and my heartrate quickens. Luckily, because I know millions of women carry this off every day, I feel so much better.

And that's what this day of recognition is all about. Here are the goals of NWCD:

• To remind women everywhere to empower themselves with self confidence every day.
• To create an opportunity for women to help other women live more confident and fulfilling lives via educational programs, fundraising, self-empowerment and volunteer work.
• To tribute women who contribute, via education, fundraising, self-empowerment and volunteer work, to other women helping them to gain more confidence and self esteem.

I'm curious to know how Woolf would update her essay 80 years after she wrote it, and especially to see what criticisms of society she would have now. Surely the volume would triple in length with all that's happened to women since Woolf died. But my question is, would Woolf's tune change from having a room of one's own to having self confidence? Well, as far as fiction is concerned, having a room full of self confidence can't hurt.

Fasting for Imagination

Last night I began a fast...of television. I will allow myself a very limited amount of viewing. I have deemed that only weather reports, and certain HBO programs will be worthy of my attention from here on out. And if you're saying to yourself "hmm, this fast conveniently coincides with the finale of American Idol, The Office, Scrubs, and 30 Rock," well, you might be on to something. I can only imagine what I'll do once Project Runway comes back on.

So what did I do with my first night of freedom from the evils of television? Perhaps I worked on a writing project for a few hours, cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed my car, or caught up with family members I have been out of touch with? No. Perhaps I went for a long walk, cooked myself a fabulous dinner, or finished reading the novel I've been neglecting for the past two weeks? No. I read a magazine and fell asleep. Not even the ring of my cell phone with David beckoning on the other end could rouse me. And every few hours I opened my eye just a
crack to see my partner in crime, Oscar aka Mr. Blackpants, basking in the new freedom of being so recently released from the shackels of worthless programming.

Tonight I am going to lay a shroud over the television, to symbolize its death in my living room. Not too big of a shroud, though, I might need to watch something, just a short little something, when there's nothing else to do.

My Life Continues

I just turned in my thesis. The weight of the past two years has finally been unchained, and I can move and flex and walk and...oh, what should I do with myself?

I've been looking forward to some feeling of freedom. Like, what will it be like to come home from work and not have to pull out my laptop and write a paper? What will it be like to travel on the weekend with a book I chose to read myself? What excuse will I think of to get out of keeping the house clean (because really, that is my biggest concern)?

But I also hope that the weight of the past two years continues to exert itself from time to time. I don't want to forget what it's like to work on my writing. I don't want to forget how good it feels to finish a story and think that someone else might like to read it. That, more than obtaining an official looking degree, is what I went to school for. I needed discipline, and I really hope that part of that lesson sunk in and became a part of me.

The celebrations have not yet begun. David offered to throw a party, but my inclination is not to have one. My first big deadline has come and gone. There will be many more. This is my new life, and I hope it's a hardworking one.

Encouraged

I took my car into the shop this morning, and while waiting for the shuttle to take me to work, I met a therapist who asked me what the heck I was doing out here in ol' CA. And so we got on the topic of my novel. He asked what it was about. I gave him a summary, and he was really interested. He liked the idea, and his imagination started twirling. He even remembered an old movie he liked as a child called Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid, which I will add to my NetFlicks queue shortly.

The most encouraging part was his genuine interest. He even offered to give me his wife's card, who works in publishing. I shyly declined. I'm not ready for that, I told him. I wonder when I will be? Maybe sooner if I keep getting positive feedback like this.

Stand Up For the Little Blogger

I've discovered my new favorite hobby. That is, blogging. It makes sense. I say I'm a writer, and what better way to show it than to flaunt it? (Hey, I can hear you snickering, and I don't like it)

This job isn't as easy as it might seem. You have to get over a strange brand of stage fright. You have to think of something interesting to say. And you have to write in all in a way that is provacative and plain makes sense. I've already received constructive criticism as to how I could make my blog more appealing. And don't you know that I stay up late almost every night sweating over what the next blog topic will be?

Here is a ground rule set by some self-proclaimed guru of bloggers:
Celebrities and other well-known personalities -- actors and entertainers, politicians, corporate CEOs -- are the only people who can get away with "themeless" blogs, because readers will tune in to find out what they have to say about pretty much anything. For example, millions of people will flock to a Brad Pitt or Charlize Theron "what I did this weekend" blog; but no one, besides family and friends, will really care what you or I did this weekend. So, unless you have a very unique writing style or an oddly interesting life, your blog must have a theme -- general or specific.

I object! I do I do I do! It's like this guy thinks he is King Kong, and he wants to run around squashing all the little blog uprisings.

I'll admit it: My blog is THEMELESS! Does that make me boring? Perhaps, and if so, move on to the next one. I happen to think that every now and then I will have something good to say. Sure, this guy is talking about the people who think they can blog every day and make money off of it. But simultaneously, he is crushing the inner writer in all of us.

You see, there has been a problem devoloping alongside this fancy internet world. While we focus on faster, easier ways to communicate, we are losing the art of communication itself. When was the last time you sat down and wrote a letter? And who has time for Christmas cards any more? That's right, only little ol' granny sitting at home (cause she's afraid her computer will take over the world).

The solution? Certainly not emails. Oh no no NO! Emails are one of major problems leading to our communicative downfall, along with it's evil little brother, text messaging. What will set us straight again are little things like blogs. Sure, half of them are terrible. But they'll get better over time. And every now and then, a Blogging Star will emerge over the horizon. Who knows, in fifty years there might be an English course called History of the Blog. I even think this blogging generation could spawn the next Charles Dickens. Imagine, a complex blog interwoven with every blog entry before and after it; a serial of electronic life!