Wednesday, February 27, 2008

02/27/08 My New Boyfriend

Here's a picture of my new boyfriend.

I came home last night after a day of particularly intense upheaval, personally and professionally, only to find that Tivo had, of its own accord, recorded an episode of Mega Disasters entitled Super Swarms, about locusts and their impact on humanity.

"This is stupid," I thought, as I highlighted the entry. "Who in their right mind would want to watch a documentary on loc...." But then I had to shut up, because the narrator was saying something utterly compelling about mandibles. And I was hooked.

This afternoon, Kimberly and I were talking about this. "Been watching Discovery Channel, have we?" she commented on my MySpace. And I remembered that I had no idea what channel it was on, because Tivo had recorded it for me. Just 'cuz. And I joked with her that if Tivo were a man, I'd have to marry him. Oh, sure... it's funny when you say it like this, but... let's think about it.

Tivo thinks of me once or twice during the day. A couple of times a day, something crosses Tivo's path and Tivo thinks, "Gee, I think Amanda might like this." Tivo lets me watch and rewind, watch and rewind, and never loses its patience. Tivo sometimes overdoes the lovin' by taking my Season Pass totally to heart and recording every blessed showing throughout the day of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, when I'd really be perfectly happy with just the 11 pm showing. I get a little peevish about this sometimes, until I remember that Tivo only wants to make sure my needs are being met. And then, I have to smile.

I've decided that these are the qualities I need to find in a man. Someone who puts up with my capricious, oddball ways without complaining. Someone who stops in every so often in the course of his day and says, "I must remember to show this to Amanda -- I think she'd get a charge out of it." Someone to whom my happiness is important. Someone who wants to edify and enlighten me, but in a sweet, entertaining way.

Tivo is my new boyfriend. Until such time as the human version walks through the door.

~C~

(cross-posted at MySpace)

Monday, February 25, 2008

It's All Mary-Mia's Fault!

Back in December of last year, when Mary-Mia from Do They Have Salsa In China was feeling a little punk and decided to try and keep her identical twin 3-year-olds occupied with a video so she could rest, she inadvertently started a bit of row as to whether the girls would watch "Mee-Moss" (Mickey Mouse, Rose's first choice) or "Six Babies" (the DVD of Jon & Kate Plus 8, Marie's preference). As per usual, Mary-Mia videotaped the ensuing smackdown (okay, it was more like an inadvertent elbow to the eye, but still... ) for our amusement.

I'd heard of the former, but I'd never heard of Jon & Kate until Mary-Mia blogged about it. When TLC ran a Jon & Kate marathon a couple of weeks ago, including all three documentaries, starting when the sextuplets were 18 months old, in anticipation of the new series TLC is launching, I thought I'd give it a look-see. I Tivo-ed it. I've watched it. Four times. Then I created a Season Pass on Tivo for the show.

For the uninitiated, Jonathan and Kate Gosselin had problems conceiving and turned to fertility treatments to conceive their twins, Mady and Cara, now 7, born in the fall of 2000. A couple of years later, Kate thought it might be nice to know what it felt like to have "just one baby," so she cajoled Jon into trying for another baby. They conceived SIX -- three girls, three boys -- born in May of 2004. By the time Kate was 28 and Jon was 26, they were the parents of eight children under the age of four. GAK!

And yet.... There's something compelling about them as a family. Kate is an admitted organizational-freak-a-germ-a-phobe with slight OCD tendencies. The episode where Kate is interviewing for a part-time housekeeper has some hilarious moments when she is describing to them exactly what she expects them to do. She'd be obnoxious if you didn't understand that what she's asking them to do a couple of days a week, is what she actually DOES -- every day -- while parenting eight children!!! She isn't asking any of the potential house cleaners to do anything she doesn't do every day -- sometimes, TWICE a day. The looks on the faces of the applicants as she describes what she does is PRICELESS!!

Jon, who is the more laid back of the two parents, gets a little flack from Kate from time to time for his easygoing, time-not-imperative pokiness, especially when they're in the trenches, so to speak -- going to cut a Christmas tree, going to pick out Halloween pumpkins and take a hay ride, taking the kids to their first dentist appointments. Someone somewhere, you can bet, is going to have a first-degree, five-star meltdown along the way, and they both know it. Watching how each parent approaches it, with their vastly different temperaments and personalities is really fascinating and endearing.

They get a bit short with each other and there's a fair amount of bickering at times. But there are episodes here and there where Jon and Kate manage to steal off together, "sans enfants," as it were (the "tummy tuck" episode, the "shopping spree" episode). In these moments (brief though they are) it is obvious that Jon and Kate Gosselin adore each other and make a really good couple. If Kate is the propellant and the rudder for the family -- getting them up and going in the right direction -- it is Jon, with his equanimity and calm under fire, who acts as the retro-fire braking system that keeps them from spinning out of control full-bore into hyperspace. In their confessional-style interview moments, with the two of them in a over-sized armchair, they are like any married couple who have found a way to make it work -- charming, funny, smart, they finish each other's sentences, laugh at each other's jokes, poke, prod and tease each other, but they love. Clearly, they love.

You would have to love to stay. Because, as lovely and adorable and interesting as the Gosselin house is to peak into every week, living there would truly drive the average person round the bend. When Oprah asked Jon and Kate how they coped with the monumental responsibility, Kate replied, "We take it one day at a time. All there is is today."

The truth is, I love the Gosselins. Not because they have eight children. But because they're honest about what having eight children does to a person, to a marriage, to a life (to Kate's belly, hence the tummy tuck episode). One child puts stress on a relationship; eight would break most. In the first episode, during a confessional interview, Kate related that Jon told her, during the most difficult first few months with the sextuplets, "You know, Kate, six babies isn't that many babies. Fourteen would be a lot of babies." In the interview, Jon waited a beat after Kate finished the anecdote, then added, "Now, I think one more would push us right over the edge." One of my favorite Kate Gosselin lines is, "I'm sure there are perfect parents out there, but we're not any of them." Honest. Real. Humble. Occasionally hovernig on the brink of madness. You know.... like me, but for a much better reason.

It's hard what they do. It's work. And in Jon & Kate plus 8, all the seams show. But it's worth it for the Gosselins. And for me. Because now, I'm hooked.

And it's all Mary-Mia's fault.

~C~

Jon and Kate plus 8 can be seen on Mondays on TLC. Check your local listings for exact times and channels.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

THANK YOU!

FINALLY!

Scientific evidence to PROVE what we already knew.

Pregnancy leads to brain damage.

I'd tell you all exactly what that means, but... I forgot.

~C~

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Thing To Do in 2008

I tend to shy away from resolutions, because things we "resolve" to resolve are so rarely ever fully resolved (bad habits broken must forever be avoided, weight lost must constantly be kept off, etc.). That's where my "List of Things to Do" comes in. Yes, I have one. And I'm not talking about the one that tells me which errands to procrastinate over on any given Saturday. I'm talking about the Big List.... the one that deals with my -- you should pardon the expression -- "issues." Yes, it's true... I have "issues." But then, so do you... and you... and you over there (don't be hidin' behind your neighbor, actin' like I can't see you). You all have issues, and so do I, and so does Dick Cheney (in spades!), and so does Angelina Jolie, even with all her money and her big, poofy lips.

So rather than "resolve" to do something I may or may not be able to "resolve," I'm just making a list... a list of things to do in 2008. Things that need to be fixed that only I can fix. Things that need to be handled and arranged better to my liking.
  1. New job: No joke. Really need to get me a new one of these. I need to start teaching for a living, or working for a publishing company, or actually supporting myself as a writer (or any combination thereof) sometime this year, because working in the legal department of a major motion picture studio is the opposite of being creative, and it's sucking my creative energy.

  2. Finish losing the weight I put on during Daddy-Palooza 2006-2007. That's about -- gulp! -- forty-five pounds. On someone who's not even 5'4", that's a whole lotta weight.

  3. Turn fifty. Okay, this one doesn't really need to go on the list, because, hey, it's happening in November. But I want to do it in style -- a party, or an exciting trip somewhere, and I want to have No. 2 accomplished by then, so I look completely hot for whatever I'm doing to celebrate. I plan on buying a very expensive, chic little dress and some very tall, impractical shoes.

  4. Get a literary agent. I'm tired of being told how impossible this is, how hard, how it's nearly futile, how it happens to only the luckiest few budding writers.... Yeah. I get it. Now shut up about it. I don't want to hear that kind of naysaying bullshit from another breathing soul (if they want to go on breathing). It's happening, it's happening this year, and you can either help or get the hell out of my way. (If there's anything ambivalent or confusing about No. 4, please feel free to write me and ask for clarification. I dare you.)

  5. Finish the triathlon. In one piece. Undrowned, unscraped, un-shin-splinty. So there.

  6. Get a home. Not just another crappy apartment. A home. As in house. As in, with a yard. With a space to plant bare-root roses (yellow in memory of my godmother, Linny). And room for a boxer (the dog, not the prizefighter). I am through asking permission about what colors I can paint my walls and how many pets I get to have and what kind of showerhead I can have. I'm a grown-ass woman, and it's time I exercised all rights and privileges therein.

  7. Be more patient. Stop the foot-tapping, steering-wheel-pounding, standing-in-line sighing. Enough ahready. This isn't a conspiracy against me. I need to just grow up and get over myself. Likewise, to be more tolerant of people's oddities and peculiarities. You know what, if you want to eat sardine-and-peanut butter sandwiches, as long as you're downwind of me, that's fine. I'll go on loving you all the same.

  8. Stop apologizing for being me. It occured to me during the whole ordeal of the past eighteen months that I have spent the better part of my life apologizing to somebody for being me. To my mother, for being born at a time when she wasn't prepared financially or emotionally to have a child. To my father for not being... well... Christie Brinkley. To my ex-husband for not being his mother. To various men* that I've dated for not being, alternately, too virginal, not virginal enough, too opinionated, not decisive enough, too headstrong, too sensitive, too young, too old, too fat, too short, too blonde, too redheaded, too... Well.... shit.... just too "too," really. My new motto when it comes to people in my life, particularly male-type people, is this: "I'm not sorry. I don't apologize. Please don't forgive me. Please don't 'fix' me. Please don't deconstruct, reconstruct, rescue or repair me. This is the package, and if it's not what you want, this town is chock full of 'Acting for Commercials' classes that are chock full of plastic-titted bikini models just waiting for you. The door's thataway. And it locks from the inside."

  9. Travel. I want to go to Maui (with Kim) for fun this summer, and I want to go to Prague sometime before the end of the year. I want to see Prague before they start using the Euro, and my weak-assed American dollar isn't worth the paper it's printed on.

  10. Finish "Vision," the collection of linked short stories about a half-dozen people who see (or think they see) an image of Virgin Mary on a freeway support at the corner of Pico and Sawtelle.

  11. Finish a first draft of "Death of the American Western," the novel I started in the MFA program. It can (and mostly likely will) be, in the words of Ann Lamott, a "shitty first draft**," but it has to be finished and ready for revision by December 31, 2008.

  12. Get the publication arts certificate. This will hopefully provide me with certain skills that will allow me to accomplish No. 1 and (spoiler alert!) No. 13.

  13. Be financially secure. Need I elaborate? I thought not.

  14. Get more sleep.

  15. Eat less crap.

  16. Take less crap.

  17. Have more fun.

So, there we have it. My List of Things to Do in 2008. It's ambitious, for sure. I dare say there'll be things that flop over on the the 2009 list. But that's okay. I think it's important to set the bar high, so lots gets, if not accomplished, then at least attempted. We'll meet back here, next January, to discuss what did and didn't get done, and how it all came together in the end.

February is almost upon us. The month of "that holiday." No, not Presidents' Day, you knuckleheads! Valentine's Day. I've always dreaded that day. I think I'll add a codicil to my list right now.

18. Have fun on Valentine's Day. By hook or by crook. Whatever it takes.

There now. That's better.

On an unrelated note, but still newsworthy: My very good friends, Valerie and Matthew will be bringing their new daughter home from Ethiopia in late February. Come to think of it, maybe it's not entirely unrelated at that. Little Josephina will have her own tiny list of things to do when she arrives -- learning to hold her head up, cutting some teeth, getting some decent hair on her head, figuring out how the hell that damn opposable thumb thing is supposed to work, and learning how to modify her parents' and siblings' behavior, simply by smiling and/or spitting up. Her list will be just as important to her as mine is to me. Maybe remembering that is the way to keep from taking all this "list" business too seriously. It is, after all, just a list of stuff that needs doing, one thing at a time, and we're here to get as much of it done as we can in our allotted time.

That's my List. And I'm sticking to it. Until Josephina gets here, and then I'll be putting some of it off to play with the baby.

~A~

* Not that it's exactly been the Cavalcade of Stars, mind you.
** If you haven't read
"Bird by Bird" by Ann Lamott, please don't post a comment chastising me for referring to my work as "shitty." "Shitty first draft" has a very specific meaning in this context, and I mean what I say. Buy the book and read it. It's artistically edifying, and it's a hoot and half.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

And, Thus, I Hand Over the Crown

It is with a mixture of gratitude, nostalgia and pride that I pin the "Meanest Mom on the Planet" tiara onto the glorious head of one Jane Hambleton, 48, of Fort Dodge, Iowa. It's been a long and fabulous run as "Meanest Mom", my darling subjects, but all good things must come to an end, and Mrs. Hambleton has proven herself to be more than amply capable of assuming the throne.

According to this CNN article, Mrs. Hambleton only made two rules when she purchased her 19-year-old son a 1999 Oldsmobile Intrigue: "No booze, and keep it locked."

When she found a bottle of alcohol under the seat, she decided that the best punishment would be to sell the car. She placed the following ad in the Des Moines Register:

"OLDS 1999 Intrigue. Totally uncool parents who obviously don't love teenage son, selling his car. Only driven for three weeks before snoopy mom who needs to get a life found booze under front seat. $3,700/offer. Call meanest mom on the planet."

So far, Jane has received 70 phone calls, the majority of which came, not from interested buyers, but from people wishing to converse with the planet's meanest mom. All of the calls have been supportive, including several from teachers, emergency room medical personnel, grateful fellow parents and school counselors.

In fairness, young Master Hambleton maintains that the booze wasn't his, but was left there by a friend, which Jane readily admits she believes completely, and which she apparently has ascertained (as would her "Meanest Mom" predecessor) that the argument is utterly moot -- "no booze" means "no booze," period. The lesson (in the words of my Texas granny, may she rest in peace): "Lie down with dogs, you'll more than likely get up with fleas."

So, here's to you, Jane Hambleton. My tiara is off to you. Hold your crown high, accept this bejeweled sceptor and take your walk down the runway before your subjects. May your reign as "Meanest Mom on the Planet" be every bit as rewarding as mine has been.

~C~

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

The Happiest of New Years to You All in 2008!!

Went to the most fun New Years party I've ever been to -- very small, but with a bunch of New York actors. We ate Chinese food, we drank almond champagne (a new fave), we watched some Luciano Pavarotti in his last concert from Central Park, we watched the ball drop in Times Square... hug, hug... kiss, kiss... nosh, nosh... nosh some more. So much fun....

Left the party totally wired at 3 am, got home and couldn't even think about getting to bed until 5. I was Eliza freakin' Doolittle. Got up this morning totally energized after only about four hours sleep, then went to Macaroni Grill with my daughter and her boyfriend. Lovely lunch, went to Target, spent money on DVDs on sale, and a new purse and wallet (desperately needed Christmas presents to myself), then came home.

Now, I'm going to toss one of my many new DVDs into the machine and wile away some time on this chilly, windy New Years Day, and spend the remaining alone time I have tidying the apartment and doing some purging of stuff.

If the year thus far has been any indication, 2008 is going to be a very good year. I go back into training for the triathlon this week, and am starting a new food plan tomorrow that I hope will whittle the ass down to some less cumbersome from running around the desert.

Here's to 2008. May you all find yourself on the path to your heart's desire.

XOXO

~C~

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Graduation Day

Photographic evidence for you all that I did, in fact, actually graduate on Sunday. And I managed to walk across the stage in heels without tripping, which was good.

Also, note to self. The next time I graduate, I'm going to cut a nice little bang into my hair. I look like such a doofus in the morterboard, but Jillian, to my immediate left looks kind of darling with that little bang. So stylish....

Oh, well... spilt milk. It doesn't matter -- I got me a big new fancy MFA. Don't you love that new post-graduate degree smell? Mmmmm...

~C~

Saturday, December 15, 2007

A Day of Victories

Yesterday, I had my final reading for my MFA. I read an excerpt from the first chapter of a novel I'm working on. It went well.

Savannah was there, along with a couple of good friends. I taught my class on Wednesday, and that also went well -- though I fell about ten minutes short of material. Thank God I had a talkative, question-askin' bunch of folks. I'm hoping my evaluations are merciful. Today, I go back for a few final things, the closing conversation, and then....

I'm done.

My list of things to do from here on out are as follows:

1. Buy shoes for graduation ceremony

2. Go to Santa Barbara tonight and watch a good friend's band.

3. Get up tomorrow and get to hotel where ceremony is being held.

4. Walk across stage to receive diploma without tripping or falling off new shoes.

Then, I will be a bearer of a post-graduate degree.

And tonight, my daughter told me that, when people asked her how I was doing, she told them I was great, that I was getting my MFA, that I was training for a triathlon, and that... wait for it... she was very, very proud of me.

(sniff, sniff) I'm fine. Anybody got a tissue?

Fairly happy here.... Just sayin'....

~C~

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Tomorrow, It Begins... and Ends.

As you can see by the counter at the top of the blog, my MFA graduation is a mere ten days away. My final residency begins tomorrow. My manuscript is done (see photo at left), my paperwork is (mostly) done. I have my outline for my final lecture nearly done, though I need to sort out the wording for the writing assignment (which will, mercifully, eat up about 20 of the 50 minutes I'm supposed to lecture). I haven't decided on a final reading yet, but I have a lot of options, and I'll decide later.

Words cannot express my feelings right now. I am nearly done. I'm almost out of school. I've been working and going to school since 2003. I'm this close to getting a bit of my life and free time back.

Here is a little list of things I will be able to do, starting on December 17th:
  • Read for pleasure (chick lit, anyone?)

  • Write for pleasure (blog posts, anyone?)

  • Play the Sims 2 and not feel guilty

  • Resume my 3D digital art endeavors

And that's just a start. Of course, there is the part where I have to put together my CV and start looking for teaching jobs, so I can teach and write and not have to type contracts for spoiled, pampered, prima donna actresses anymore. There's that. But I can work it all in.

Oh, and for anybody out there considering going back to school and working fulltime, here are two things you need to stock up on before you attempt it. (See photo at right)
~C~

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Finally... I'm published.

The newly minted MySpace lit journal, Nouveau Blank, has published one of my short stories, entitled Til We Come Round Right, for it's November issue. This could be the beginning of a trend -- where I actually make the effort to submit my work, and, occasionally, people actually take the time and trouble to publish it.

Hmmmm...

Enjoy.

~C~

Thursday, October 18, 2007

IF THE BLOG FITS

As promised in yesterday's post, I tried to personalize my donation website provided by Team-in-Training, but it is pretty limited. It is still the place to go to donate, and it's set up well for that. But it doesn't allow me to whine to the desire I choose.

So I've created a new blog -- TriCathLete -- in which I will sob and cry my way through share the process of competing in the Toyota Desert Triathlon Sprint in April of 2008. It's still inventing itself. But I'll try and make this process as entertaining as possible, for both of us.

Check it out. Then wait a couple of weeks, and check it out again, when it's likely to be MUCH more interesting.

~C~

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Taking One for the Team (In Training, That Is).

(Cross-posted at The Catharine Chronicles and MySpace)


No turning back now. I've started training for the Desert Triathlon Sprint event on April 20, 2008 in La Quinta, California. I am officially a member of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Westside Team-in-Training, or, as my sister and her endurance sports friends call them, "The Purple People." TIT is the athletic event fundraising arm of the association (there are a couple of different fundraising methods LLS uses regularly).

LLS, in case you don't know, provides funding for research, treatment and support services for people suffering from blood cancers, including Hodgkin lymphoma, non-Hodgkin lymphoma, myeloma and leukemias. It is is a very worthy cause, and it is my goal to raise $3400 for LLS between now and the end of March. I have already donated $100 to my own cause (lest you think I'm not willing to put my money where my hamstrings are). $3,300 to go.

I will be training for the Sprint distance of the Triathlon -- that's a 450-meter swim, a 14-mile bike ride and a 5K run. It ends up being about half the distance of a full Olympic or International distance tri. I figured as a newbie, this would probably be the best way to break into it. I have discovered, though, that I actually enjoy training this hard in a lot of ways, that it's pretty good for me, especially emotionally, and that I may actually (do I dare allow myself to believe?) be kind of good at it. I won't be finishing first, by any stretch, but I will be finishing. I like cross-training a lot, and it seems to fit my ADD with a precision heretofore unknown in past athletic events.

This is my Team-in-Training website, (yes, I go by my middle name, Amanda) which I haven't really personalized much (except with a photo). I will be rewriting my little intro (as I'm sure many of you have already guessed) and will be posting better, more relevant photos ("see Catharine running," "see Catharine on bike," etc.) I will be also updating it in terms of my how my training is progressing ("see Catharine keel over," "see Catharine gasp for air, while simultaneously begging for her mommy," etc.) It is the means by which donations can be made, if you should feel so inclined. (I'll be nagging more about this later, because it's a noble cause and because, well, I happen to be a fairly annoying and tenacious person.)

So... tomorrow is our first team swim practice. I haven't done any serious swimming in a very long time. I hope I don't come off a total doofus. In fact, let's say a collective prayer together, shall we?

"Dear (insert relevant personal Higher Power here):

Please don't let Catharine look like a total doofus tomorrow when she swims on Thursday.

Kind regards.

Yours, sincerely,

(your name here)"


Thanks for your support.

~C~

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Childish Things

"But when I was no longer a child, I put away childish things..." (1 Corinthians 13:11)

One of the good parts of being a grown-up is getting to be your own parent. Feel not taken care of? Feeling not cherished? Feeling unprotected and undefended? Feeling unappreciated and abandoned? You get to do that for yourself. You get to be the parent. To you.


My sister has spent nearly every waking hour cleaning, sorting, discarding, repacking for storage, in my father's house. I have gone in at the end to help her tie up loose ends, to sweep and Swiffer, to try and make the place at least somewhat presentable for showing to sell at the end of the year, when the probate court finally says it is our. Finishing the emptying of this house -- seeing it actually empty -- I find that there's a strange freedom in it. But a fear and unfamiliarity with the house has taken over that prompts a little bit of fear. It's not our house anymore. It has ceased to belong to us, or to anyone else. It will again, shortly before it's demolished to make room for a 4,000 square foot ranch style home, no doubt. But it's empty now, of all of its contents, as if it had been turned on its side and shaken clean.

No more negative energy coming from that dark, dark house, where I first moved when I was my daughter's age. The negative energy left in early July. I used to believe the house was haunted. Now I know it was. It was haunted by a sadness and terror so profound, so desperate that it permeated every corner of that house. It was my father's terror and sadness. I've come to see that his meanness and cruelty were really just outward manifestations of his fear of the world.

I believe that we all have demons. We all are haunted. We spend a good part of our youth hiding from our demons, whether it's through drugs, alcohol, workaholism, religious zealotry, daredevil stunts or nonstop partying. But our demons are not so easily fooled. They're looking for us. And, invariably, they find us. And how well or badly we handle being found, I think, is the crux of how we end up.

My father did not fair well when the demons finally caught up to him, I don't think. He became scared -- to work, to drive, to leave his house, to be in a group of people, to talk to strangers. When we were growing up, my father had that Texas talent of being able to get any group of strangers talking, to him and to each other -- even in elevators, where no one speaks, lest the mechanism snap and we all go plummeting to the ground. He made friends with everyone, everywhere. Gregarious, charming, funny, smart -- he could be the life of the party. He was still friends some forty years later with the couple that had the season ticket seats next to his at the Colliseum for Los Angeles Rams games (yes, you young sprites -- they started in L.A.)

But as he grew older, he let his age and his grey hair, his receding hairline and his fading youth take hold. He had some run-ins on the job with hotter, younger writers, directors and producers who made him feel as if he were washed up. This is all part of the strategy of this business, of course -- it's commonplace. He wasn't the only one, and plenty of other men his age and older had weathered that onslaught and given back as good as they'd gotten. But he let them break him down, make him mean and old and useless and used up before his time. And I think it was mostly his fear. My Dad was always a blusterer, but even as a child, I think I saw that he was also a fraidy-cat. The reason he talked to people in elevators is because he didn't feel safe being quiet amongst them. If he got them talking, he could get a gauge on where they stood, both logistically and emotionally.

He had a hard time reading people -- their energy, their affect. He was one of the most inappropriate people I've ever known. When he was young, with a facile, spry sense of humor, that lack of social editor could make him wickedly funny and irreverent. As he got older and slowed up, instead of simply changing his tack, learning what to say and what not to say and when, and altering the trajectory of his barbs to places less sensitive to the touch, he simply got vicious and harsh. He knew he was saying things that offended people, that hurt them, and though he tried not to show it, that bothered him. He was like a man in a foreign land who speaks little of the native language, and becomes angry at the indigenous peoples for their refusal to understand him.

Because I believe now, as I've never believed before, that my father really, really wanted people to like him. That was important to him in a way he could never admit. He wanted to be liked. More than that, he wanted to be adored. Maybe even wanted to be everybody's favorite. That's why acting was so important to him, I suppose, and such a disappointment when it didn't work out, and he had to turn to writing. Though he was good at it, maybe it wasn't the best profession for him. It's a solitary endeavor, and requires the doer to be willing to do a stint in isolation to get the job done. Alone with this thoughts was maybe the worst place he could be. It was probably hard for him, thinking of how social he used to be when we were small. But it got easier and easier for him, until one day, he went inside, and just never came out again. On many levels, both real and figurative.

Now, it's official. Jack Sowards has left the building. And, after thirty years of collecting every material thing he could get his hands on -- guns, photographs, books, magazines (some from the early 60s), memorabilia, broken furniture, various house vermin, roof leaks, televisions, computers, various parts of computers, software (mostly on 5 1/4" disks), LPs, CDs, VHSs, DVDs, a gaggle of functioning and non-functioning watches and lighters -- his house is now nearly emptied of its contents. Thirty years of nicotine stains have left the walls a deep caramel brown, with only occasional squares where a painting, picture or piece of furniture once stood to reveal the original color.

This is what's left of my father's life once it's been picked over and disassembled and transported. The house is empty. Not a ghost in sight. Just a badly dilapidated, uncared for house that was once quite a nice place to live. It is our inheritance. It is our legacy. It and the memory of the man who lived here is what we have left of that time. But that's okay. Most of those memories are painful ones for me. They're from my late adolescence -- the remnants of my childhood, I suppose. But I am no longer a child. And so, all that's left now -- now that my mother and father have both died -- is for me to be the parent.

It's time to put away childish things.

~C~


(cross-posted at MySpace)

Sunday, July 08, 2007

MORPHINE AND CHOCOLATE

My father has been ill for quite some time. As many of you know, I moved in to his house to care for him for several months, until my sister took over those duties in February. He was suffering from chronic obstructive pulminary disease and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's Disease).

He finally let go early this morning. He went peacefully, with no pain. Penny was periodically spooning chocolate sorbet onto his tongue so he'd pass away with the taste of chocolate in his mouth.

Hence the title of this post.

Thanks to all of you who gave us your words of support and encouragement these very difficult past few weeks.

JACK BURKE SOWARDS
March 18, 1929 - July 8, 2007



~C~

Monday, May 21, 2007

Here's Something You Never Want to Hear Your Child Say To You Over the Phone.


"Okay, Mom... We went fishing today and... and... long story short... we now have... a goose."


First off, what d'ya mean "we," white man? Second... oh, hell, there is no second... What d'ya mean "we," white man?


They've named it Aflac. They're taking it to the Wildlife Center tomorrow, after it opens. (And that's an order, soldier!)


A goose, indeed... Goodnight, Mabel....


~C~

Friday, May 18, 2007

Stop the Presses!

An arts program in Los Angeles needs our support! Self Help Graphics and Arts, a program that supports Latinos artists in printmaking. The East L.A. arts center has felt the bite of reduced federal and private-sector grant money (since we have this great big war we have to pay for), and is on the verge of having to close its doors. Self Help is seeking alternate sources of grant money, but, as anyone who has applied for artistic or academic grants knows, this is a lengthy process that will require time -- time Self Help doesn't have at the moment.

One look at the samples of their past exhibits will tell you this is would be a huge loss for the arts in this city. Exhibits aside, take a gander at their building! With every passing year, art programs that aren't a part of the entertainment industry (live theatre, live dance, visual arts programs) are vanishing because conservative political forces conspire to syphon funds away from the NEA and local arts sponsors. Programs are being eliminated in our public schools and state-funded universities, and the people feeling this most acutely are people in economically challenged areas. Less grant money means less opportunity for struggling new artists who cannot afford to sponsor their own shows and display and promote their own work, especially in predominantly minority communities. Nothing marginalizes a community more than silencing its artistic voice.

Self Help's website speaks for itself, so I won't ramble on about it. They provide support for artists who might not otherwise find a venue for their work, and gives them the skills and opportunity to get that work shown publicly. That warrants saving. As someone who isn't a visual artist (but plays one on the computer), I ask you to do whatever you can to assist Self Help in reaching its $100K fundraising goal. I know that you guys are being pulled in a lot of directions, moneywise, but a lot of small gifts can go a long way.

Thanks.

~C~

Monday, May 14, 2007

The Television Fates Hate Me!

If I like it, it gets cancelled. That's one of Murphy's most indelible laws.

It's official. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip is cancelled. I survived the West Wing's cancellation. After John Spencer died, and the show was going into its eighth season, Jed Bartlett was leaving the Oval Office, and Toby was on his way to the hoosegow for contempt of Congress, it seemed that the show had naturally run its course. The fact that I also lost Will and Grace (which I'd only just discovered a season and a half before) the same year was hard, but I don't blame myself for that one, since I was a 'Manda-Come-Lately. I've been spending the past five years in school, trying to finish my bachelor's and get my MFA, and I don't watch much television.

But I coped with losing the two smartest shows on television, secure in the knowledge that witty dialogue and smart characters (who do dumb things, which makes them interesting) would be back in the form of Studio 60. Now, that's gone. Where do I turn for my searing, sardonic dialogue, my witty banter, my deeply disturbed, multi-faceted characters who cover their pain with humor and crazy antics?

To make matters worse, since last year, I've lost my HBO, and wno't be able to watch the only other show I love beyond reason (and I mean, beyond reason, because, hey, it's a show about polygamy), Big Love. The season premieres June 11th. My only hope is to DVR it on my sister's set, and hope that I get a chance to stop by and watch it every week.

Don't tell anyone I watch Big Love. I shudder to think what will happen if the Fates perceive my obsession.

Below, a nowhere-near-complete list of my favorite shows cancelled unceremoniously (be aware that some of them were obsessions back when I was, like, fifteen or so):

Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (Couldn't they at least show us the last episodes?
West Wing (Over? Sure, but I miss it all the same.)
Will & Grace (I have my reruns to keep me warm, tho')
Arrested Development
Kingdom Hospital (Odd? sure. Uneven? You betcha. But how can you not love a show where Christ --or is He? -- shows up strapped to a chainlink fence? That's some mighty fine television, dammit!)
Dead Like Me
Joan of Arcadia (I'll admit to bias here -- Joe Mantegna is a friend.)
My So-Called Life
Tour of Duty (they had it backwards -- the show should have lasted for 11 years -- they should have cancelled the war after three)
St. Elsewhere
Sunshine (God, I had it bad for Bill Mumy -- I was sixteen, gimme a break!)
Star Trek (the original series)

There are probably more, but this is all that came to memory right off the top of my head. I told someone the other day that I'm a television jonah. I'm cursed. I'm taking it personally (because when you stop and think about it, who's it all about?)

Damn.... damn, damn, damn....

~C~

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Why an MFA? Sr. Catharine of Perpetual Cellphone Bills Explains It All For You.

As I get closer and closer to finishing my MFA, I have had a couple of people ask me why I bothered, since its not like you can't write without one. This is ever so true. People all over the world write beautifully without MFAs in Creative Writing. So why, indeed? Why should a writer spend over $30K to get a degree that won't necessarily make them a better writer*?

I wrote an essay over at Helium that explains my stance on this issue. Hope you enjoy it, and I hope it answers all your questions about this topic... so that I don't have to.

~C~

*For the record, I have absolutely no doubt that the MFA experience has made me a better, braver writer.

Friday, May 04, 2007

What YOU Write!

But enough about me and what I write. Let's talk about you, and what YOU write. Or what you might write, if you be courageous enough to pick up the soon-to-be-thrown-down gauntlet.

Every year on November 1st, tens of thousands of intrepid writers and writer-wannabes gather over at National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo.org) to undertake the Herculean task of writing a 50,000-word novel in a mere 30 days. Impossible, you say? Nay, say I, and so says NaNoWriMo's founder and yearly participant, Chris Baty. Baty founded the site in 1999 with only 21 writers, convinced that the biggest stumbling block novelists face when sitting down to write a first draft is the absence of a deadline. Baty refers to the deadline as the single most important tool in writing, next to the implement with which the writer applies the words to paper. In his FAQ section, Baty writes:

"NaNoWriMo is all about the magical power of deadlines. Give someone a goal and a goal-minded community and miracles are bound to happen. Pies will be eaten at amazing rates. Alfalfa will be harvested like never before. And novels will be written in a month."
And they are. In fact, Baty lists eleven novelists who've published novels that were birthed as NaNoWriMo projects. There are no awards given (except an icon, a certificate and the satisfaction of a deadline met). It's art strictly for art's sake, says Baty. At the end of it all, a writer is guaranteed nothing but a good headstart (or, more optimistically, a completed first draft) of a novel.

But wait, I hear you say! We can't wait until November to begin our writing adventures. And besides, we laugh in the face of expositional narrative prose! This is Hollywood, baby, and in this town it's all about the screenplay. Well, fret not, my starsmooching little friends. For now, there is a sister site to NaNoWriMo called ScriptFrenzy.org. And if you hussle on over there right this minute, you'll be in time to sign up to write a 20,000-word screenplay in 30 days in the month of June. The same rules apply to the screenplays as to the novels (with the exception that screenplays may be written by a partnership of two writers, whereas novels must be singularly authored).

Writing is a solitary business, and one of its downfalls is that a writer can fall victim to the oppressors that live inside her own head. The benefit of spending 30 days, twice a year, locked in mortal combat with a literary endeavor, and being in that boat with thousands of other fellow combatants similarly engaged, is that you have back-up, support and many voices of sanity that will bring you out of your head and back on the path to getting the words out. As my mentor, Rob Roberge, has said, "A first draft's job is to get written." That's all. Just get written. Because every writer knows that writing is rewriting, and you can't rewrite what has yet to be written.

So, my little spectators, it's time to get those feet wet in a safe, supportive atmosphere where you don't have to show anyone your work if you don't want, but will find a receptive audience if you do.

Let's see what you guys can write. C'mon, baby. You know you want it.

~C~