TV you should be watching

Admittedly, Jeff and I watch too much TV. We tell ourselves it's ok because it's our together time. And that's actually true--we spend as much time talking about what we're watching as we do watching it. The way a character has been written, the cinematography, the lighting in a shot, or how that guest director did on the "special" episode. So, since we are obviously the experts on good TV, I wanted to let you know what TV shows you absolutely must be watching right now.

1. Pushing Daisies--This is the best new show no one is watching. It's quirky and fun, with characters sometimes breaking into song, a narrator, bold colors and costumes, and a seriously silly premise. The main character can raise people from the dead. Unfortunately, once he has touched them, they can only stay alive for one minute before something else around it dies. This can cause some serious problems as you can imagine, especially when he finds his first love has died. He can't bring himself to touch her twice (and so cause her to die permanently), so he lets her live. He hooks up with a PI and they bring murdered people back to life to find their killers. It sounds really dark, but it's surprisingly sweet. This show is for people who are fans of one or more of the following TV shows or movies:

• Edward Scissorhands
• A Series of Unfortunate Events
• Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
• Little Shop of Horrors
• Northern Exposure
• Stranger Than Fiction
• Anything else Tim Burton directed
• Gilmore Girls

It's also Chi McBride at his best, plus Swoosie Kurtz, and Kristin Chenoweth. It has a real fairy tale feel and has characters you will love. It's both innocent and macabre, strange and silly. It's hard to describe, so just check it out. (ABC, Wednesday night)

2. Brothers and Sisters--This is probably my favorite show right now. Obviously from its many Emmy wins, they're doing something right. I can't rave enough about Sally Fields (nobody cries like her!), but the supporting cast is fantastic too! Sure, it's a little soap opera-y, but who cares? This season my heart is breaking for Rachel Griffith's (fabulous in Muriel's Wedding) divorce and child custody saga. It is engaging, funny, smart, and just plain fun to watch. It makes everyone simultaneously wish for and dread big families and all the trappings that go with them. It's just fun to see a family who deals with their dysfunctions and issues with love. It feels very real, like, "Oh that's exactly how my family is" or "Geez, that's just like my mom." It makes it more fun to watch. Plus the acting and writing are top notch.

3. Journeyman--Another show with a trippy premise. A guy randomly takes "trips" into the past to try to help someone. And no, it's not about drugs. It has the feel of a procedural to keep you engaged for that particular episode while at the same time mining the vast riches of "What if..." involved with time travel. This gives it a delicious Lost of Heroes feel (when those shows are at their best). Why is he traveling? Who controls the "trips"? What if he's with his kids when he travels (since the vanishing is out of his control)? Why is his former fiance (who is supposed to be dead) also a traveler, and why does she show up on his trips? It's great fun.

4. Chuck and Reaper--These two shows are, sadly, too alike for their own good. Both feature average Joe's in extraordinary situations, each with a dumb/funny sidekick and an unrequited love seriously out of his league. I tend to like Chuck better because I like the main guy better. The guy on Reaper gets on my nerves and I think the chick he's in love with is kind of a loser. That being said, Reaper wins when it comes to sidekicks. Reaper also has Kevin Smith on its side (he works as a producer and writer), but it's just not as endearing to me as Chuck which has a real world quality that I appreciate. I just care about all the characters more on that one and, ask my husband, that's often a big factor me when watching movies or TV. Either way, you should check out these shows. Chuck is on NBC and Reaper is on the CW.

5. Aliens in America--If you love Freaks and Geeks, My So-Called Life, or The Wonder Years, you'll love Aliens in America. This show is about a kid who is so unpopular, his parent imported him a friend. They thought that the blond, hunky guy on the brochure would be the awesome exchange student who would be coming to live with them and instead a Pakistani boy shows up in their Wisconsin town. It's fantastic! Gilmore Girl's Scott Patterson is wonderful here as the boys' father, and their mother is an overbearing yet loving (and well meaning) woman who lives vicariously through her children. It is funny and sweet and relevant for today. There is no socio-political heavy-handedness like you might expect, instead, it focuses more on any kid's high school nightmares. None of it would work if it weren't for the earnest, innocent acting of the exchange student. He's so endearing, you want the whole thing to work. And it does.

Normally, I would have Heroes on this list, but right now, they're dumping up that show. I'm still watching, because I just feel like it has to get better. Other shows you should be watching and you probably already know it: The Office, Scrubs, Survivor, CSI, House (seriously, if you're not watching House right now, you'll kick yourself later. It just gets better and better). If I had written a week ago, I would have included a list of show you should avoid, mostly just Viva Laughlin. If you had the unfortunate joy of watching either of the only two episodes to air, you will join me in saying how truly painful it was to watch people randomly break into singing over the original voices of pop songs. It was so bad, I can't even structure a sentence that can capture the experience. May I sincerely say that it should NOT rest in peace.

Home again

So I'm home. I wanted to write again before I left LA, but the internet is not always super accessible. During the last few days of my trip I saw UCLA, which is a really cool campus. I took some pictures around the theater building. They have this really neat sculpture garden surrounding it with sculptures (clearly) and benches and walkways and fountains where you can hang out. I couldn't get into any of the theaters to see them or anything, so I just kind of checked the place out. I tried to talk to someone from the playwriting program, but the receptionist mostly just said, "Have you checked out our website? We don't have anyone you can talk to. Check the website." So the jist of that experience is that UCLA is a big state school and I am just one more person who might like to go there. It's also a big program, so although my chances of getting in are good, so are my chances of getting lost. After that I went down to the beach in Santa Monica and saw the pier. I walked up and down and enjoyed my first viewing of the Pacific Ocean.

The workshop on Saturday was amazing. It was at USC with three of the professors of the playwriting program. We talked about our personal writing styles and our challenges with writing and then they led us in some writing exercises. It was fantastic. It may just be because I've had little to no formal writing training, but it was really illuminating for me and gave me new ways to develop character, story, and structure. I soaked up everything they said like a sponge.

What was most helpful was getting a few tools in my hands that help me feel like I can really do this. It was empowering and somewhat daunting at the same time. There were about 15 writers around the table, some of whom I know are applying to the same writing program. They only accept 3-4 people into the program each year in order to keep it very intimate. I know how much I would benefit from that kind of small group atmosphere. They said that people from all levels of experience are accepted into the program, so I just have to let my work speak for itself.

After the workshop my friend Andrew drove me up as far as we could go to help me get a good pic of the Hollywood sign. I'm not gonna lie--that was cool. After that, we had a hard time thinking of other "touristy" things to do. See, when I think of LA, I mostly think of famous roads--Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood Blvd., Rodeo Drive, Mulholland Drive, etc. So once you've driven on those and seen what's on them, I can't think of what else to do. I did drive down to Malibu, just to see it, and saw Pepperdine University which is built up on the sides and tops of mountains overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was breathtaking!

My favorite thing I saw was a trolley of people on one of those "Homes of the Stars" tours. We pulled up an intersection just as they did and they all leaned out the sides taking pictures of a big beautiful house that looks just like every other big beautiful house on that street. But, because Paris Hilton or some other tartlet just bought it they need a picture. It was delightful.

I saw the hotel where they filmed "Pretty Woman" and the building where the Screen Actor's Guild is housed. Andrew said we passed Danny Devito on Mulholland, but I didn't see him. I'll admit, I forget to look for stars.

So, I liked LA. I certainly don't want to settle down there for any significant amount of time. The traffic alone makes me want to run for the hills. It's so different than anywhere I've ever been before--you can see how people get eaten alive out there. At the same time, I know I couldn't live there without being stretched beyond my usual self, and in some ways that could be a very good thing. I'm taking this opportunity to check into some other schools in other cities just to make sure I'm looking into all my options.

Here's the second half of my list of things I learned about LA:

1. There are an average of 300 sushi restaurants per square mile in LA.
2. Palm trees can be really BIG!
3. "McGriddle" is the same in both English and Spanish.
4. You can get a sunburn in September.
5. Atlanta should teach LAX something about airport security.
6. I could really get used to 75 degree weather.
7. Incredible views can always surprise you around the corner.
8. Avoid the 405 at all costs.
9. The Fresh Prince no longer lives in Bel Air.
10. The Chinese love the Chinese theater.

So, I enjoyed my trip and neither loved nor hated it. It will be interesting to see how grad school works out!

In case some of you haven’t heard, I’m in Los Angeles right now. I’m out here checking out grad schools and going to a playwriting workshop at USC. I promised family and friends I would keep in touch through this blog, so here goes.

My travel day was long and exciting. I saw a mother who had her 3-year-old on a leash. Yes, a leash. This is a clear representation of her mothering style. While we watched the in-flight movie, she ignored junior while grandma tried helplessly to keep him in his seat, caught rolling matchbox cars, and generally tried to keep the little darling in one place. Halfway through the movie, grandma managed to get the kid to sleep. Mom just watched. It was charming.

Generally, speaking, though, travel was fine. I turn into a 5-year-old when I get on planes. I love looking out the window, and even having gross cheese and crackers is fun because it comes in a neat little package. I arrived in LA and was picked up by my friend Andrew. On the way back to his office, he tried to show me some of the sights like Mulholland Drive, Sunset Boulevard, and Jeff Goldblum’s house. It’s really cool in case you’re wondering.

I met Andrew’s boss, Fern Champion. She’s kind of a legend in casting (she cast Saturday Night Fever) and she’s super cute. Exactly like I expected a legendary casting director, long-time LA native to be. I hung out with Andrew as he made calls and worked for a little while. I’m pretty sure careers were made or broken as I sat there.

Last night, Andrew and I had dinner and then he tried to show me where I would need to go today to get to California Institute of the Arts. It was an adventure I can’t fit here, but suffice it to say it involved the 101, disappearing roads, and bad directions from the Del Taco. We passed out when we got home. I went down to CalArts this morning to see their campus. It’s in Valencia which is north of LA. It’s a small but cool campus. This school was started by the Disney’s back in the 50’s and they are one of the premier art institutes in the country. I haven't decided if I want them to want me yet.

I went to Hollywood Boulevard today to see the Gauman's Chinese theater and the touristy-ness of the whole street. I spent most of my time driving around looking for a parking space that wouldn't cost me my life savings. I finally found a parking meter with 22 minutes still on it. I added a quarter. The gods of parking spaces were certainly smiling on me. I saw all the stars on the walk of fame. I was going to try and find Merryl Streep's, but it was pretty crowded and there are a ton of them! What was cooler to me, though, were the cement blocks in front of the theater with people's hands and feet and signatures. There's something humbling about knowing, Gee, Jimmy Stewart stood right there. I took a picture of me putting my hand in Rita Hayworth's and a pic of Rosalind Russell's. Her movie, Auntie Mame is one of my all time favorites. It's hard to tell in the picture, but hers says "Auntie Mame was here." Love it! I also made a wish in the fountain there in the pavilion. No, I can't tell you what it was or it won't come true!

I think I like LA--it certainly has its own vibe and rhythm. It reminds me of Rio, as weird as that sounds. The mountains and the sprawling buildings look and feel the way Rio did. Unlike Rio, though, the pace of everything here seems fast. In Rio I felt like I could take my time doing everything. Here I feel like I need to hurry up even if I don't have anything to get to. Another major difference from Rio is that there the poor live in favellas on the hillsides and the poor live in the valley. Here, it's exactly opposite. These huge expensive houses are up on the hillsides on Mulholland and in these canyons. Think: Beverly Hills.

So anyway, my feelings are not entirely negative and not entirely positive. It's just so different from where I've lived and visited before. In fact, I almost feel like I’m an exchange student in LA. To help others understand my experience, I’ve decided to include a list of things I’ve learned from my trip. I will add to it as needed.

Things I’ve learned about life in LA:

1. LA looks kind of like someone tried to move southern Florida to the desert.

2. Cell phones are a must. This way you can stand in lobbys, hallways, parking lots, and coffee shops talking aggressively and setting up meetings with people.

3. There are three driving speeds here:

a. As fast as possible

b. As fast as possible while on the cell phone or putting on mascara

c. As fast as possible and not braking until I am in the back seat of the car in front of me

4. Not all mountains are round and green.

5. Yes, you’ve seen that building in a movie.

6. Rita Hayworth had really small hands.

7. The term “dry heat” is a made up phrase by people in the south. 90 is still hot with or without humidity.

8. Learning to drive in Atlanta rush hour traffic is a plus when driving in LA.

9. Stereotypes of people in LA are all true.

10. Paris Hilton’s new house is too big.

11. There’s no way Jack Bauer drives across town in 20 minutes while text messaging. Especially if he takes the 405.

12. Avoid the 405 at all costs.

13. The 101 does not go to Valencia.

14. Yes, that guy sitting next to you in the coffee shop is an actor. So is the guy across the room. And everyone is working on a script or a book or a "project".

That’s a start. I’m sure I’ll learn more as I keep going. I’m headed to explore UCLA tomorrow, and then I’ll go to writing workshop on Saturday. I’m very excited about that. I’m having to beg, borrow, or steal internet, so I’ll post when I can!

Martha I am not

Sandi admiring my work...
does she look nervous?

I'm teaching myself to crochet. My Mimi crochets and I always admired her afghans and baby blankets. Since my mother, her mother and sisters all sew and are "crafty", I have been a little embarrassed by my own lack of any of those skills. Oh, I can slip stitch a hem into a skirt or sew a button back on for my husband, but that's about the end of my sewing skills. Besides, there are very few people these days who could make their own clothes or create something out of yarn. There's some part of me, some deeply feminine part, that wants to be able to create these crafts and very practical things we need in our lives. Plus, sometimes I get bored watching football with my husband and crocheting sounded like something that would keep my hands busy.

Thus, comes the decision to buy the "I Taught Myself to Crochet" kit. It came with several hooks, some other needle type things and rubberbands. I'm still not sure what those are for. I boldly bought some yarn and began to teach myself. After practicing a few beginning stitches, I decided I was going to make a blanket. So I convinced my husband to come along as I bought 14 skeins (that's a fancy word for "roll of yarn", thank you very much) of this gorgeous multicolored yarn. I started on a scarf, just to get myself warmed up for the blanket, and got frustrated. I couldn't understand the pattern, I felt like my stitches were all over the place, like the scarf was getting bigger and smaller, and I just didn't think I was good at this. So, I abandoned the whole project for a while. I made two different moves with all that yarn. Since Jeff had packed and moved the yarn twice, he began to mock me. This is the only motivation I needed.

So a week or so ago, I started again, this time with a simpler pattern. It turned out ok. So far, most people get distracted by the pretty colors of the yarn so they don't notice that the scarf gets wider, then more narrow, then wider on one side and smaller on the other, etc. It is a terrible mess. But I'm proud I finished it. Here's a pic (but you can't tell from this how really sad it looks):

Feeling emboldened by this success, I started on a hat to match the scarf. Knowing this would be much more complicated, I found a cheap skein (I totally know my crochet vocab) of white yarn to practice this one. It started out great. It was actually looking like a hat! As it continued, however, Jeff kept asking, "Shouldn't it, you know, curve in?" I told him to trust the pattern. See, in crocheting, it is absolutely imperative that you follow the pattern very closely, that you count the stitches very carefully, and that you understand the sizing of the stitches so that your final product fits correctly. Knowing this, I totally ignored it. So, my hat looks something more like the top of a jellyfish than a hat. Here's Jeff modeling it for you:

Regardless of this minor set-back, I have really enjoyed myself. My Mimi says my stitches look great, even if the hat doesn't actually fit on any person's head. So I'm going to keep making things. I figured this would be a great Christmas to give homemade gifts. So, if you've been waiting for that zigzagging scarf or you were really hoping for an amoeba-like hat thing that doubles as a wrinkly doily, this could be your year. I'm currently taking orders.

A Memorial

I just learned that my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle, passed away yesterday. She was 88 years old and died of natural causes. She wrote many books, including her most famous book, A Wrinkle in Time, for which she received the Newberry Medal for children's literature. I've read many of her books, many of them as an adult rather than a child. Her ideas were startling to me, but were very freeing. She was a christian who reveled in science as an expression of the awesomeness of God. She was never afraid to challenge the status quo of the religious establishment because in her faith, her God was big enough to stand up to our tiny notion of who we think He is. Mostly, her imagination was refreshingly vivid and broad.

I am most indebted to her because of her book Walking on Water. Like many young artists, this book changed the way I saw what I did as an artist and christian. She called for christian artists to step up their game, to never settle for mediocrity in what we think of as "art". She saw art as a pure expression of the nature of God. Most importantly, she opened up the world of so-called "secular" art for me. She said that true art tapped into the glory of God and reflected creation. If you can see that through the art, it doesn't matter what religion or background the artist had; it was true art regardless. She says it so much more eloquently than I can--if you have any artistic leanings, please take the time to read it. Her ideas may really expand your horizons.

I love her writing. I have always felt a kinship with her through her writing. I guess that's why I feel like I've lost a friend. Some of her books are very personal, especially a series she wrote about a summer she spent with her grandmother as she was dying. She always let her readers into her life in a way that was intimate and special. Always, her writing was about life, the dark and light parts of it, about good and evil, and the unquenchable power of love.

Madeleine, you will be missed and remembered. I hope and pray that my journey as a writer could lead me to drink as deeply, to write as beautifully, and to imagine as limitlessly as you did. You have blessed and changed my life though you never knew my name.

To the City of Angels!!!

It's official--my tickets have been bought and my plans are laid--I'm headed to Los Angeles at the end of this month! I'm going to a playwriting conference at USC. It also includes an information session about the playwriting MFA. Since USC is my goal, I figured I should pony up and take a risk.

I'm worried about my portfolio--since so much of the stuff I have written has been intended for a christian audience, mostly teenagers, at first glance it can seem very narrow in scope. I'm hoping to put a good spin on this, since I already know what it means to write for a specific audience and I understand writing short scripts. I'm hoping they can see past my limitations to my possibilities.

Plus, with Jeff and I thinking so seriously about moving out there, it seemed like a good time to head to the West Coast to check it out. If I get out there and hate the city, hate every school I visit, then I may need to check more seriously into some other options.

I'm also looking at some schools close to Chicago. I know Jeff could probably work there and you can't deny that Northwestern is a great school. So, I'm hoping this trip can give me some insight into the next few years of our lives. I promise to post plenty of pictures of my trip. And, I'll take tips on what to do and see while I'm there!

Until then, I have to find a job and start earning grocery money! Here's hoping Starbucks calls soon!

Self-doubt

So sorry to my readers. You've informed me after my recent declaration that no one is reading that...you actually are reading. Sorry. Jeff would say that this is one more example of my own self-doubt in my abilities. Maybe he's right. Sorry to have doubted my friend's attention to my life or my writing abilities. Thanks for reading!

I spent several hours the other day researching grad schools. It's a little overwhelming. I have the same feeling now that I did when I went to an all-call audition (similar to SETC for those of you who know what that is): I am way under-prepared. I have this feeling that everyone else who will apply to these schools have tons more in their portfolios and have had more class work in creative writing. And maybe that's true. I know it shouldn't stop me if this is what I feel like I need and want to do, but it is a bit daunting.

I've always kind of felt like I was the "wrong" kind of artist. You know how artists are portrayed in movies? Young actresses, the serious kind mind you, are always seen as brooding, philosophical girls who where too much make-up or flowing skirts and peasant blouses. Or writers are eccentric geniuses who chain smoke or drink too much. They are always tortured by their inner demons. They come from abusive families or lock themselves up for days at a time working on projects or just seem a little otherworldly. It's ridiculous, I know, but I somehow think that all artists are really like this.

Not me. If I described my childhood to you, you would swear I grew up in the Cleaver household. Yes, the one that named their kid "Beaver". My parents are still happily married, as are both my brothers. My grandparents all had 50+ year long marriages and none of them drank or smoked or spent time in jail. My family life centered around church and my parents didn't want me to have to work in high school to enable me to do community theater. I don't have any major vices unless you include the inability to work without deadlines. I love my husband, and we have been very sensible about money so there's no chance of us starving to death or having our cars repossessed.

I think I might be too boring to be an artist.

Of course, there are people who would say I'm crazy for feeling this way. Madeleine L'Engle, my favorite writer of all time, would say I'm ridiculous, that true art has nothing to do with vices, or tragedy, or at least that they aren't necessary to be a writer. Not that they can't. Some of the greatest art has come from those very things. But she would remind me that true art is a reflection of God Himself, that it is connecting to a deeper place within myself, a truer place, and finding the story that is waiting to be told.

I believe this is true, but there will always be a little part of me that believes that I needed just a little more tragedy, just a little more sadness in my life to break through the walls of my own fear and lack of creativity to somehow plug into the creative forces that birth art. And some part of me always will.

Popular

Jeff and I are finally settled in our new home in Montgomery. Jeff will be working at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival this year. ASF is one of the top regional theaters in the nation and is the only theater in this country who is allowed to fly the flag of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Pretty cool, huh?

One of the great things about our move is that we had a friendship ready made when we got here. Jeff's friend, Bert, and his wife Sarah live about twenty minutes away. We love them, though, really, when you first look at us, you would realize very quickly we have almost nothing in common. Bert is, to put it mildly, a good ole boy. He was born and raised in southern Alabama and has the accent to prove it. When Jeff was in high school, he and Bert spent many afternoons in Bert's hometown of Grady riding four wheelers, driving cars too fast on small dirt roads, and generally getting into trouble. Think "Jackass" minus the cameras. It's not hard to see where Bert and I might part ways.

Now, despite our major differences, we have great fun together. We love to hang out, if only to hear what stupid thing Bert has done recently and watch Sarah roll her eyes as she tells about the his most recent video game purchase. And finally, we hit upon something that all four of us love: MOVIES. Bert and Sarah love going to the movie theater and Jeff and I have more DVDs than is really necessary. Finally, I thought, common ground!

Okay, you've probably already guessed that Bert and I are not going to love the same movies. And it's true. I could watch "Bringing Up Baby" once a week and think I had died and gone to heaven. Bert's probably never heard of Cary Grant or Katherine Hepburn. Bert really loved "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry". I am not sure I can adequately describe here my feelings about Rob Schneider without reaching for some very nasty words.

And I'll be honest, I never expected Bert to like "The Fountain". If you haven't seen this movie, it's a very "artistic" movie, meaning that it's more about the way the movie is made, the ideas and characters, than about the entertainment value. It's a beautifully shot movie. If all you did was watch the movie with no sound on and just focused on the lighting he uses to tell the story, you could still tell what was going on. But, the story line is non-linear and the actors play more than one part in different time periods. It's no popcorn summer blockbuster--definitely not something everyone will love.

I did enjoy the movie. But Bert hated it. He didn't understand it, he found it boring, and so it has no value and no meaning for him. This certainly doesn't mean that the movie was bad. It has artistic merit. It is a story of life and death and actually, has the Christian theme of life coming from death, especially sacrificial death. And like I said, it was beautifully shot, well acted, and enjoyable for people who love art films, quirky independent films, etc. I really enjoyed it, though I appreciated it more on an artistic level rather than saying it was "entertaining".

It was somewhere in the middle of "Rush Hour 3", as I sat next to Bert crunching on popcorn, watching Chris Tucker utter some of the most awkward pieces of dialogue ever delivered, that I though "There has to be something in the middle." OK, I'll happily admit, I enjoyed "Rush Hour 3" for the most part. Yes, the dialogue was terrible. Yes, the plot was almost indiscernible and mostly superfluous. But, I laughed out loud at some moments, enjoyed the adrenaline rush of stupid, unbelievable action sequences, and relished in the pure joy of Jackie Chan and Tucker singing in 1940s era costumes. But nothing about it was artistic. No part of it pushed to a higher level of artistry or had any significant meaning.

My friend Drew was the first "artist" I knew who unabashedly enjoyed what was popular. Yes, Drew, I know you read this blog and I credit you with helping me enjoy popular entertainment. Which is a good thing, because my husband loves mindless action flicks. But I think there has to be some middle place where entertainment and artistry can meet. Take "Transformers" for instance. OK, so the mechanic girlfriend was mostly eye candy for the 14-25 year old male crowd, but this was a very well done popular entertainment movie. It had plenty of cheap thrills, it had comedic moments, and ultimately, it had a theme of good vs. evil, loyalty, all those things you want your kids to learn. You can see this in the comic books movies like Spiderman, X-Men, or my personal favorite, V for Vendetta, which so poetically explored political ideologies with kick-ass action.

But the movie I most fervently feel fits this criteria is "Stranger Than Fiction." This movie was quirky enough to be a small independent film, with all the budget and acting chops of a blockbuster. But especially, the script and story were just wonderful. I cared about the characters (a must in my enjoyment of a movie), I got caught up in the story, I laughed, I cried, I was entertained. But the story, the cinematography, the dialogue, and the acting made it more than just a popcorn flick. But you know what? Bert really liked this movie. People who don't always like movies liked this movie. People who are too snobbish to watch "popular" movies liked this movie.

I hope to write stories like that one. Something that can reach people from different walks of life, different points of view, and different movie preferences and bring them together in a well-done, smart, enjoyable movie.

I don't think anyone's reading.....

So I started this blog months ago and I really suck at it. I'm thinking I need a better disciplinary action here........so I'm going to force myself to write on here at least four times a week even if I think I don't have anything to say. Just so you know.....in case anyone out there is actually reading this.

I've been highly transitory this summer.....from Tuscaloosa to Huntsville and back.....not to mention the two weeks I was going between B'ham and Tuscaloosa like always but also going to Huntsville on the weekends......then to the beach then back, then to Tuscaloosa to get moved. The part 1 of our moving day was a lesson in travel in itself. Since we couldn't move into our new apartment for two weeks, we drove between Tuscaloosa, Montgomery, and then back to Huntsville to stay with my parents for a few days. We're now in Atlanta, seeing grandparents and biding our time until we can complete part 2 of the move and actually get into our apartment.

All this moving makes me think about the first year I was married. Something about say "I do!" turned on a little button inside me that screamed "NEST!" I'm sure this wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me well at all. We were poor as any newlyweds usually are, and we couldn't afford for me to decorate anything, so of course I was all hot and bothered by this. When I was being really honest with myself, I could admit that I really wanted a house. I wanted to paint the walls, hang curtains, and plant a garden, regardless of the obvious fact that my mere presence kills plants. None of that mattered. I felt like, as a married person, I really needed a permanent home with my fine china displayed, linen on the table, and a regular schedule of friends coming over for wine and cheese.

This is why I married my husband. He spent most of his time assuring me that the life we were leading is how most people do. And even if that weren't true, we were glad that all our furniture was hand-me-down, and that we never had anywhere to unpack our china to. This would keep us light and spontaneous, able to move easily and follow our dreams at a moment's notice.

This was hardly encouraging to me.

But in the years since, I've been thankful. In the (almost) three years we've been married, we've lived in 3 different apartments and we're about to move into the fourth. We've been able to shed and trade furniture at will, never worrying about what we paid for it or whether or not we had paid it off yet. We can still fit everything we own in a 17 foot van, and I've finally gotten up the courage to do something wild and crazy--move to LA. Something in me knows that if I had nested that first year, settled into a condo or house I loved, painted walls and planted a thriving garden (harty har har), that dream would never have happened.

A Fairy Tale of Customer Service

Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a beautiful castle with her prince and her lovely dog. She wished that she could simply wander the gardens of the castle all day long and sing lovely songs, but alas, the price had gone back to school to pursue his career in art history. Although the princess thought this was a very silly thing for a prince to do, she loved her husband very much and wanted to support him. To make ends meet, the beautiful princess decided to go back to work.

She hated the idea of manual labor (she could see the peasants living in squallor below the castle walls as they slaved away and it seemed very distasteful to her), so she decided to take a job in customer service, answering phones for a small non-profit wand company who provided discount wands for the poorest of wizards and elves in the land. How difficult could this job be? The princess was very well-liked wherever she went, and was considered far and wide to be the most charming lady in the land. She was sure that she would have no problems helping people on the phone.

On the first day of her job, the princess showed up much too early because she was excited. How lovely to have a desk and a phone and a stapler! How quaint and fun! When she was shown her desk, she set up a picture of her prince, which she kissed for good luck, and started to work.

Before long, the princess realized how tiring the job was, to always be at the beck and call of the phone, but found that, in spite of that, she was quite enjoying herself. Over the days of working the job, she decided it was nice to help people on the phone. Often they would call with very distressing problems and she was able to calm their fears, or give helpful advice. When that happened, the princess felt warm all over. Of course, there were plenty of times where someone would call with an obvious question that surely any person could have answered without making a phone call. Those calls were annoying for the princess, but she tried to remember the good days when someone called with a terrible problem she was able to fix.

Then, there came one day, one terrible day that the princess had never prepared for. The day started innocently enough. The princess was busy, but not too busy. When a phone call came in, she picked up.

"Customer Service Solutions, how may I help you?", she said in her charmingly sweet voice.
"I have a problem" sneered a voice on the other end.
"Well, you've called the right place! We want to help you in whatever way we can!" The princess silently congratulated herself on her cheerfulness in spite of the sneer from what seemed to be a disgruntled witch. "Now, how may I help you?"

"Well, considering how useless your company's product has been so far, I can't imagine you could be any help," said the voice. The princess was surprised at the rudeness of the voice, but took a deep breathe and plunged ahead.

"Oh, I'm so sorry you have had diffiuculties with one of our wands! Tell me what the trouble is."
"The stupid thing won't work. This morning I turned my cat into a frog!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I'm assuming that this is not the spell you intended to cast?"
"No, it was. I was trying to turn the stupid cat into a frog! The cat was driving me crazy with his mewing and shedding and scratching up my cauldron!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't think I see your problem with the wand. If you intended to turn the cat into a frog then the wand worked correctly."
"Oh no it didn't" the witch, "I wanted it to be a frog with blue eyes. Instead they were green."
"Did you specify eye color in your spell?"
"No."
"Then the wand worked correctly. Unless a particular detail of a transformation is specified in the spell, then we must assume that the wand is functioning correctly." The princess was again impressed with her own charm and disarming logic.

"No," said the witch disagreeably, "The wand doesn't work. I want a new one."
"But-", began the princess.
"No 'but's' from you, missy. Your company has a satisfaction guaranteed policy and I am dissatisfied. I want a new wand and I want it now."
The princess couldn't seem to get the words out that she needed to say. Her thoughts were tumbling around like a drunken fairy. How could anyone be so selfish? How could anyone be so demanding? The princess breathed deeply, and brought out her deepest reserve of loveliness and understanding. She wasn't a princess for nothing.

"Ma'am, I understand that you are dissatisfied with the wand, however, unless the product has actually malfunctioned in some way, we simply cannot replace them."
"Why?" the witch demanded. For some reason, this simple word disarmed her in a way nothing else had before. The princess was shocked to discover that the witch seemed impervious to her charms. She grasped for words but came up with nothing. She could almost hear the witch growing more satisfied with herself by the moment.

"Well--I---we have a policy..." she said weakly.
"Policy schmolicy" said the witch, "it's called a satisfaction guarantee. I am not satisfied. You guarantee me a new wand. Period. That's it."
"But surely you don't mean..."
"Surely I do. I mean that you should send me a new wand, pronto. Oh, and I expect a full refund for the first defective product"
"Please, we are a small company, we are trying to provide wands for those without the means to get one themselves. We can't do that if we're returning merchandise and giving refunds on them as well! Can't you see that?"
"You want to talk about giving back? I give back! I always give everyone fair warning before I turn them into something nasty. I actually gave one trespasser a running head start before I turned him into a newt. 'Twas more than he deserved."
"I appreciate your--ah--position, ma'am, but I simply can't refund your money."

It was a lost cause. No matter what the kind, beautiful princess said, no matter how much charm she mustered up from her soul, the witch would not be appeased. They went back and forth for what seemed like hours, the princess saying sweet customer service phrases and the witch demanding nothing less than a new wand and a full refund.

Suddenly, the princess had an idea. "Ma'am, I think that the person you really need to talk to is my manager. I'm sure he'll be able to answer your questions to your satisfaction."

"What a relief," said the witch, "Someone competent!"

The princess pretended she hadn't heard that, and transferred the call to her manager. When he answered, his voice was so kind to her, the princess almost cried. Pushing back tears, she said, "Bill, I've got a customer on the line that just won't take no for an answer and I don't know what to do!"

"Ok, slow down, tell me what's going on," said Bill. Bill was a kindly old dragon who, in a former life, had been quite the community terror. A brush with a local knight had been enough to scare him straight. He was a very kind manager. The princess quickly related the story, trying to stay very neutral. As she finished, though, she couldn't resist saying "She was awful to me and I don't think there's anything anyone could say to her that will make her happy."

"Oh, I see. You think she called just to make trouble?"
"Well, Bill, I don't want to think that anyone..."
"Princess, did she?"
"Yes!", she blurted out quickly. She knew it was probably true.
"Alright then, I'll take care of this one."

The phone clicked as Bill took the phone call. Left alone with her thoughts, the princess finally let one tear fall. She wanted to be strong, but realized her hands were shaking. Still, thinking back over the conversation, the princess had to be happy with the way she had handled herself. A few moments later, the princesses phone rang. It was Bill.

"Just wanted you to know I handled the situation."
"Are we sending her a refund?"
"No. No new wand either."
"Oh, Bill, how in the world did you manage that? I didn't think that old witch would budge!"
"Oh, just great customer service skills. You'll learn the longer you're here how to handle those types." The princess was a little upset with herself. She should have known how to deal with the witch.

"Besides," said Bill, "It's amazing what a little fire through the phone handset will do. After I breathed a little fire her way, she stopped her protest immediately! Thanks for your good work, kiddo."

"Thanks," said the princess absently. If that's what it took what chance did she have? At that moment, the princess made up her mind. She took off her headset phone and laid it on her desk. She picked up the picture of the prince which she glared at as she put it in her bag, and walked out.

She went straight home without speaking to anyone. When she saw her handsome prince she told him she would no longer support his silly art history dreams. She demanded he take up something more dignified and practical, like wood-working. She told him she would never again work such a job and would immediately go back to princessing. She was truly good at that afterall.

And for the rest of their days, the princess wandered the fields and gardens, singing sweet songs as princesses do, and always remembered to compliment her husband on his lovely wood carvings which all seemed to be small versions of famous paintings. And they lived happily ever after.

THE END

Memory

It's interesting to think about the way our brains let us remember things. I hate it, but I can never remember the great thigns about my childhood as vividly as the bad things--the things I'm ashamed of, the things I wish now I could undo. I remember in elementary school there was this moment that I still think about. I'm still ashamed of the way that third grade me handled it.

Stephanie was a big girl--and I don't mean fat. She was BIG--two heads taller than anyone else in class --and broad in the shoulders. I was short for my age, and chubby, but she made me feel like a dwarf. It's never good to be different, no matter the age, but when you're 9, the tragedy seems worse. The taunting was terrible and relentless.

Stephanie carried herself like someone who wished she could disappear--shoulders hunched, trying hopelessly to seem smaller than they were, head down, her voice a quiet whisper. I can remember thinking she was a sweet girl--she wouldn't have hurt another person for anything in the world. That made the teasing much worse. You could see in her eyes how much it really, truly hurt her--she took every word to heart. It would have been better if she had lashed back, if she had lost her temper after one too many jabs, but she never did. She just took it.

Maybe it was that look in her eyes that made me do what I did. I don't remember exactly how it came about--maybe I defended her bravely in the face of jokes and jabs. More likely, I watched, upset for her, and went to her later in the library and decided we'd be friends. I have always hurt for the outcast and tried to do what I could to help. It wasn't uncommon for me to make firends with the problem kid in class--a by-product of my little brother actually being that kid. I knew I was doing the right thing. Stephanie needed someone who would be nice to her.

I wish I could go on from her here and tell you about how that day changed both our lives, that Stephani gained a true friend and we faced the taunting together. i wish I could say that eventually the taunting stopped and that my friendship with her helped change the way others saw Stephanie. I wish I could tell you about how we remained friends through high school, and how even now, we write each other occasionally, that she sends me pictures of her kids and that even though we never mention that awful year back in elementary school, it is always there, present in our love for each other. I wish I could.

But I can't. Maybe my childhood mind couldn't comprehend the fullness of what I had done. I had decided to be a friend to the friendless--I had reached out to someone who had no one else. Her need for acceptance had turned to blind desperation. My simple act of kindness was a breath of fresh air and she ran towards it with abandon, grateful she could breathe it in. Now everywhere I was, there was Stephanie. She wanted to sit next to me at lunch, in the library, she wanted to walk next to me to go to gym class. The more she was there, the more I could feel their eyes turn to me. I don't think I was shunned by anyone ese because of stephanie, but I could feel the possibility of it.....could smell the stink of it.

Suddenly I was terrified. I could be next! It never occurred to me that people might make fun of me for just associating myself with the outcast, but I knew it was coming, sooner or later.

Things changed again at the table in the library. And this is where my memory gets really vivid. I can tell you the color of the carpet, the color of the chairs. I was sitting at a table with my book and, of course, Stephanie sits across from me. She says something to me in her too high whisper, and looks at me with that desperate and incessant need. I snap. "Why don't you sit somewhere else" You're always following me!"

She's taken aback. Her eyes, a clear, washed out blue are hurt, surprised. I hate her for that look, because I instantly know how wrong this is.

"But, Amanda, I..." she stutters out.

"Look, I don't want you to sit here, ok? Just go find someone else to sit with"

I see tears prick the corners of her eyes. She says nothing--why won't she fight back?--just moves away, shoulders hunches, trying to disappear. I hate myself. I feel in the pit of my stomach what a terrible person I am. I know I can get up and say I'm sorry. I know that if I told her that I was just in a bad mood and we could still be friends she would tae me back instantly. Her eyes would light up and all would be forgiven. I know this is the right thing to do.

But I don't. I sit there, hating myself for my cowardice, hating that I can let others shape what I do. I'm miserable.

I don't remember what happened to Stephanie after that. I know that we probably all got bigger and that our bodies caught up to hers so that she seemed like much less of a freak. Maybe the teasing stopped or at least was limited to the those who remained bullies into their adolescense. I hope that she made it through school, grew into someone who wasn't bitter about her childhood and could open herself to the love of others. Maybe she got married, had kids. Maybe she works as a school counselor trying to help kids just like her.

Some part of me, probably the self-loathing part, believes that she didn't. Part of me believes that she became a bitter teen, dying her hair blackand lining her eyes with dark circles. That she became promiscuous, turning to sex to fill the her ache for aceptance. Or worse, drugs. Is it presumptuous of me to think that my actions could affect that much? Probably. But some part of me believes that every action could be that important in the lives of others. Sometimes we do hold that much power in the words we say. Who am I to say that I couldn't have made the positive difference in Stephanie's world?

Whether I made any difference in her world, good or bad, she made one in mine. Why else would I be talking about it 15 years later? She comes to my mind every now and then, usually when I am submerged in my own self-loathing. She reminds me not to let my fears rule me. Fear is debilitating--it makes you at once nothing like who you really are and yet it cuts quickly to the core of who you are to reveal the soft, dark underbelly of who you hide from the world. I try to remember the way her eyes looked that day in the library. I try to remember that feeling in my gut when I knew I had let fear win. Maybe I can walk away from my shame thankful for what it has given me.