Just Write.

For months, I've been wrestling with myself - with my muse, I guess - sometimes trying to write, sometimes trying not to write. In any case, the blank page is indeed like a bull, just like Papa Hemingway said.

Ideas are there. Ideas are always there. It's getting them out the way that I want them that's the hard part.

It's also hard recognizing when something is just a small something, or when it's a larger something, needing time and fleshing out.

Add in the pressure I put on myself to write and it starts to feel like a duty more than a gift.

When I was a kid, I just wrote. That's what I did. I had a Trapper Keeper full of stuff - things I never wanted anyone to see. Sometimes people saw them anyway. But I never had this sort of verbal bottleneck that I have now. If it was there to be written, I wrote it.

It's harder now. I'm sure that part of it is a fear of rejection - part of it's an idea that I know what's "marketable" and what isn't. As if marketability has ever been my reason to write. Writing, for me, has just been what I do. I wrote my first poem at the age of five, and I've never stopped writing since.

Is it crap? Yeah. A lot of it's crap. Some of it is even award-winning crap. One piece is award-winning, published crap. But I wrote it.

I'm trying to remember that writing is what I do. And I'm trying to straighten out the bottleneck.

It's not as easy as it used to be.

It's Farther Down Than You Think.

Tonight, I finished reading A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby. It was a really thought-provoking book for me, apart from the fact that I've about decided that Nick Hornby is one of the most insightful authors I've read in a long while and I'll probably end up reading everything he's ever written (probably by the end of the year, because that will count towards my New Year's Resolution of 100 Books This Year [16 down, 84 to go!]).

The book is about four people who meet on New Year's Eve on top of a tower. They've all gone there for the sole purpose of flinging themselves from said top-of-tower. Three of them are British, one American. They sort of band together and become a little family unit in and of themselves, stemming directly from the single moment where they all simultaneously chose to go on living.

The choice to go on living is one that some of us have to choose to make on a daily basis. You can take that in a broad sense ("Today I choose not to lay down in front of that bus.") or in a narrower sense ("Today I choose to pay attention when my kids/husband/boss is/are talking to me and really plug into this world.").

I'm the narrower sort.

I sometimes feel like my entire brain is wrapped in cotton. I have to make a conscious effort not to check out and listen to the wind-chimes in my head while people are talking to me. Sometimes, I have to make a conscious effort to live in the now.

I don't know that that makes me special - I think it just makes me tired.

At one point in the book, the little group reconvenes on the top of the tower, whereupon they witness someone actually doing what they contemplated. They try to talk him down - try to get him to join the "gang," but he stares at them and then scoots over the edge. This single event brings utter clarity to the group as a whole: whatever store of courage one has to have to actually end it, none of them truly have that.

This brings up another interesting, and, sadly, timely issue for me. To me, this is the difference between people who actually eat the gun, actually asphyxiate, actually overdose, and people who fuck around in bars doing recreational drugs, sleeping with dangerous people, drinking themselves stupid and riding on the hoods of cars around the block. (I have done two of those things - can you guess which ones?)

It's the difference between people who do these things not because they truly want to kill themselves, but more because they want someone to look and say "wow - she has a real death wish" and wonder why - just take an interest in them, no matter how fleeting - and the people who have a very serious and real desire to end it all right this second because nothing will ever change their minds.

It's the people who don't care what other people think about them anymore who have the nuts to actually do it.

My mother's cousin actually did it on Christmas Eve. She ate the gun. She quit caring what other people thought - she just did it.

She also thought my grandmother is a prophet.

What's the point? There is no point. There is only food for thought. I'm not saying you have to reach out to every unstable self-hater shooting smack in the bathroom of your favorite club. I'm not even saying you have to suddenly understand Paris Hilton. (And if you do suddenly understand her, I demand to know what brought this little epiphany on, and if we should keep you away from bars and dangerous people.)

I'm just saying, think about it.

Maddy is a Big Kid.

Tonight, after the Super Bowl, we were brushing Maddy's teeth and she decided that now would be a good time for me to pull her incredibly-loose bottom-front tooth. She cried about it, because she was scared, but she held her Daddy's hand and I pulled it.

It didn't take much pulling, and there it was, in the palm of my hand.

The tears stopped immediately and were replaced with a beaming, if a little soggy, smile and all the pride a five-year-old girl can muster.

There was a little blood, but we took care of that quickly and with a minimum of fuss. She couldn't quit looking at the new space in the mirror - the pride was just shining through that brand-new gap in her teeth.

"Next year," she says, "a new tooth will grow in. A big tooth. Next year."

"Sooner than that, I hope," I reply.

"And now, the Tooth Fairy is going to give me money." Money is a bit of an abstract concept to her right now. It's mainly something she puts in her piggy bank.

We looked around a little bit and found a black silk pouch that my grandmother had given me. It used to hold one of her necklaces - a piece of jewelry I'll always associate with her, because it was a signature item of hers for a long time. We put the tooth in the pouch, and put the pouch under her Cinderella pillow, close to the edge, so the Tooth Fairy won't have to root around under there for very long.

Then we called Grandma, and we called Nana and Maddy told them her news. Not so very long ago, we were calling so two-year-old Maddy could announce delightedly "I pee-pee on the potty!" Now she says with quiet pride: "My tooth was loose, and then it came out!"

In the morning, she'll find two Sacagawea gold dollars in the pouch under her pillow. I wanted to give her five dollars, but her dad said that he had gotten twenty-five cents per tooth, and inflation wasn't quite that bad. (We compromised at two.) Tomorrow, she'll show all her friends at pre-school her new dental profile. Tomorrow night, she'll show all her friends at band practice.

Tonight, I blink back some tears and try to hold on to my little girl. She's not-so-little anymore, and getting bigger faster than I can get myself ready.

Nick Saban is a Racist.

Who knew? He's a lot of things, but I never knew racist was one of them.

For those of you who may not know, Nick Saban used to be head football coach at Louisiana State University. He left LSU to be the head coach of the Miami Dolphins (in the NFL) and at the end of the regular season left Miami to be the head coach at the University of Alabama. This in spite of several denials - even up to the morning he accepted the Alabama job - and lots and lots of declarations that "he wasn't going anywhere."

So, integrity? None found. But this??

According to ProFootballTalk.com, Saban was talking to reporters in a supposed "off the record" discussion on January 4th, after his introduction as Alabama's head coach - but, a tape recorder was indeed rolling. And on it, he said:

[quote]My friends are okay with it. The rest of those guys? One of my, one of my guy on the board -- you guys won't be able to put this on the thing -- was walking down the street, one of the Board of Trustees guys like these people around here and sitting up on the stage today at LSU, is walking down the street yesterday before the Sugar Bowl. He calls me. There's a guy working in a ditch. One of those coon-ass guys that talk funny. I can't talk like him but he can. Most people in Louisiana can. And he says, 'Hey, you see where Coach Saban signed up with Alabama?' You know however they talk. And the Board of Trustees guy says, 'Yeah, I saw that.' And he says, 'That son of a bitch. I feel like he's f--king my wife.[/quote]

Audio can be found here: http://www.profootballtalk.com/rumormill.htm You've got to scroll down a bit.

Possibly just as puzzling to me is the fact that several readers of ProFootballTalk.com have written in to say that "coon-ass" is not a racial slur in the South. I'm sorry - I live in Texas and if you ain't talkin' about the rodent or the hound, it's a damn slur. I have never heard it used otherwise.

I'm betting, though, that Alabama won't even reprimand him. It is the University of Alabama, after all. Roll tide.

I should probably also mention that National Signing Day is coming up here, in an immediate fashion. Saban has been recruiting heavily in Louisiana, and even if Alabama doesn't reprimand him, this will bite him in his racist ass. Why on earth would a black recruit go play for a guy like this? Or, for that matter, if he was really just referencing Cajuns, like so many have said, why would a Cajun?

PSAs Don't Work

For the last few weeks, I've been seeing all of these adorable ads for flu symptoms starring Mumble Happyfeet from the movie, well... Happy Feet. And every time I see one, I think "Awww, how cute - it's Mumble!" And that's all I think. I never really soak in the whole point of the PSA. That is to say, until today, I couldn't tell you what the symptoms of the flu are. Today, at Major's pediatrician's office, I learned them firsthand, because I have them. Fever, Aches, Chills, Tiredness and Sudden Onset of Symptoms. So, FACTS. And now I will probably associate that cute little penguin with disgusting illness. And, also, just so's you know - you might not even have congestion or a sore throat or anything more than a dry cough. Which is what I have. And that's my personal Public Service Announcement to you.

So: What Everyone Wants To Know.
This weekend, Colts over Bears. Indianapolis has a quarterback that wants this REEEEEAL bad. Chicago has Sexy Rexy. Yes, he is sexy. But he likes to throw to the other team. Chicago's defense is awesome, but here's a quote from Peyton Manning a few years ago: "I tell you it's Easter, you hunt for eggs." He said that to one of his receivers. He means bidness. I may come back with numbers analysis later this week.

Much like Deal or No Deal, I'm continuously sucked into American Idol. It's not particularly good, but here I am anyway. Although, this is where they found Jennifer Hudson.

It's a crappy segue, but I'm going with it anyway.

I saw Dreamgirls on Sunday with my friend Katie, and was blown away. I love that show, and I was sort of worried about what Hollywood was going to do to it. I ended up loving it. Jennifer Hudson and Eddie Murphy deserve every possible accolade. It was just fantastic. Of course, I'm biased because I loved the original. One thing I was surprised about, though, was how blatant they were about the fact that this is all loosely based on Diana Ross and Mary Wilson. There was nothing subtle about that. They even recreated very famous Diana Ross photographs with Beyonce. So, that surprised me. It was super, super good.

This entry is sort of disjointed, and I'm totally blaming that on the flu. Because normally, I'm awesome.

A Momentous First Post

Gmail suggests I should write something about scooters. Unfortunately, I don't know anything about scooters.

I'm not convinced I know much about anything, which will likely be the focus of this blog. I think, tonight I intend to do a little recaplet of Heroes, and maybe tomorrow I'll cover a quick review of Dreamgirls which I saw this weekend.

And can I just say that I hate Deal or No Deal, while finding myself inexplicably drawn to it?

You can probably expect copious discussion of food, sports (I am a Sports Gal - I'll watch anything except BASEball), running (or trying to learn how to), music, parenting, writing and whatever else is floating around in my brain.

So, maybe this is really a teaser post - teasing you for the Momentous First Post. Coming soon, to this blog right here.