Nine 1/2 Tweaks

What was I thinking when I sent out an email alerting people that I had started a blog? I mean, really? Now I feel obligated to post and guilty when I don't, which means I've been feeling really guilty.

But I'm guessing not as guilty as Mickey Rourke's plastic surgeon, or at least not as guilty as he should be feeling. Have you seen him? Mickey?

When I was growing up, I thought plastic surgeons were employed only to treat accident victims. When my 10 year old brother wondered what it would be like to ride a bicycle while blind, closed his eyes, and careened into a thorn bush, a plastic surgeon put a dozen stitches in his bottom lip. There are no scars. I had never heard of breast implants, collagen implants, brow raises, or eye lid reductions. My grandmother told me that the lines on her face were a map of her joys and her sorrows, and I believed her.

I have watched in horror as plastic surgery has evolved into a fashionable pursuit, and when Michael Jackson's disfigured nose and ghostly complexion graced the cover of People magazine, I was revolted. Camera ready he is not.

Weird thing though, the images of Rourke's gritty train-wreck of a face make me want to go see "The Wrestler." I'm not drawn to anything wrestling related and were Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise playing the role, I would pass, but it takes a lot of courage to shoot a close up when you look like that. I saw Barbara Walter's pre-oscar night interview with Rourke and was struck by his fragility. He's not a happy man, and I admire his refusal to pretend otherwise. Maybe channeling all that personal angst into his character has made Rourke a damn fine actor. I intend to find out....as soon as The Wrestler is released on DVD.

Where would I be without Netflix?

All content copyrighted 2009

The Begging Writer

It's not easy finding a name for a new blog, at least not if you want the blog name and web address to match up. After about an hour of trying to come up with a name that hadn't already been used (fatcatyoga, bluestocking, writersblock, bookends, spinster...), it occurred to me that no matter what else happens, aside from the sun always rising and always setting, this one thing is true: Bella and Fitz will beg for treats.

I should probably mention that Bella and Fitz are pets not people. Although some people do beg for treats, so it certainly wouldn't be unheard of if Bella and Fitz were my niece or nephews pleading, albeit politely, for Zots or chocolate cream pie. But no, Bella is a dog, and Fitz a very fat despite-everything-I've-tried cat. Both of them LOVE treats and are on a tenacious quest to procure them, Fitz by whatever means possible, and Bella mostly by good behavior.

Coming here, writing this blog, is sort of like begging for treats. I'm a writer with writer's block. My block has sustained itself for so long now that it's become a disease. I am starting this blog in hopes that it will keep me accountable to writing everyday because that, after all, is what all good writer's do. They write. Everyday. And when I do that then maybe the chaos in my head will start to take shape into something discernable. Maybe what I start on here I can take with me into my fiction.

Clarity is my treat. Clarity and truth. It is what I seek after.

All content copyrighted 2009