Post 9: In Dreams

Okay, free writing.  I can’t make myself write for anything, so now I have to say nothing until I come up with something to say.  I promised my sister I would update my blog.

So I’ll start with dreams.  I’ve had some great dreams lately that would make stellar books, so I’m going to sketch out a few ideas in case I ever get around to novelizing. 

Dream the first, slightly embellished:  I fall in love with Barack Obama. 

It is wartime, somewhere overseas with forests and cold autumns.  I am caught behind enemy lines after a surprise attack that moved the front several miles behind me and cut off all direct lines to safety.  I am a reporter embedded with an army unit, but they have all been killed and I am alone.   I am doing my best to survive in a bombed-out wasteland, but I am lonely, scared, and cold. 

Enter Barack.  He was giving a speech to the troops (a terribly classified effort – only his top advisers knew he would ever be this close to the front lines), when the same offensive that trapped me left him stranded with only one or two secret service agents, who were bringing him back to Air Force One in a Humvee.  They were hit by a roadside bomb.  Now it is just Barack and me.  We find each other and join forces.  He looks particularly handsome in a brown leather bomber jacket.

As the days pass, we move as silently as we can from shelter to shelter, hiding place to hiding place.  We forage for food, taking turns keeping watch at night.  We have only one gun with a few bullets, and using it will give away our position to the enemy.  I feel a great civic duty to keep the president safe and make sure he is not killed or captured.  Sometimes we are trapped in one place for several days at a time, unable to get any closer to home without being discovered.

To pass the time, we talk.  About everything.  Our lives, our families, our dreams for what America will be again when the war ends.  The more I learn, the more I respect him.  He is earnest and serious, but has a wry sense of humor and a self-deprecating charm.  I can see that I surprise him in my determination to survive, and it is my cheerful attitude that keeps him going.

One day we find a building that still has running water, and it is like a holiday and a spa day wrapped into one glorious chance to finally be clean again.  He keeps watch outside the building, but he underestimates how long it will take me and catches me in only a towel.  For the first time I can tell he is attracted to me, but he gallantly averts his eyes and apologizes.  I begin to look at him differently.  He is my only link to my country, my home, and my future.  But he is married.  I will not abandon my values.

I stop calling him Mr. President.  We become more familiar, huddling for warmth at night.  Nothing else happens between us.  But we talk for hours and hours.  I start believing that no one will ever know either of us the way we know each other.  We talk about the future as if it is something we will share together.  I start to let myself daydream that he will always be the biggest part of my life.

And then suddenly one day, rescue comes.  We are surrounded by an entire platoon.  They rush to secure the president and whisk him to safety.  We don’t even have a brief moment to say goodbye.  As he is helped into the back of a truck, orders being shouted everywhere around him, his eyes seek mine. 

His look is an offer.  He will leave all of that to stay with me -- to be with me.  My eyes are clear as I meet his gaze.  I will not allow him.  He will return to his family, and to the nation that needs him.  We will never meet again.

His small smile is an acknowledgement of his duty to go, and my duty to let him -- but it is tinged with sadness and regret.  As the truck leaves our rescue site, I allow a soldier to wrap a blanket around my shoulders and lead me away.

Post 8: Top Ten Things I Have Learned from Owning a Kitten

1.        If the exuberance of kittens could be harnessed into battery power, there would not be an energy crisis.

2.       There are very few things that can draw blood and still elicit an “Aw, how cute!” response.  My kitten is one of them.

3.       If you are tired, stop where you are and take a nap immediately.

4.       If you want to play, persist until someone gives in and joins you.

5.       Everything is interesting if you invest a little time and attention.

6.       There are many genes controlling cat color and hair length.  It is not nearly as simple as Mendel’s cross pollination experiments.  You cannot figure it out from cursory internet research.

7.       I will be able to handle my future children’s toilet training.  It’s not as bad if you love them.  But it still stinks.

8.       Chores are more fun when something periodically bursts from beneath the furniture and attacks your ankles.

9.       Be close to people, but keep your boundaries clear.

10.   It only takes a little showmanship to win over the skeptics and naysayers.

Post 7: What TV Has Taught Me

1.            If you’re going somewhere dangerous, it does no good to wait in the car.  If you wait in the car, it means the danger is on its way to the car.  (Chuck, Castle…)

2.            If you change your hair color and wear big glasses, no one will ever recognize you.   (Alias)

3.            Any conversation you hold while walking briskly is more important and consequential.  (West Wing, reminder from 30 Rock)

4.            If you are the center of your group of friends, your life will suck the most.  You will also be the most unlikable person in the group.  (Buffy, Grey’s Anatomy)

5.            A quick wit will get you out of any jam, from catty high school drama to being held at gunpoint.  (Veronica Mars, Castle)

6.            If you are brilliant in a technical field, you must also be so flawed that you are on the brink of social isolation. (House, Bones, Monk)

7.            The faster you talk, the smarter you are.  Also, the person who talks the fastest wins the argument.  (West Wing, Gilmore Girls, Sport Night)

8.            The more you reference pop culture, the cooler you are. (Gilmore Girls, Buffy)

9.            Therapists are borderline omniscient.  They can discern your deepest, darkest secrets upon meeting you and immediately say the one thing that will convince you to solve your issues. (Sports Night, West Wing, Grey’s Anatomy)

10.          It isn’t real love unless there are lots of pain and obstacles.  (Battlestar Galactica, Buffy, Alias, Roswell)

11.          In any moment of crisis, a beautifully poetic soliloquy will come to you which you can deliver with great power.  (Buffy, West Wing, Angel, Grey’s Anatomy)

12.          Falling down is REALLY funny. (Scrubs, Modern Family)

13.          Alcohol is the best thing in the world.  Everything is boring without it.  (Cougar Town)

14.          Alcohol is the worst thing in the world.  It ruins every life it touches.  (The Cleaner)

15.          Everyone is expendable. (Lost)

16.          If no one believes you, you are definitely right. (X-File)

Post 5: Two Types of Dreams in One

Message from our sponsor:  I gave up on the music terms in the titles.  Too much research for something that ends up looking an affectation.
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When I was 20 years old, my good friend DeLayna sat me down in our dorm living room and asked me why in the world I wasn't planning to pursue a career in television, since it was clearly what I loved most.  I had a very practical answer for her that was ridiculously serious for a 20-year-old girl.  In the intervening years, I have had a back-of-my-mind plan to be a therapist for twenty years and then start writing when I had lots of life experience to draw from.

This week my dreams seem to be trying to tell me what my life might be like if I ever chose to really pursue my dream to be a television writer ... on acid.


To illustrate, I present you with Dream 1 and Dream 2.

Dream 1:  I'm in some kind of large store, which becomes a small, trendy clothes boutique.  While shopping I run into Charisma Carpenter (Cordelia from Buffy the Vampire Slayer).  I haven't seen her since we worked together on Buffy.  I started as a production assistant on the show, but worked my way up and was eventually noticed by Joss, who wrote a very small recurring part for me in addition to my regular off-camera duties.  Charisma and I chat about who from the show is doing well, how much fun we had on the set of Buffy, and how she hasn't been working a lot lately.  I point out that as long as she's making enough money to get by, it's great that she gets to spend so much time at home with her son.  I also tell her that I'm primarily writing these days, but that I still do a little on-camera work in small bit parts.  Then the store is attacked by dinosaurs.

Dream 2:  I'm running late for a meeting in LA and San Diego, which have somehow merged.  I run into Matthew Perry (Chandler from Friends) who will also be at the meeting (about a new show we might work on together).  Since I used to work as an assistant on Friends, he offers me a ride to the meeting.  We get in his convertible, and have to take the underwater freeway, because the bridge freeway has been designated for use by giant seals.  (This part was very clear, the seals were white with brown spots like an inverted baby deer, and the freeway functioned more like a slip-n-slide.)  We put the top up on the convertible and roll up the windows to make the car water tight, then submerge into the underwater freeway.  As we begin to accelerate, another car drops down in front of us nose first, having fallen from an access tunnel.  Matthew brakes, but we crash.  We each extricate ourselves from the car, then grab a side and pull it out of the water with us.  Matthew folds it up and carries it with him.  While he is talking to the police, I realize I have his messenger bag and phone.  It rings, and since I used to work with/for him, I automatically answer it, but I can't remember his real name.  I finally say "Chandler Bing's phone" as a greeting, and become very embarrassed as his real name finally returns to my mind and I realize it is the network calling.  I laugh it off and say, "... which is what a TERRIBLE assistant would say!  This is Matthew Perry's assistant, how may I help you?"  I cover for Matt with the network and we go to the meeting about our new show, both soaking wet.

My favorite part is that in these dreams, I must have begun my career in television at about age 18 to have worked on both shows.  I also love that I maintained friendships with the cast, and had clearly been working steadily ever since.

On a semi-related note, for some reason whenever I dream I'm a writer, my hair is always in a French braid.  I have no idea why.

Opus 3, Allegretto

In honor of the upcoming Handy Reunion, Things I learned from my grandparents:

1.  Shopping!  Grandma Handy was a consummate shopper.  Every time we went to stay with her, one day was always spent at the Ogden Mall.  First the department stores, then lunch at the Tiffin Room.  Grandma bought clothes, knickknacks, and visited things she wanted to buy but hadn't convinced Grandpa were worth the cost yet.  I find that now I visit DVDs I haven't found a way to justify purchasing yet.

2.  Love is not always loud and obvious.  Grandpa Handy was quiet, calm, a man of few words -- except when Grandma gave him his insulin shots, which almost always involved swearing.  I remember his quiet jokes (including explaining Fleet to me) and soft hugs.  Grandpa had twinkly eyes, and his fond looks were in the end more powerful than flowery language.  I never doubted for one moment that Grandpa loved me.  I never even thought he was mad at me.

3.  The value of naps.  

4.  The importance of hobbies.   

5.  A deep and abiding love for snacks, candy, chocolate, and cookies.  "Goodie bags" may have been my grandmother's best invention.  We never left her house without a sandwich bag filled with oreos, pecan sandies, lemon drops, licorice, and/or snickers.  All this may be overshadowed by the beginning of the Church of Coca Cola, at which most of my siblings worship.

6.  It is more important to be loved than to be taught.  I'm pretty sure that I could do no wrong in the Handys' eyes.  As far as I knew I was the most brilliant, talented, beautiful girl in the world.  I respect the work and service the Cooleys tried to teach us, but it never reached me like the unconditional love from Grandma and Grandpa Handy.

A very sentimental post!  But I don't think I could talk about the Handys without getting mushy.

Opus 2, Adagio

8/30/10, 12:19 pm

I have vitiligo.  It started about 10 years ago, and I didn't know why little circles of skin on my stomach seemed to be whiter than the rest of me.  I'm pretty white to begin with.  I happened to mention it to a dermatologist, who gave me the name.  I was all for finding out the treatment, which seemed to surprise the doctor.  His attitude was "Why would you bother?"

So I watched the slow march of pigment death on my skin, in little patches and great tracts.  And I realized that I had the same condition as Michael Jackson (this was before he died, when everyone still thought he was creepy and weird), and felt my first sympathy for him since he released "Dirty Diana" when I was about 11.  And I cursed my immune system, which cannot seem find the right thing to attack with a flashlight and both hands.  (Hmm, that metaphor got away from me.  The flashlight is a headlamp!  There, that works.)

Until this summer.  It stopped bugging me.  And I realized, as with other types of loss, that there were five stages to my acceptance of the loss of my ability to tan.  At least in patches.

     1.  It doesn't show.  As long as I keep my stomach covered, who cares?

     2.  Hmm.  It's not really noticeable.  In fact, no one has noticed who I haven't directly shown.  Why do I keep doing that?  As long as I don't get them on my face, no worries.

     3.  Maybe I could make a joke out of it.  The top of my imagined responses to dreaded questions:

            A.  I am one quarter albino.  (Sometimes expressed as "I had one albino grandparent")

            B.  A terrible high school chemistry experiment gone wrong!  Box Elder High School is no longer allowed to have chem labs because of my horrible disfigurement.

In the meantime, copious amounts of sunscreen are the order of the day.  If I stay pasty, no one will know.  Right?

     4.  Razza frickin stupid pasty spots.  It's not fair!  I look like a spotted puppy!  Curse the universe and my immune system and people with only one color of skin!

      5.  Hey, look at all you boring people who only have one color of skin!  I am unique!  I can study my arms and look for patterns like staring at clouds!  I have my own unique pelt, like zebras and giraffes and cheetahs!  Maybe I'll get one in my hair and have a Rogue stripe.  How cool would that be?

And there you have it, my journey from being merely human to being Super Diana, who grows her own camouflage and shares her secret power with the powerful animals of the earth!

Take that, immune system.

The Rules

This is not really a blog, because only a few people get the link.  And they include YOU -- a person who gives me crap about writing.  This page is about me working my way up to writing fiction by first just WRITING.  What I know.  

Feel free to comment with constructive criticism.  Be warned, I plan to do as little censoring of myself as possible, because most of my censoring is just my own self doubt and shame.  And screw that!  

That was the kind of comment I would usually censor.

- Di