Kaleidoscope 2006

(I wrote this about six months ago at the end of Kaleidoscope Summer Arts Camp for brilliant teenagers)

No drama, no drama -- that was my mantra. And for once! my life was relatively calm. No one dying or being diagnosed with cancer. All those gloomy poems and stories I worked out in years past. But of course there were dramas; my heart was a big dart board and it was pierced once, twice, three times at least. Mellow, I thought. But it wasn't always mellow. In fact, a few times far from it. And yet for the most part, I didn't stress as much as usual. We wrote less than last year, but wrote just as well. Stories and poems emerged in their own good time. I delivered the goods, the ones I have at any rate. Were they received? Did the lessons find their mark? I may only find out years from now.

What I discovered is my own discomfort with change. I love the new but hate to lose the old. And then there we were last night - Conner, Elizabeth, Kemper, Chad, and Alysha. The actors and writers not even enrolled this year, but sitting together in the quiet of the Johnson Lobby. We sat around the campfire of long-burning love and I read from Picara and they laughed and commented as if we had all jumped into Eli's world as in Mary Poppins when they go into the paintings.

And all was right. All was complete within my world. I felt that I could let go of them and even let go of the book soon. Soon enuff. After all, I still have Nat, Dee and Kel. And now this new crop, these young faces and their words like torches in the night. I have watched them evolve and it has surprised me, but not really. Just gotten me caught up in a new adventure. What will we learn over the next year? What will bring to the table on July 3, 2007?

End of a trimester

School's out for . . . Thanksgiving. So this fall I was back behind the plow for the first time in a while. I think it went well. I really enjoyed teaching the lit classes. The best part was how they reacted to the novels. Well, I probably should have steered a few of them away from Brave New World. It's an important book, but not particularly entertaining to many nineteen year olds. However, several of them really enjoyed it. The students who read The Bell Jar responded to it with enthusiasm. I was surprised at how well it held up. Plath's writing style implants the material into your brain with surgical precision. I loved that book the first time I read it, and I was impressed this time as well. I think what I like about the book is that even though she is writing about a fairly horrific time in her life, it is not a grim book. The contemporary fiction I've been reading lately has an unrelenting sort of heaviness, a gloomy misanthropic view. It turns me off--after it depresses the hell out of me. (A notable exception: The Harrowing, a great, scary but well written book that I devoured.)
As for the other two books. I was so glad to get to read Slaughterhouse 5 again. I laughed out loud at the same time that I felt rage for the war machine that destroyed Dresden. And of course, Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God. Beautiful. This time I really lingered over the part where they really are "watching God"--something in that passage captures such hope and pathos. And the hilarious riffs of the card players! Once the students got past the dialect I think they appreciated the poetry of the book, and of course the love story.

Election Night & Head-On Collisions

So my daughter had a head-on collision on Saturday night right down the road here. As soon as I heard her voice on the phone I knew she'd been in an accident. But I knew she wasn't hurt too badly -- at least she could call me and let me know where she was. The scary part after that was wondering if other people had gotten hurt. But I managed not to worry about anything. I went into that numb get thru the ordeal and freak out later mode. When I got to the accident site, it was bad. Two smashed cars, glass and car parts scattered on the ground. My kid shaking in the cold night air. At least she had on my jacket that Mike G. had given me when she was a baby. Guardian Angel Mikey. And those good, good people who took care of her. Who were they? Fortunately, the guy who hit her was not seriously injured.

The next day I began to think that we've really gotten into a bad situation in this country. We on the left are pretty sure the right wing is evil, and they think we're stupid traitors. Both views are out of line with reality. But we've fallen into a vortex of hate and anger and blame. It's self-defeating. We have to start looking at our similarities. We all want the same things really -- a safe environment for our children, good schools, streets without potholes, an effective police force. We're not asking for a lot. But we're like dogs. You can throw any old bone out there and we'll all fight over it. Illegal immigration! Instead of seeing a problem and talking reasonably about it, coming up with solutions and making a few compromises, we grandstand and bicker and do nothing but make it worse.

So how do those two things relate? I wasn't worried about the politics of those people who stopped to help my daughter. And they didn't ask about mine. Maybe it's time to cut the bullshit. Stop believing in separation. It's a myth. We need to take care of each other. We need to work with each other to solve problems. When you need to paint a house, do you stand around slinging paint on each other or do you put the paint on the house?

Finance Corporations from Hell

So I bought a Toyota Prius. I'd been wanting one for a long time. Well, I'd been wanting a Hybrid for a long time. Thought I might get a Fusion, but then they decided not to come out with a Hybrid and I realized that any car I would get would cost as much as a Prius, so I went on the internet, selected the color and I wanted and got my car a week after I ordered it. By the way, I almost went with the package that had the MP3 hook up--an extra 300 bucks and then found out that you can get these little adapters for your Ipod or whatever for about forty bucks.

Anyway, came time to make a payment and I thought I'd just go on line and do it. They wanted to charge me a $9.95 "convenience" fee! Wow. I guess they really don't want you to pay on-line, do they? Not unless it's a monthly thing where they get to just go in and take your money out every month. But what if one month you're running a little short and you need to pay a couple days late. (I mean, there is a grace period.) So I tried to pay by phone. Same thing! I thought, are they crazy? It's got to be a lot better for them for you to pay by Internet or phone than by mailing in a check. Anyway, I wrote out a check and mailed it with a 39 cent stamp.

So that was crazy but my experience with Ford Credit the previous month was truly lunatic. I had somehow missed a payment at the beginning of summer. So they called me, and I was pretty surprised. I was just about to make the July payment, so I told them I was planning on paying the car off anyway that month. The person on the phone asks me when I was planning on doing that and I say, around the 20th. Then the person says, okay, pay one month now and then we'll expect another check from you on the 20th. So I go online and make a payment (no "convenience" fee, by the way). Then the calls start. The "confirmation" calls. I was out of town and when I got back, there were about seven messages from a computer telling me to call Ford Credit immediately. I was like, what is the problem? So I call them and a nice woman says, "oh it was just a confirmation call that you're going to pay on the 20th." And I answer, yes, that was the arrangement, right? And I think it's all over. But no! I get more "confirmation" (read harrassment) calls. I mean, it was their idea for me to pay on the 20th since I was going to pay it off. For crying out loud, I would have just made a monthly if I'd known they were going to freak like that. So the 20th comes and I pay a major chunk of what's left. (I decided to pay off some other bills as well). And on the 21st I get this message from a woman named Judy at Ford Credit--call immediately! Very important! So I call. Turns out it was another "confirmation" call. I had paid them several times over what was due and they were calling again because it hadn't posted yet. Well, you'd think they would know that it takes a day or two to post since it's their system. I'll make the last payment on the Ford this month, and guess what, I'll never buy another car with Ford Credit.

Agreement Number 2

The most important to me of the four agreements is never to take anything personally. When am I going to learn it?

Writing a Novel 1

It takes incredible faith. Or incredulous faith. To write, to finish a novel. I am at slightly more than 64,000 words in the Kaleidoscope Novel. It needs to be 85,000 or 90,000. I write scenes not knowing if they fit, if they belong in the book or not. In fact, when I start to write a new scene it seems ridiculous. Why am I writing this scene? What is the point? But it doesn't matter. It can't matter. As soon as it matters, you're tied to a sword and blindfolded, standing on a barren field with other swords stuck in the ground surrounding you. The reason I say it take "incredulous faith" is because you don't believe in what you're doing and yet you do it anyway. I mean, you don't believe in it intellectually. Intellectually, you know it's not right. It's not good enough. It can never be good enough. But to write a novel you have to amputate that tongue.

Kaleidoscope 2006

Incredibly awesome--once again. Playwriting really took off this year. Stefond's monologue on bootyology will be remembered by all. Two new young writers arrived this year and were impressive: Anna Fulghum and Leigh Galpine. Natalie, of course, was my right hand. Seems to have grown more comfortable in her skin. Kelsey's writing was marvelous as ever. And Ridge, oh Ridge, how much he has grown as a writer.

Sun Writers Conference 2006

The Sun Writers Conference (Into the Fire: The Alchemy of Personal Writing) was phenomenal this year. It took place at Rowe Conference Center in Western Mass. A place I had never been. There were apple trees blossoming, gold finches darting about and best of all--bears! Sunday afternoon Sy, Angela, Genie and I were sitting in the living room of The Orchard House when I saw something black between the rails of the deck. At first I thought it was a dog, but it was moving fast and I stood up to see what it really was and suddenly I burst out: "Jesus! Is that a bear?" And we all jumped up and crowded at the window--and saw three bears. So then we went a little nuts and followed the bears from window to window till we wound up going out the side door and then we were all laughing in excitement. The bears heard us and looked at us but then ignored us as they started sniffing around this tent in the field. Then, finding nothing of interest, they ambled away.

Of course, the conference entailed a lot more than seeing bears. I wrote something at the end which I'll post if I can find. Suffice to say, the workshops were fabulous. I was truly humbled by the quality of writing I heard. And my fellow presenters were great. Oh, more on all this later. I haven't rested up yet, and we're completing the "bathroom project" from hell here. And Friday is C's birthday. Too much going on.

Breathe, Baby, Breathe--My Interview with Bob & Sheri

Wow. I just got off the Bob & Sheri show. That was kind of nerve wracking. I mean, it's not like I've never been on the radio before. I had my own show on public radio in Tallahassee after all. But you know, it's different when you're talking about YOUR life and your work. And I knew they were going to ask questions about my "bad girl" past. But when Sheri asked how I got from being a bad girl to being a writer with a boring life, I just thought, man where do I begin?? And so after first I was stammering and sounding like a major idiot. A friend had told me that if you stand while you're talking, your voice will have more energy. Unfortunately, I already had enough energy to power up all of the McMansions in Ballantyne. So I wisely sat down after that first question and forgot about all the things I intended to say and just answered the questions. So I think it got lots better, and I even remembered that story about my teenage boyfriend Mike being a litterbug and how at 17 I was so impressed with his rebelliousness. Hadn't thought of that in years. So, I am just glad I was on the show and didn't freeze up or say something incredibly stupid or embarrassing. Sheri is so quick-witted that it's a little intimidating, but both of them were really, really nice. And I thought they asked great questions.
I'm going to be on Charlotte Talks on May 26. That will be a very different experience, I'm sure.

The Classics! Oh, the classics

So why, I wonder, is my tenth-grade daughter reading "Girl with a Pearl Earring" and "Things Fall Apart" for her English class? I remember that I loved Chinua Achebe's novel about Africa--IN GRADUATE SCHOOL. What I see happening and have seen for a long time is high school English teachers and middle school teachers, too, ruining literature for young readers. In tenth grade, you ought to be reading Grapes of Wrath. You ought to read The Old Man and The Sea. You ought to read Jane Eyre. I have taught so many college students who never read Tom Sawyer, for pete's sake. And none of them have read Jane Eyre. My friend Chauncey says that The Great Gatsby is too sophisticated for high school students. Maybe. Unless, I suppose, they have a really good teacher.

It seems to me that some English teachers or whoever it is who designs the curriculum decided that the more advanced reading material they forced young readers to read, then the more advanced students they will produce. But how can you be ready to read Huck Finn if you haven't read Tom Sawyer? Save something for college. Spend time with the classics. Instill a love for literature, for story into them, before the theorists in college get their hands on them.

That's my rant for today.

Weeks later: I have to amend this post because now they are reading MAUS by Art Spiegelman (Not sure of spelling). Anyway, I think that's a terrific book for tenth graders to read--or anyone for that matter. So there are good contemporary books out there for that age group. I just wish they had the foundation in the classics.

Book Fest in Virginia

Just got back from the Virginia Festival of the Book. Got there Friday evening, brain addled because I hadn't slept the night before and there was this "soiree" for the mystery writers at a very cool place called the Gravity Lounge. It was like a library, bar, tea house kind of place. Had some great books. One I wanted but didn't get was a book about the seventies from Rolling Stone Mag. I probably really need it too for the Kaleidoscope book. I've decided that's the next book I'm going to write. The crime novel series will just have to wait. Anyway, I didn't know anyone at this soiree and didn't have the inner resources to go around being all friendly, so I slunk down in a chair with a book, ate a few cookies and then disappeared, back onto the highway to Richmond where I spend the night at Nikki Turner's gorgeous new house. That was the respite I needed.
Saturday started off great because I ran into Richard Peabody. He's a gem. Funny, smart and political. Well, I guess we're all political these days as we watch our world being blasted into oblivion by the neocons and their drones. Anyway, the luncheon was fine. I was seated next to a small arms analyst for the military. Yes, that idea is scary but also quite useful if you're a writer and you want to write about things that are really going on in the world. Went to a good panel on getting in the publishing business. Then, oh then, I signed up for a video interview with "Author Views" so there's an interview of me somewhere on the internet. I thought it was good practice for the whole media thing.
My own panel went fairly well. The other panelists were best selling authors and I wasn't sure I was supposed to be there with them, but my so-called academic background, I guess, provided something to talk about. The only thing is that I've been away from academia for quite a while and they don't seem to be clamoring for me to come back. Still I guess if you've once learned to be pedantic, that never leaves you. But some interesting points were raised--especially the whole divided between genres. Karin Slaughter was very funny and pointed about the issue. Anyway, it's something I'll be thinking about for a while.
The trip culminated in my nightmare drive home. Thick wads of fog dotted the highway. It was night, I was tired. I actually thought of that scene in Psycho where Janet Leigh is driving at night and her eyes keep flicking to the rear view mirror and the lights behind her hurt her eyes. And that music was running through my head. I finally realized I would never get home if I had to drive twenty miles an hour through Virginia, so I pulled off in Lexington because there were signs for motels, but OF COURSE it was false advertising. So there I was driving around Lexington in fog thick as cotton--SNOW on the side of the roads--on roads that were crazy with construction. I think when I drove onto the VMI campus I almost cried. Stopped at Hampton Suites which is not what I wanted--and they had only exorbitantly priced smoking rooms.
So I crawled back to the highway, and fought through the fog to the next exit and pulled up to . . . THE BATES MOTEL!!! I swear to God, from the crummy wallpaper to the horrible smell to the window unit heater/air conditioner it was the absolute prototype for Norman Bates' hotel--except that it was much smaller, the room I mean. The room was tiny, the bathroom tiny, the bedspread smelled like b.o. but I couldn't bring myself to leave. The scariest part was sitting on the toilet and seeing the drain in the shower. Fortunately, as I said, I was already on the toilet.
But I did manage to sleep some and in the morning when I woke up and saw an orange blaze over the mountains and the snow on the ground and the wooden fence all rustic looking and picturesque, I didn't mind it. In fact, I felt grateful. We forget how much we have in our lives. I got back on the road. The fog was gone, and I was able to drive through the only piece of winter I had all year. It was transcendent.

Mysteries by Lehane, Compton and Hall

I just read three mysteries by different authors. Prayers for Rain by Denis Lehane, The 37th Hour by Jodi Compton and Body Language by James W. Hall. Lehane is a phenomenal writer. I wrote down about thirty different lines that I really liked--very funny and brilliant. His descriptions of people are so original. One young woman looks like the type who irons her socks. Here's a description I like: "The green glass captured the sun glinting off the lake and then refracted it into the room in tiny beams so taht the entire cabin glowed the emerald of a tavern on St. Patrick's Day." The plot was nice and tricky with an ending that left the story ultimately unresolved just after you thought everything had been resolved. The bad guy gets away with his bad deeds, but the hero knows it and someday when the time is right he'll take care of it--or so he says.
Compton's book was very good, too. Compelling. And beautifully written. She's more literary than most mystery writers. Anyone who uses the word "sussurus" is working a notch above the rest of us. The ending of her book was also unresolved. I mean, the main mystery was resolved but then the reader is left wondering what will happen to the main character who could very easily get blamed for a murder she didn't commit. It's a great device--leaving you with a lurching thrill in your gut. Horror movies try for this effect, but I think they're mostly unsuccessful.
Hall has always been a writer I've liked. Body Language seems more cut and dry than some of his other work, but two real strengths I've noticed: dialogue and his main character's story. The main character in this book is a woman police photographer. Points for originality. She's also married to a real asshole which provides and interesting complication. And as I said, the dialogue in this book is really strong. It's interesting and different. One of the evildoers is a veritable encyclopedia on insect behavior. The dialogue is also very idiosyncratic.
I also read a few weeks earlier a book by Harlan Coben. He had the best villain in that book--believable and understandable while not being the least bit sympathetic.
I'm off to the library to get more tonight.

Capote, the Graduate and Mr. Ripley

I have only seen a few movies over the past couple of months. I missed Rent and Walk the Line. I'm hoping they'll be back in the theaters come Oscar time. I did see Brokeback Mountain, I'm happy to say. I would hate not to know what all the fuss was about. I found it a little long and not exactly uplifting. But the acting -- unforgettable. Absolutely riveting performances by both actors. I thought they were just great. I will be surprised if Heath Ledger doesn't win an Academy Award. And the cinematography was also stunning. Just a beautiful film in many ways. The love scenes were so vivid, and the passion oozed off the screen. Of course, it was a little weird to be watching with my teenage daughter but she closed her eyes thru a lot of it. And we had to pretend to the family we had gone to see something else.

The other film I saw over Christmas was Narnia. Great acting by the kids, and Tumnus is just a wonderful character. I did also like the connection with the war which is more understated in the book. Otherwise I thought it was portentous and overblown; Lewis hits you over the head with his goodness triumphing over evil. But that's perfectly in line with the simplistic thinking of today's American public. We are the good guys, scorching the terrorists, nevermind the helpless men, women and children who get burnt in the process. It's so easy not to even know about them.

The best film I've seen recently is Capote. I can hardly stop thinking about it. Phillip Seymour Hoffman was completely mesmerizing. I really felt as if I were in Capote's presence. Everything about him--the humor, the campiness, the vulnerability, the pathos--was completely captivating. And his relationship with Harper Lee, which I had heard about, was so tender and co-dependent at the same time. The story was compelling as well. I remember reading In Cold Blood as a teenager AND seeing the movie. Both were so completely haunting that I'll never forget them. All that came back to me as I watched the story of him pursuing the book that changed 20th Century Literature. It wasn't easy. As it shouldn't be. It wrung everything out of him. That's what I loved most about the movie. That reminder of what it takes to be a writer. The obsession. The complete commitment to the point that you will give your life for a story, for your art. The cruelty as well. And that's what made this such an interesting piece. Capote's heartlessness and manipulation as he clawed the story out of his victims, and yet the devastating pain he felt in the process. Such complexity of character. Brilliant. You must be very brave to be a great writer. I'm afraid that ideal is gone with the new century. But that's a topic for another blog.

The other night we went to the movie store since our friends left town without lending us Their Gilmore Girls DVDs. Couldn't figure out what to pick up. There are so many movies that C should see to round out her movie education but neither of us were in the mood for something heavy. Then I saw it: The Graduate. My heart leapt. One of the greatest movies of all time. It succeeds on every level and, not only succeeds, but transcends the art form with stunning editing. I pointed out the masterful brilliance of the montage sequence which ends with Benjamin leaping onto a raft in the pool which turns out to be Mrs. Robinson in bed. She admired it but, of course, since it was her first time she was too caught up in the story to quite understand what a piece of virtuosity that sequence really is. An actor herself, she was especially impressed with Dustin Hoffman's performance and reminded me of seeing him in Rain Man. I'm glad she can recognize that level of talent. But I had to laugh. She had such different visuals for the song "Mrs. Robinson" in her head before she saw the movie and realized just who Mrs. Robinson was. She hated Mrs. Robinson. I said if she'd had more exposure to alcoholics, she might be more tolerant of them. Another brilliant bit of complexity in that character. Well, as I said there are no flaws in this movie and it is so original--still, after all these years.

While at the movie store we also picked up The Talented Mr. Ripley. C was out, so I invited my husband to come watch it with me. He had earlier mentioned that his friend's wife had dragged him to see Brokeback Mountain and his friend was traumatized. I said it was a wonderful movie but I would never dream of asking him to see it. I know better than that. He is way too homophobic. Not only that he only likes movies that are strictly entertaining. Which is what I had rather hoped Ripley would be. My husband wondered if it was about the believe it or not guy. I said, no. So what do you know? We're about a quarter of the way into the movie when Matt Damon's character--Tom Ripley--wants to crawl into the bathtub with another man. So that was when my husband exited the room. I tried to watch the rest of the movie, but it was so plodding and Damon's character was so pathetic and cloying that it made me squirm to watch him. He's an actor I generally like but I guess I was expecting a more conniving, more charismatic character. So I double-sped thru a lot of it. I just wasn't caught up in it at all. The only thing that made it good for me was . . . the appearance of Phillip Seymour Hoffman as Freddy. Wow. He is so good. So chilling. I wonder if he's the best guy out there right now. He has so much depth. I think I could watch him in just about anything.

So I got the copies of my book Time to Say Goodbye yesterday. They came in these gigantic white bags marked "Swiss Post." My daughter dragged the bags upstairs and asked me if they contained dead bodies or what? (They weren't that heavy--just big.) Then we opened the bags and inside were big envelopes stuffed with books. Thanks to Marc, I got 20 copies which will be gone just like that, I'm sure. I'm going to send some to my brother tomorrow and he's going to give some to the people who made his movie happen.

The struggle--the challenge--is to keep writing the mysteries. When I read other mystery writers (Just finished a book by Harlan Coben--good piece of work, great writing and what a great villain. I don't know if I could write such a convincing and thoroughly evil --and yet still human-- character!) and notice how much research they've been able to do. So I've got to create a different sort of situation in my life where I'm not scrambling all the time for a buck and have the time to do more research. Oh, Number Two, Make it so.

Television Addictions

Last night I intended to go to church for the monthly community potluck (it was tacky taco party night) but I managed to completely forget about doing that. I watched television instead while my husband grumbled in the living room as he installed a digital editing program on La Kid's computer. What got me hooked was the second half of the Panther-Bears football game. What a terrific game. Of course, I was glad the Panthers won, but my allegiance was pulled in the other direction, too. I couldn't help rooting for Rex Grossman, the former GATOR, and he did have a pretty good game till the end there. Television is an insidious force. I just read an article in an old Harper's which mentioned that up until the the 1950s it was the evening habit of townspeople to go "visiting" in the evening. That racheted up the nostalgia in my bloodstream. How cool would that be? If at night, you bundled up and walked over to a neighbor's house to sit and chat for awhile or if people you liked dropped by your house and you sat out on the front porch and laughed and gossipped. I wonder if there was less spousal and child abuse in such situations? You'd think there would have to be because people wouldn't be so isolated. Of course, if there was violence in the house there wasn't much to be done about it back then. Digressing. I'm no historian though I do like a good history book.

Back to television. So after the game, 24 comes on. I could feel the hook sliding into me. I was completely addicted to this show a couple years ago. The way they got me hooked was by showing it without any commercial interruptions one time on TV. It's an egregious show in some ways--sanctifying and justifying violence with cardboard cut-out bad guys and hopelessly attractive victims (Michelle who is smart and good and pretty and someone you'd love to hang out at the coffee shop with--dead!) and then there's Jack Bauer (Jake Delhomme with a gun); we almost scream, "Go! Jack! Go!" The show is on FOX network. And the news show that is on all the time is FOX News. (Let's give the Nazi propagandists a run for their money, okay?) Being an American, I have suckled at the tit of Mother Culture enough to love the taste of violence. It occurred to me this morning as I was thinking about writing this that it would be so simple for people to just stop killing each other. Killing is not fun, not profitable in the long run and it can't be easy. And yet we do it. Humans, I mean. In wars. In fights. In anger. In greed. Not all of us, but enough of us so that it makes life on the planet a ridiculously unfair proposition. Oh, stop digressing. If I had anything original to offer on the matter, I would.

So I'm hooked once again. However, the commercial breaks that completely prevent any real emotional connection with the story may sabotage their attempts to keep me hooked. They're so stupid that way. But I guess enough people can put up with it that it doesn't matter. I was thinking of TV shows I've been addicted to over the years. When I was five years old, I laid an enormous guilt trip on one of my brothers by crying inconsolably when he caused me to miss Lassie. I rarely missed an episode of that show, and at the end when Lassie held up her paw I would try to shake it, running my small cupped hand up and down the television screen. I also had the Saturday morning cartoon line-up memorized. From Roadrunner to Johnny Quest, I was enamored. Later I watched The Wild, Wild West with steadfast devotion. I loved Artemis Gordon and all the ridiculous, elaborate inventions they had. And I think the masochistic element in me was guiltily attracted to the misogynistic tendencies of our hero. Remember the woman who gets smacked in the jaw to the jaunty tune in the animated opening credits? Then Star Trek. Star Trek has so many metaphysical lessons in it that I believe it may have actually advanced our culture the tiniest bit. I watched all of the incarnations except for Deep Space Nine and the last one (Enterprise?) religiously, fanatically, loyally. You couldn't call me during Star Trek.

And then there was Miami Vice. So stylistic. I love South Beach. Don Johnson was so hot. The acting was campy. I couldn't leave the house on Friday nights until I had gotten my fix.
Oh, and Perry Mason. Before my husband and I were married, when we lived together in our little house in Dania, we would watch Perry Mason reruns almost every day. Perry was so extremely cool and sexy in an understated way. (Okay, the gay thing.) And Della Street. The quintessential secretary. Brilliant. Not to forget Paul, the blond rake. And always the murderer would confess on the witness stand, pissing off the usually smug prosecutor time and time again. Would he never learn? You can't beat Perry.

My family and I went through a long "JAG" phase. JAG was perfect because it was something we could all watch. The violence was minimal. It was more about legal sleuthing and personality issues. And the Mac-Harm relationship was endlessly fascinating and infuriating. I'm glad it finally ended, though. How much longer could they possibly drag it out? Now my daughter and I are hooked on Gilmore Girls. For New Year's Eve, her best buds from next door came over and brought the DVD sets they had gotten for Christmas. We ate popcorn and pastries from the party down the street and watched show after show after show--commercial free. It was the best New Year's Eve I can remember. Enough is enough. I've got to get to work.