Vicarious Rising

Authorial Royalty

I'm on the road to see Stephen King speak tonight. I'm am excited beyond words. The only downside to report is that I'd invited my dad to go with me and he had to cancel because his parents are not faring well health-wise.

I realized the other day two of my obsessions are Stephen King and the band Queen. This amuses the hell out of me.

I'm easily entertained. :)

A Day at the Races

Thanksgiving in Florida is a tradition my husband, son and I have been partaking in for many years now. This typically means we go to some sort of equestrian event, which is always a rather anthropological experience to me. "The rich are different" really comes to life at these things. Maybe it should be "horse people" but it seems to me they are hand in hand in these parts.

A cool thing during this excursion was that I got to meet artist Rollin McGrail, who has been a featured illustrator in The New Yorker, the New York Times, GQ, Esquire and more. I love her work, which is mostly ink and watercolor. I also watched Jack Russell terriers race, and now I want one.

I hope everyone had a terrific holiday weekend.

What Recession?

I've never heard of this magazine before, but I'm almost afraid to open the cover after being assaulted by the subscriber card that dropped into my lap.

Yeah, I think I'll be frugal and take two years of the essense of luxury for the bargain price of $247.

I can't even afford the smell!

Owning the Holidays

We haven't put up a Christmas tree in years. Certainly, my last tree was put up with wine flowing through me. At best, we've put up three trees in 15 holidays together.

I've had a contentious relationship with Christmas for a long time, stemming from my youth. As an adult, I'd wander the shopping malls hunting for gifts feeling more like shooting down people.

My therapist had often talked to me about creating my own traditions to change my perception if the holiday. I thought it sound advice, but I didn't feel the holly-jolly to do much about it. But over the years I've changed how I go about preparing for Christmas.

For one, I stopped going to the damn shopping malls.

Many bridges have been built in my life because of my sobriety and recovery work. My relationship with my family of origin is in a place I never imagined possible. The anger has faded away. Selecting gifts for those I love is a joy, and I am filled with excitement when I come up with a great idea.

I bought a cheapy Christmas tree at Target the other day. Despite that we didn't put up a tree, I'd been collecting trinkets to hang on it. Every time we went someplace special or did something worth commemorating, I'd buy a memento. They are better souvenirs than cheesy t-shirts or shot glasses.

What I was doing, partially unconsciously, was building my vision of the holidays. Not the prepackaged Hallmark decorated one, but one that reprsented the wonderful life I've come to share with my husband and son.

My tree is a little bit Charlie Brown, but it has room for more memories. It's just right.

...And in Other News...

...the Fox television network has broken my heart AGAIN by canceling a Joss Whedon created show. I will admit that Dollhouse was not the brilliance that was Buffy or even Angel, but it was damn good and had moments when I thought it might take off (especially if the rumors about Fox's meddling with the format of the storyline were true. From what I could tell from the Season 1 DVD set, which included un-broadcasted episodes, the series was much more intelligent and well-crafted than what ended up on air. The planned season ender, titled "Epitaph 1", was downright thrilling and lord only knows why the Fox powers-that-be chose not to air it at all.).

I'm sure this is not the last we will hear from Whedon and I will eagerly wait to see what bubbles up out of that stew pot brain of his.

In the meantime, Fox has been granted some leniency by me -- because I just know they have been hiding in their bunkers to evade my wrath -- for hosting the next best thing to life in Whedonverse. That would be "Glee."

If you aren't watching this program, do yourself a favor and do it. It's one-of-a-kind.

Oh, and Joss W is slated to direct an episode in the back half of this season.

Good move, Fox. You are safe. For now. But I don't respect you all that much.

If anyone else is watching, share! My personal favorite character is Kurt Hummel. I must have watched the episode when he tries out for the football team eight times. His relationship wit his dad is one of the best depictions on TV I've seen.

I also love totally un-PC Sue. Yes, she cane!

Just a Face in the Crowd

I like to think of myself as technology savvy. Way back in the early 80s, I gerryrigged the network of computers (mostly Wangs, if I remember right) at my father's corporate headquarters to send messages to each other. Mostly, my sister and I played hide-and-seek on different floors, typing notes to each other about Barbies, boys and clothes.

The following Monday, my dad had to deal with a bunch of admins wondering how the heck these things got on their machines.

My first internet-like chat was with some mysterious guy on a thing called "The Source." I was at a sleepover at a friend's house, surrounded by gals egging me on to flirt with this person (in a very PG way, I should add, for all that we were 13). My friend's father was an airline pilot, and I gather that this system was supposed to be used for the pilots to keep updated on something or another for work. I don't really remember, but I do recall that another girlfriend of mine, E, who also had a pilot-dad had a similar set up, but since he worked for a different airline, it was called something else. I also remember that she had access to the Encyclopedia Britannica on it, and I was insanely jealous.

Now I am insanely jealous because this friend is now a big-deal doctor in San Francisco with an undergrad degree from Stamford and her MD from Dartmouth. If only my dad had been a pilot!

I kept in touch with this friend, E, up until I was 21. I had moved away from where she lived when we were 15. We had one of those friendships with all the markings of love/hate, but I like to think that in the end -- if I had stayed through high school -- we would have been (that odious term) BFFs.

I haven't kept touch with many of my friends from the past. I'm horrible with the telephone (somehow, my mind blanks out when I press that plastic to my ear) and I think I tend to do better with emails if the other person has a lot to say and I can ask questions. But this does not mean I don't miss these people and think back fondly of what time we shared.

The other day, I had a moment of nostalgia about a guy friend, C, who I befriended in poli-sci class as seniors in high school. We went to the same college freshman year, then I transferred, but only 30 minutes away, so we stayed friends. But once the real work world kicked in, the friendship broke up. I was thinking about the fun I had going to the horror movie "Child's Play" with him (the infamous Chucky doll) when I was bemoaning my lack of partners for scary movies, and so I decided to Google him to see if he happened to pop up.

Funnily, he did. In fact, he had just been selected to the state House of Reps where we went to college. 

Honk my hooter.

He has a Facebook page, and although I have been avoiding Facebook, I gave in and signed up. He is quite the busy guy, but it was nice getting in touch with him.

Of course, then I spent the obligatory two days roaming around Facebook seeing who else I could find that I knew, including Dr. E from earlier and ex-boyfriends, all the while trying to ignore the horrible twisting in my gut.

I didn't friend anyone else, though. In fact, I set up my Facebook such that no one who isn't a friend of C could see or search for my profile. And with C being a newly minted statesman, he's been racking up the "friends," so my name quickly got buried on his wall among hundreds.

I don't know that it was (is) that I didn't (don't) want to be found. It was that I was afraid no one would remember me. Or care. Or that they would only friend me because I friended them. Or... I'm sure there are more subversive reasons, all of which have to do with deep insecurity and a belief that I was all but invisible through my teen years.

About a week ago, one of my high school buddies located me on C's page, and now we've connected.  A few days ago another high school friend friended me. Then another... Well, yes, these people are already all connected with each other because we were kind of a group, but I always thought I was the fringe chick.

I'm not really sure what I think about this Facebook thing, but I do know I do not want to wallow in false wonder years. High school and college were difficult times for me - although not because of these lovely people. Certainly, none of them have a clue what was going on with me because I never peeped. But it does feel kind of nice to have not been forgotten.

Pay Attention, Santa!

Have I mentioned my obsession with Freddie Mercury? Maybe once or a couple dozen times?

Well, my son was watching some stupid movie on TV this afternoon, and it advertised for a new game for Lego Rockband. I so totally need these Legos.  Check out the Freddie -- he's even got curly chest hair.

Alcoholism's Many Faces

I haven't felt much up to posting lately. No particular reason... just not all that post-y. But I just watched something on TV I thought I'd share for those who may be interested.

When I was in rehab, we had limited television privileges, but Sunday nights we were able to watch Grey's Anatomy. For whatever reason, all 18 of us women in the house could agree that we wanted to watch the program. It was GA's first year, and it was a fun ride.

I continued to watch Grey's after I returned home, and at some point early on we discover that the hospital's chief is an alcoholic in recovery. The show did a couple interesting episodes involving alcoholism (or perhaps they seemed so to me as a newly sober person) and the effects on the body. 

As the seasons rolled along, I got bored with the Grey's Anatomy storylines and stopped watching, but for some reason I picked it back up again this year. At any rate, the Seattle Grace hospital has been undergoing some huge changes, including a merger with another hospital. And while the necessary layoffs and other issues involved are undoubtably making the chief grumpier than usual, he has been, well, kind of an asshole.

I would've thought I'd have caught on after several episodes of the chief's non-characteristic behavior. But no, even the allegedly clued-in can be clueless.

Tonight it was revealed the chief has been secretly drinking again. 

I really like the way the show has slowly unraveled this storyline. I'm looking forward to seeing where they take it. He only just started to screw up and isn't stumbling around drunk -- I hope the show takes this to a place that blows away some of the stereotypes of alcoholism.

My Funny Little Phobia

I'm sitting in the theater getting ready to catch a matinee of Paranormal Activity... by myself. I love horror movies, and I like seeing movies by myself. And I even like watching horror flicks by myself (as no one else I know likes them, it's a good thing, too).

But I've discovered I don't much enjoy seeing horror movies at the cinema alone. Here's why: I'm afraid of the one or two other psychos watching the matinees I usually catch in the darkened theater with me. Because, of course, they are crazy, mass murderer or wannabes and lil ole me is an easy target. And who would witness my horrible death? Just the other crazed maniacs slavering over their popcorn buckets.

So, I spend the movie huddled in a ball in my seat and can't get into what's happening on screen. Honestly, I'm not the paranoid type, but sitting in that atmosphere makes me think I'm a sure goner and the other movie-goers are freaks.

But me? I'm totally normal.

 

PS: Today is slightly different, however, since it is both Halloween and a Saturday matinee. The theater had a reasonable number of people in it and, for once, I wasn't the only female hanging out. Although, I didn't see any other chicks going alone.

A Post Script Reality Check

My son didn't seem to mind my interference in his room. His only grumble was his inability to locate his cheapo "Family Guy" Stewie wallet, which I didn't come across in my cleaning. Meaning it probably wasn't in his room to begin with.

It hadn't occurred to me that I might find drugs or cigarettes in my invasion. Is that odd or what? Especially given that my own mother was known to read my journal -- or maybe that has nothing to do with the price of tea in China. I knew I'd find sequestered candy and junkfood, things he's been forbidden to have in his room because he fails to clean it up after himself. And I found the missing silverware and bowls and crumbs and incriminating wrappers and half full soda bottles. The food ban still stands, all the freaking good it does (although he's never going to get video and Internet privileges back at this rate).

It shouldn't have taken me by surprise that so many of you expected dire findings. My naivite kind of scares me. I don't want to go apeshit paranoid on the boy -- it doesn't seem warranted -- but I don't want to be caught in denial either.

For now, I suppose I am glad he is in a small school with zero tolerance. They already expelled one student this year for having drugs in his possession. Another student turned him in. Counting my blessings, hoping I am setting a good example and loving him while letting him grow up.

Parenting is not for wimps.

Invasion of Privacy? Tough Shit, Kid

For months and months now, I've been after the teen to clean his room with variants of threats. All of which I've followed through on, but I also keep forgetting that, like the sneaky genie of lore, my son plays with my wording such that if I do not phrase my requests precisely, the job is not done to my satisfaction. However, I have been very clear on one thing with him: if at any point the messiness in there reaches a boiling point for me, I am going to go in there with a trash bag and tornado it myself.

He has acknowledged this possibilty (as it has happened to him once in his lifetime, much to his unhappiness), yet has continued to do the razor's edge minimum of cleaning.

So, today I hit ANNOYED BEYOND RETURN. He did reorganize his closet this past week, but yours truly did 85% of the work. Getting him to do the remaining 15% took more effort than it should have, including much hollaring from his father (which I hate hearing, so strike against boy-wonder) and the hovering threat of him not being able to attend a party that night.

Today I enter the room, and there's odds and ends of random garbage crap on the floor and all of the surfaces in his room are cluttered. I just cannot take another lecture or screaming rant from my husband.

I took out the trash bag and started tossing out shit. I sneezed a lot from inevitable dust storms. Those dust bunnies grew big fed by all that garbage.

Now, before you label me a meany, most of the shit really is garbage. He won't miss it. Also, I'm piling up a good deal of it in a box I will make him organize and put away. Soon.

But here's my real reason for posting today. And it's not my cleaning sensibilities.

Moving a chest at the foot of my son's bed to get at some candy wrappers, I discovered a large stash of my old Glamour and Cosmo magazines.

This completely cracks me up.

I guess he'll have to go fishing in the recycling for new ones.

All the dust-induced cough-laughing that ensued was worth it.

A Really Good Day

I went to an AA meeting this morning that I haven't been to in a long time. It was nice seeing familiar faces, even some of the ones who couldn't keep from telling me that my lack of meeting attendance was certain to lead to my doom. I did feel that some people were just plain ole glad to see me and not just because it validated their program. That was a nice feeling for me... and unexpected for some reason.

A funny little thing about this meeting is that it happened to be a 10 am meeting and today is my actual sobriety b-day. Ten in the morning on October 25, 2005 was my last guzzle of wine before my husband drove me off to rehab ( and I planned my last drunk down to the last drop of wine in the house. Never let it be said I was wasteful).

My buddy David presented me with my 4 year coin, and it meant so much to me. He and I grabbed lunch after and it didn't even rain while we strolled through town.

It was exactly how I wanted to spend my fourth sober birthday. I am grateful.