Football Frustration

Andy Reid drafted a quarterback. Why? We don't need another QB this season. What we do need are starters both offensively and defensively. We need to strengthen our defensive line and our receiving corps. He didn't think about this season. He thought about 3 seasons from now. Why, why, why???? Even Donovan doesn't want to talk to him. Donovan needs help on the field THIS season. So frustrating.

Maybe Reid thinks he'll get a starter cheap in free-agency. That's a hell of an assumption. Ugh!

Still, I can't wait for football season. Sigh...

Sunday recovery

I think of Sunday as the day of recovery. I do my best not to make specific plans on Sundays so as to be free to do whatever I a) have the energy for; b) needs to be done; and/or c) strikes my fancy. Such things might include anything from the obvious (reading the paper, doing laundry, grocery shopping, vacuuming) to the ambitious (creative projects, exercising, mopping the kitchen floor) to actual recovery from activities the night before (nursing hangovers, recapping with friends, napping, eating lots of chips, writing in my journal).

What am I doing today? A little of each. Currently, for instance, I'm dying my roots while catching up on my blog. I have written in my journal, talked to friends, eaten a fair amount of chips, read the paper and went to Walgreen's for shampoo, t.p. and Propel water (my favorite new recovery beverage).

See, last night's activities require some recovery. I'm not hung over (though I did smoke too much, for which a price must be paid). I'm a little groggy, considering I didn't get home until 3am. That I can handle. It's the disappointment that has me struggling. I had hoped last night would go differently, and I'm bummed. I thought the guy (it's about a guy, as if that wasn't obvious) was going to stay sober and he didn't. He said he quit drinking, and I believed him. He got drunk—so drunk he didn't realize how drunk he was, so tried to deny it. Hence, the fun, light, romantic, sexually-charged romp I was looking forward to didn't happen. The mood was killed. He blew it!

I'm sure it's just as well, and I'm better off, and all that. My heart's not broken or anything. Still, I need a day of recovery ... so thank goodness for Sunday.

Thursday night TV

Ever since I was a kid, Thursday nights have been THE night for planting yourself on the couch. According to Wikipedia, "Over the course of two decades, NBC's Thursday lineup featured such popular shows as Hill Street Blues, The Cosby Show, Family Ties, Night Court, LA Law, Frasier, Seinfeld, ER, Friends and Will & Grace." Other channels have gotten in on the act too, with Scrubs, CSI, Without a Trace, Gray's Anatomy, and my personal favorite SURVIVOR.

It's the one show I can't miss. Ever. I don't care what else is going on, or who offers me what should be a better, social alternative. I gotta be home for Survivor. Yes, there are times I have to tape it, but those times are rare. It's never the same taped. Like watching a football game taped. No good. You want to feel the action while it's happening.

No matter how many seasons have passed, and how many reward challenges, and how many times Jeff Probst says the same stuff over and over (his most repeated phrases include, "c'mon in guys," "wanna know what you're playing for?" and "I'll go tally the votes")... none of that calms my fervor.

The show is so much more than just a reality show. It's about as true a social experiment as you can get on TV. These people have seen the show, some of them have studied the show thoroughly, yet they still do the same things every other alliance has done in all preceding seasons even though it doesn't work. It's fascinating!

May 13 is the 3-hour finale, and I've already posted it in my calendar so I don't make other plans. Woo hoo! Can't wait!!

It's not just mud

I could go on and on about my relationship with clay -- from the first piece I ever made in grade school (a clown face paperweight), to learning the art of throwing, to the beadmaking class I taught in Maine that caused me to collapse of exhaustion, to making production tiles for 4 straight years. It's been a long and winding road, much of which has been rife with enormous self-imposed pressure to make great stuff of importance and greatness (whatever that means).

I've tried over the the years to take pottery classes at local art centers just for fun, but would inevitably get bogged down by my own expectations for what could be accomplished.

All of that has changed, thank goodness! I'm currently enrolled in a class called "Creative Tableware" at the Perkins Center for the Arts in Moorestown, NJ, taught by David Gamber. After only 3 sessions, it has already been a revelation.

For once in my life, the clay studio is actually an escape from the pressure instead of being a different type of pressure. I'm making cups, bowls, beads, bells and anything else my heart desires ... with absolutely no pressure. It's wonderful! The day's anxieties melt away and my head clears for a few hours. I come home refreshed and relaxed.

I'm accomplishing a whole lot more than just making pots. More on this in the days and weeks to come...

Spring Top 5

Here's my spring-infused Top 5 Reasons Why I Love Collingswood, NJ (my new hometown)

1. A mere 15 minute drive gets me to the Perkins Art Center in Moorestown where I can play with clay.

2. My landlord hung the awning that protects my porch from the elements, and now it feels like I have another room!

3. Cooper River Park. It's fantastic. Plus, my city friends come out and walk with me there. Exercise, fresh air and girl talk... sigh...

4. Quiz Night at the Pop Shop. Local and city friends come together to share the stuff we know, along with fries and ice cream.

5. The ceiling fan in my bedroom. It's a first for me, and my sleep has never been so slumberful.

2 things I know

1. The doors on commuter trains are NOT like the doors on elevators. They don't reopen when they sense (or even feel) human flesh in between as they are closing. Yes, I learned this the hard way. Yes, I have bruises.

2. Closing your eyes while power-walking on a treadmill is a very bad idea. You could fall, hurt yourself and make everyone in the gym rush to see if you're alright. Trust me, it's embarrassing. So don't let that really cool White Stripes song on your iPod lure you into forgetting where you are. You're in the gym. There are lots of people around. Plus, falling hurts. Yes, more bruises.

Ode to the Rerun

We all have favorite TV shows. Shows we can't miss. Shows we make dates to watch. Shows we discuss and dissect with friends. Shows we tape/Tivo/Netflix /on-demand. It's usually important to watch such shows in sequence so that the trajectory of the story is cohesive. This makes reruns frustrating and annoying when you're dying to get to the next plot point.

When I got hooked on Six Feet Under, the show had completed its run on HBO. I had heard it was good, so I Netflixed the first few episodes ... and was immediately and forever hooked/devoted/fanatical. The goings on of the Fisher family consumed my waking hours for weeks. (To this day, I get wistful when I drive by a funeral home with a residence attached.) If I had been watching while it was airing, reruns might have rendered me insane.

But now I've seen every episode in proper sequence, and the Fishers' lives have been resolved in satisfying narrative. I even know how each of them dies. No unanswered questions. What a relief!

This makes reruns (now airing on Bravo) sweet, because I'm no longer desperate for the next development. I can relax and enjoy the nuances of Ruth's self-discoveries, Claire's drug experimentations and Keith's anxieties about becoming a parent (not to mention the exquisite camera work, the clever turns-of-phrase dialogue and the ingenious casting of guest stars whose characters are not long for this world), while not freaking out about what the hell happened to Lisa.

All this to say, hoorah for the rerun -- in its place. It can bring a whole new level of appreciation to already beloved shows. AFTER we know what happens, that is.