January 13th, 2005



Sometimes, when I don't know what to write about, I just start typing and the words flow, at least to a certain extent, often with stops and starts and deletes and re-writes, but at least I end up with a journal entry. Sometimes, when I don't know what to write about I think back over the day and remember something amusing that happened or something funny someone said, or something beautiful that I saw and that is enough to get me started. Sometimes, especially when I'm not feeling well, nothing works, and I'm left staring at the screen, thinking, "I got nothing."

It's not that it's harder to write for an audience, it's that things take on a disproportionate importance when I'm weighing their worth for public consumption. I'm convinced that talking about the miniutiae of my life is no fun for anyone, and even though my journal acts as a sort of life-record I have no intention of ever simply listing the things I did each day or the things I have to do and leaving it at that.

I want to write about the kinds of things that I want to read about.

I'm in the middle of The Queen's Fool by Philippa Gregory who also wrote The Other Boleyn Girl, and I cannot put it down for long. It's haunting, her writing, and the stories she's chosen to write about from a perspective that brings them to life, makes them seem as if they are happening NOW, makes you wish you didn't know the ending.

Anders and I watched The Terminal last night. We sat through the entire thing with pretty much expressionless faces, although I did comment at one point that leaving mascara off of Catherine Zeta Jones in order to try and play down her looks wasn't really a winning strategy. I thought Tom Hanks did a credible job in his part, but the whole premise that the official in the film could be so colossally petty and mean-minded struck me as bizarre. Even though it was based on a true story, it was so Hollywoodized as to be unrecognizable and I found it to be trite, obvious and pretty much pointless. When the credits were rolling, I boggled at the fact that it was a Steven Spielberg film and then turned to Anders and said, "Not so much" and he agreed. Tom, after this and the execrable mess that was The Ladykillers I'm really hoping for better next time I bother to spend a couple of hours with you.

Cracking Me Up: The Sitcoms of Our Lives
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