Friday, October 12
After work I was feeling icky from this drawn-out cold that my co-workers and a couple of friends had been also suffering from. I was supposed to meet friends out for a concert at the Doug Fir, but I wasn’t up for it. So, I headed to Target and bought some office supplies for my desk. After a dinner of left over chicken soup, I commenced putting together my IKEA bookshelf. I had been so sick of putting together furniture. But, it was time. I decided to open a box of my books, which had been in storage for the past year because I didn’t have room for them in my apartment in Redmond. It was a joy to rediscover my books. I actually got a lump in my already sore throat as I pulled some of them out, touched the spines and remembered the joy of reading each one of them. How I love my books! Each one a memory, each a treasure. Titles like: The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan; The Consolation of Philosophy by Boetheus; Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë; Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton; Difficult Loves by Italo Calvino; Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez; and then my poetry books of Edna St. Vincent Milay, Pablo Neruda, Hafiz, Mary Oliver, Jane Hirshfield. Stacks of brilliant books to be shelved for my view, for my easy picking, for my pleasure.
I tuned into a real guilty pleasure on t.v. – the season premiere for Men in Trees. I’m pretty annoyed that the network decided to place M.I.T. on Friday nights. The main demographic that watches this program is not sitting on the sofa on Friday nights at 10:00 p.m.., unless they’re home sick or the weather is insane outside. I watched it since I was home, all the while thinking it should come on on Thursday nights after Grey’s Anatomy, instead. It deserved that spot over Big Shots. The fact that I was concerning myself with this makes me want to poke my eye out, again.I don’t feel guilty for watching M.I.T., though. It’s actually a well-written, engaging program. It definitely fills my Sex & The City void. Marin, portrayed by a vivacious and luminous Anne Heche, is as likeable and deserving of loyalty as Carrie Bradshaw. I think the Alaskan men on the show, especially Jack, are sexy and desirable. The show has its share of quirky characters, much like the original great Alaskan-based program, Northern Exposure.
Finally, it needs to be stated that I decided today that I’d like to be Saturday Night Live’s Sally O’Malley character, portrayed by Molly Shannon, for Halloween. Sally is the half-centurian former dancer who prances around in tight pants that she pulls up to her boobs, creating a frightening camel-toe in her crotch, followed by a series of kicks and stretches and her signature chant, “I’m Sally O’Malley and I’m Fifty Years Old!” Followed by “I love it, I love it, I love it,” in a weird, high-pitched guttural voice. Dang hilarious. I just need a big brown wig and a tight pair of polyester pants. That’s hot.