The Death of Daytime

I found an article today from a former soap opera magazine writer (e.g., Soap Opera Weekly) talking about how we're watching the demise of daytime TV. The source of this hypothesis: the firing from Days of Our Lives (my own former "stories") of Deidre "Exotic Bird Hair" Hall and Drake "Smell the Fart" Hogestyn.

Okay, Diedre's moniker is self-explanatory, but, for those of you who don't get the reference for Drake, here is the clarification: Jennifer Aniston's daddy, John Aniston, spent a goodly amount of his career playing Victor Kiriakis on Days, enduring many a ridiculous plotline and span of dialogue. In 1994, a little show called Friends came out on NBC (maybe you've heard of it?), the same channel that supports Days of Our Lives. Joey on Friends, as you may recall, was supposed to be a soap actor. So there are the various tie-ins, and why Days stars (Alison Sweeney, Kyle Lowder, Kristian Alfonso, among others) periodically showed up on Friends. In one season or another Joey took it upon himself to teach, or assistant teach, a community college (I guess) class on acting in soap operas. In response to - I believe - one student's question on what to do if you forget a line, Joey tells them to strike the "smell the fart" expression to buy them time. Then he demonstrates: he stops as if he's been paralyzed, raises one eyebrow skyward, then rotates his head vertically and away from the side with the raised eyebrow so his chin is stuck out in that direction, and inhales deeply. The desired effect is too look like you just, well, smelled a fart, though it's all suspenseful and dramatic to the audience. Those of us who are or were Days devotees, however, knew exactly and on the spot who taught Joey the trick: our main man, Drake Hogysten, who trademarked the look.

Now I haven't watched the show steadily since 2001, with a brief stint during 2005. I've caught an episode here and there, and there are a bunch of new characters, so I'm with the author: why not kill off one or five of them? Why are we digging more DiMeras out of the woodwork (even though we have trouble retaining evil mastermind Stefano!), but losing our anchors?

John and Marlena have been an institution on this show since the 80s. Allow us to hang onto one or two couples that manage to stay together through mistaken identities and demonic possession and adult children they never knew they had who turn out to not actually be theirs but her ex-husband's with another woman and hidden by Stefano DiMera on a secret island and never taught to speak or interact socially until they are dropped at age 18 essentially in his daughter's lap and she takes them under her wing and teaches them how to speak and to relate and to love!...where was I? Ah yes.

Let the younger characters bed-hop and make countless mistakes - that's their thing. Go ahead and create trouble for John and Marlena - conflict is, after all, the essence of drama - ... - and what is a soap opera without drama - ... - and functional couples aren't all that interesting to watch - ... - who was it that said that every happy family is the same but every dysfunctional family is unhappy in their own way? - but don't take them away.

I suppose, as I have abandoned the show to become part of the paid workforce, that I have no place to talk. I can't be angry about changes to a show I don't watch anymore, or speak out against plot twists that I can't follow.

But I can be a little bit sad.

And I am.

Congratulations, Leah & Phil!

Congratulations to Leah & Phil, who made it legal on Saturday, November 8!

(See, it's funny because they're lawyers and they met in law school. I crack me up!)

Leah chose me as her Maid of Honor, but the honor was absolutely mine to stand beside my beautiful friend as she pledged her life to a man who I know cherishes her to her very core. As he should!

You couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. After threats all week of cold and rain for Saturday, the weather gods saw fit for the sun to shine bright and warm, which was quite the endorsement. The location was elegant, the cake was delicious, and the service was excellent (if a little enthusiastic about the NA cider). Leah was a vision, Phil missed the glass, the groomsmen hoisted both of them up for the Hora, and in true celebratory form, I danced the Dance of Joy until my feet nearly fell off. (It's okay! I can feel my toes again!)

My very best wishes go out to the happy couple! Phil, you are a lucky man to have found such a lady. I know you'll take good care of my friend.

The Trouble with Characters

So I'm off on my NaNoWriMo adventure. Full disclosure: I will be very, very surprised if I reach 50,000 words. Frankly, I'll count myself successful if I reach 10,000. But no matter. I didn't do this to actually write a novel. I did this to get my hands moving again, because talking endlessly about putting words on paper does not actually put the words on paper.

I've chosen a character and I'm working her out, and building side characters who are gaining shape and color (for the most part) slowly but surely. In the first paragraphs, I really liked this main character and was interested at how she was taking form. But in all honesty, by this point (1,489 words in), I'm far less interested in her than I am in a side character I built for her. How did that happen?? When I first concocted this craptacular story, this guy was essentially a ghostly thing, always pale and shapeless, merely holding a place and serving a purpose in the plot. But he will not be suppressed the way I wanted him to be. In mindlessly scrawling words in my notebook, he gave me his name, some nuance, and personality-shaping details even as a child. I can't get such a clear picture of even my main character, and that's a problem, because the story originally centered on her!

This is what Amy Tan talks about in The Opposite of Fate, what Stephen King talks about in On Writing, what Jude Devereaux talks about in interviews and blogs. This is the exciting and energizing thing about writing, to me anyway. It's just a story, but it's a living thing. No matter how concrete your outline or your mental storyboarding, sometimes your story will decide despite your best intentions to yank the reins to the right. And you can kick and you can yell and you can pull all you want, but the horse is going this way and you're stuck in the saddle.

So okay. Let's see where he takes me...

Brave or Crazy?

I just joined NaNoWriMo. I'm not sure what I've just gotten myself into.

For the unfamiliar, NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, is an international phenomenon in which aspiring writers take up their pens and put on their Writing hats starting at 12:0o:01 a.m. on November 1, and waste reams of innocent paper in pursuit of a truly ghastly story by 11:59:59 p.m. on November 30. The goal is to have a novel (50,000 words minimum) written in one month.

A friend of mine got me into this two years ago and, much like this year, I leapt blindly into it... and never got more than about three pages written. I hope to top that number this year, but I confess I don't really have a story. I have an outline of one that I was knocking about in my head some while ago (outlines prior to Nov 1 are allowable!), so maybe I'll go with that - it was quickly turning sour in my mind's ear anyway so what's the harm in making it truly gawdawful this month.

The only hangups are about time really: I'm participating in Friend Leah's wedding next weekend, I'm spending the following weekend with my mom and grandma, the weekend after that is Thanksgiving Party weekend, and then there's Thanksgiving itself and...

But really I'm just making excuses. It's a hobby of mine. There is a lot of open time in the rest of the month and even during those weekends that I could be getting high on the smell of BIC ink and the feel of good paper.

Thus shall I persevere! Bring me my Writing hat, a pen, and a case of Diet Coke! NaNoWriMo, I declare myself to thee!

Reply All

Why is it that people hit Reply All to broadcast office emails? It's bad enough when it's in your personal email account, but at least there it tends to be people you know and there's often some witty banter or a nice zinger to enjoy. But why is it that if you receive a clearly broadcast email for some FunCtion (get it? Yeah, I want to give it back too), you feel the need to let the entire office know what you think of it?

Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon before my time. I don't want to socialize with my co-workers at large. I do want office buddies, don't misunderstand, and I'm happy to spend some of my free time with those co-workers whom I consider actual friends. But as for the rest of them, not really. I'm happily married and my commute is long, so I don't want to go to happy hour, to after-hours Wii parties, or to mid-day team-building exercises of any sort. What I do want is to work my eight hours and go home to see my husband, pet my cat, and change into jeans.

So when the office organizes trick-or-treating for the little kids in the day care center, that's cute and maybe I'll even participate, but I don't care whether Enthusiasm McPerky wants everyone to "count her in! :-)". When the Fun Committee (I kid you not) organizes a movie night for remote team members, I don't care that Teamy McJoiner thinks it's a "GREAT idea, Fun Cmte!!" It's fine to like things, it's fine to be a joiner, it's fine to be peppy. But share your support with the people directly organizing it or by participating. The entire office doesn't need to be distracted by your non-work related opinion. Just sayin.

Working from Home

I've had a stomach thing for a couple of days; I came home early yesterday and stayed home today. And before you crack the usual jokes, I want to say that I have had work, and that I have DONE work. Today I was busy straight through 1:30 p.m., so there. Come to think of it, I've had more work at home than I usually do in the office. Hrm... justification for working from home regularly now? Probably not, but a girl can dream.

Some things I have learned today:

1. BLISS! The old Philip is back on Days finally! And Chloe's back! The only sadness to my life in that respect: Brady is not back WITH Chloe, because he is apparently on The Bold and the Beautiful. I learned that in last week's Soup. But I think he just got killed off on that show, so maybe he'll be back. Not that I'll be able to see it. Curse you, gainful employment!!

2. Ellen is a fun show. I normally hate daytime non-trash talk shows, but Ellen is actually cute. It came on at 2 pm on NBC, right after Days, so it's not as though I was seeking it out. But every time I meant to shut it off and go shower (oh shut up, you'd slack on that too if you were home all day and going nowhere), she brought out something new and worth staying for. First it was Chris Rock, whom I haven't seen on camera in ages, then it was my gay boyfriend Neil Patrick Harris subjecting himself to a dunk tank to benefit breast cancer, and now it's Elizabeth Banks whom I love dearly.

3. Killing time is much more pleasant in jeans than in pantyhose, and on your couch than in the office.

I'm feeling vastly improved compared to how I was, so I'll be {pouts, kicks haphazardly at wall} back at work tomorrow... Sigh...

Spammity Spam

Recall, if you will, that until a few months ago, I was voraciously hunting for jobs. Since finding one, I have removed my profiles on careerbuilder.com, dice.com, washingtonjobs.com, and such. I still receive cattle-call job opening emails from recruiters, but they're usually bland and easy to ignore. The one I received today, however, was extra special, and I felt the need to share. I promise, no doctoring of the verbiage has been undertaken in any way, shape, or form; this is strictly a copy-and-paste operation.

Today's email comes to us courtesy of sender "Support".

Subject Line: "The serious German company requires your help!"

Body: "Hello! How are you today? Our company, Gyterhompsens GmbH, is very interested in finding business partners in the Europe, USA and all over the world. We have been selling expensive Medical equipment for 7 years. Our headquarters is located in Frankfurt, Germany. We are looking for business partner, who will help us with wire transfer. Gyterhompsens GmbH is very serious organization, and we are ready to consider all possible variants with bank accounts."

Have the Germans taken on the mantle previously worn exclusively by exiled Nigerian princes?? Are they as serious as they say they are?? The world may never know, because I'm about to hit delete...

There's Only One October

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I hate baseball. There. I said it. And it's true, I do. It is the most boring popular sport out there - worse than basketball, worse than soccer, worse than curling. You heard me. Worse than Curling, that hilarious-yet-hypnotic winter Olympic event in which players try to use brooms to sweep a clean path on the ice so that a 20 lb stone can glide just-so onto a bullseye, or into another team's stone so as to knock it out of contention. Curling at least offers some measure of suspense. There might be a decent injury in soccer, and basketball players are dramatic showboats that can be fun to watch even if the game isn't.

But, Baseball. Is. Boring. The players are dull, unless they're sticking their easily-led noses into celebrity marriages (*cough*A-Rod*cough*). The action is slow unless (pleasepleaseplease) the pitcher manages to bean the hitter. The expression on the faces of the participants is even bored, as they chaw on their tabaccky and scratch their crotches. Going to the actual game, while slightly more enjoyable than the straightjacket that is the televised version, is merely an excuse to get soused on warm overpriced beer, eat greasy overpriced food, and yell obscenities at the top of one's lungs.

"America's pastime," my butt. It may have been America's pastime when there was no television (I've already conceded that it's slightly better in person, and I'll agree that it doesn't completely suck over the radio), and when football and hockey were just regional timekillers. But that day has passed, and baseball has not kept up with the times. There are still entirely too many games for entirely too many teams with entirely too low scores and entirely too little happens.

I can ignore it most of the year, relegated as it is to weekends and/or the sports channels. But then comes October, and suddenly it's on network TV in the middle of the week. No, I don't care that it's the World Series, especially because with the exception of maybe one Japanese exhibition game and the Toronto Blue Jays, it's still only American. Would you believe this snoozer is actually in the Olympics? But I digress.

October, and the stupid World Series. As we've established, baseball is boring. You know what's not boring? Bones. Simpsons. Family Guy. American Dad. Terminator. And all these lovely shows will be pre-empted by baseball, baseball, baseball, baseball.

Last night, Husband and I sat down for our regular Wednesday night viewing: Bones at 9, followed by South Park at 10. But, what's this? Why is Tivo not recording Bones?! We restarted the modem this afternoon, it's been recording everything else, is something not connected? Is there... oh wait... and we clicked over to the regular input and sure enough, there are people in ugly gray and red uniforms standing around and staring at people in ugly white and blue uniforms. This also happened last Sunday, and will happen again this Sunday, come hell or high water. And, god help us, if the Rays manage to beat the Phillies in one game, it will happen again this coming Monday, and possibly next Wednesday. Fox has already scheduled repeats of Terminator and Bones in preparation for the unfortunate event that the Rays won't completely bite the dust and that the viewing public will be held hostage for - I mean, treated to - more baseball.

Yes of course I can watch Chuck at 8pm on NBC on Monday instead of pouting through baseball, and I will. But as for the rest of it... well, at least I can catch up on my Netflix.

Happy Dance!

I had to tighten my belt a notch yesterday! Joy of joys!

We'll have to see how long it stays that way, of course, but in the meantime, happy dances for all!

Scary Morning

I literally paid off my car two weeks ago. I received the title in the mail earlier this week. I should be jumping for joy that my lovely car is now 100% mine-all-mine. I should be revelling in the fact that I have one less bill to pay every month.

But, pessimist that I am, I'm instead gingerly turning the key in the ignition every morning, waiting for the engine to fall out.

And this morning proved that I'm not too far off base.

I turn on the car this morning and my eyes go straight to the gas gauge because I noticed last night that I was getting low and probably need to fill up and isn't it convenient that I'm seeing $3.29 gas offered at the same time. This morning, the gas gauge is pointing to full-on "E", yet the "you have no gas" light is not on and/or blinking. The gauge wavers sometimes depending on the incline of the car, so I don't pay it too much mind; maybe it just needs to warm up. The temperature gauge is all the way at "C" after all.

I'm leaving the neighborhood, but I notice the gauges haven't changed. Again, I don't pay it any mind, because I know that even though my tank was low, I had enough to get me to and from work today, and then some.

About a half mile from my house, the panicked realization sets in. The gas gauge isn't moving. The temperature gauge isn't moving. THE SPEEDOMETER AND TACHOMETER AREN'T MOVING.


Crap. Oh crap.

I consider my options. The brakes are working, so the entire thing's not shutting down (I had a car do that once while I was in motion.) The radio and lights are on, so I don't think it's electrical. What else could it be?? I could go to the nearby automotive shop, but I have no idea how long they'll need to keep my car or how many other jobs they have lined up that day, I have no other ride to work, and I know that there will probably be a sizeable train-wreck of a document awaiting my speed-demon review. I could chance it and just go to work, but the prospect of driving 66 in morning rush hour with no certainty as to how fast I'm going, or whether the engine is going to suddenly cut out, is not appealing at all.

I decide to take it to the shop. It's just too risky to myself and others to do otherwise. The document will be in crappy shape no matter what I do, there are others on the QC Team to handle it, I can work some extra hours next week to make up for whatever I miss today, and I can probably beg Husband or Friend Michelle to pick me up and take me to work. Not a great plan, but it's the best option on the table.

The nice boy at the counter (he couldn't have been more than 22, and they're much more pleasant at 7:45 am than they are at 5:30 pm) takes down my information, and then does something uncharacteristic of many auto-repair people. Most auto-repair people would simply confiscate my car and return it at the end of the day with a sizeable bill regardless of how much work was or was not done. Instead, Nice Boy politely asks if I tried re-starting the car. Well no, I haven't. He suggests we go try that out and see if anything changes.

Lo and behold! Nice Boy is magical! The engine turns over and the dials all move. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief, thank him profusely, and am on my way. Apparently a car is much like a computer: if you're seeing abnormal things, try a restart.

I'm thrilled that my car is functioning and that the repair didn't cost a cent. I am also, however, a little embarrassed to reinforce the stereotype of "those woman drivers."