Denny Crane: “Didn’t we used to…wasn’t it good?” or something like that
Shirley Shmitt: (big Candace Bergen smile) “then they invented color TV.”
It was so brilliant; the ultimate kiss off line. I wish that I had thought of it, but I’m glad that somebody did. So clever, pithy, witty, and covers all bases. But I had been hooked from the moment Alan Shore and Denny Crane did their Blues Brothers, Men in Black thing. And James Spader is joining William Shatner in best dressed men category. And my friends will all say that James Spader had work done. Really don’t care; he’s more magnetic than ever. An actor who can act equally well with just his eyes,or his whole body, or his eyes and words, or just words.
I’m not going to go into how they managed to get The First Amendment into the show because it was so suprising and different, it was downright scary. Which I do think was the point. So watch it when it’s repeated. It’s brilliant. I love Boston Legal, the only show I will watch live or when actually aired on TV
Though I kept reaching for the remote to try to get through the commercials. My ADD would kick in—really have to start taking the second Strattera.
Her toe was throbbing and she didn’t want to take any Vicodin because it was just a dull throb, not worthy of the good stuff. But Advil did zilch. So she looked at catologs; she definitely had to have everything at Brookstone except for the nose hair clipper, cheap massage chair, a few other message things and the cheaper air purifers.
But everything at The Sharper Image looked just a bit more enticing. She liked the Sharper Image store in The Seaport more than Brookstones, but really liked Brookstones in Third Street Mall in Santa Monica the most.
This was too confusing. She didn’t really need a $3,600 massage chair when it was too bulky for her apartment, too pricey, and not at all attractive.
Her friends and family had laughed three years ago when she bought the mustard Stressless Recliner. They had told her she it was something old people did; that she would just sit and vegatate. She wished; she almost never sat at it and watched TV because she was always at the computer or reading newspapers and magazines that somehow educate.
Can never read them in the bedroom; must be in the living room. The bedroom is strictly for relaxing. Which is why she is only in the bedroom to sleep. Relaxing is for sometime in the near future; but when she’s not quite sure.
Now, of course, her friends and family had all bought recliners or massage chairs that didn’t look as new as her mustard colored one did. It was supposed to have been bright bright yellow, but there was a shipping mistake, and then another, and she had so many bad furniture delivery mistakes that she just accepted it.
The twenty steel guage dresser had been perfect, but the six drawers were made horizontally rather than vertically. She needed the wall space, and no adult wants to bend down to 24″ and 12″ often. She did agree with the designer that the steel top was awesome, and she did wish she could have kept it.
But everything in her apartment has to give an illusion of space. She learned long ago to master the art of pretend rooms, and how to make a little room look twice its size.
Currently she was in love with her DWR bedroom bookshelves that held all the books she was half finished reading or she meant to read. This wasn’t like her. She was a compulsive reader who had read Robert Caro’s The Power Broker in one weekend and could still describe pivotal scenes.
She didn’t understand if this new willingnes to put books down the second they began to bore her or she was tired or had to change a sentence, had something to do with her excitement at finding a new art medium, blogging or was a sign of something more ominous; something that she should see a doctor about. But what could she say?
“I began blogging last year, and can’t seem to stop. I love its freshness; its abilty to impact on people immediately. It’s fluid; a performance art of sorts. It seems to always changing shape and I can carve out my own shapes. But I have limited patience for books, unless they’re exceptionally well written. Don’t know how many times I have read In Cold Blood, but I have always been a true crime freak, Capote lover, New Yorker lover, and I still rue the day they put the author’s name before the article in it.”
Was this a mission statement? A patients complaint to a doctor? Or would a doctor fixate on her insistance that blogging is important, that she loves true crime and endlessly rereads a book that has been much debated? Would the doctor see the dichotomy between the fascination with new media while being nostaligic for an old media relic that had ended years ago?
But she had learned to read by reading the cartoons in The New Yorker. Of course she would miss a staple of her childhood that had been a constant in her family forever. In truth her childhood had been one of love and laughter. Well there had been the tantrums she had thrown, and her little sister had been a self-admitted brat, but every family argued. To not argue would have been a sign of apathy.
She had been meaning to blog about being adopted but kept on forgetting. Blogging had allowed her to put adoption in the file marked “almost finished.” Not that she had been big on thinking about it before, or almost at all since she had met her birth mother. Somehow, though, blogging helped soften the edges.
She had met so many incredible people this past year with whom she had talked about many different issues. It was different than face to face conversation. Blogging allowed for thought between responses; a post or a comment on a post would begin her thinking about some subject, anything from the subject in the post to something a word made her think of.
She felt very humbled by the provincialism of Manhattanites. Though she hated to admit this, last year she really had believed Manhattan was the center of the world.
Sometimes it’s easier to read catologs and decide to buy everything but hair nose clippers. She could always cancel the order in the morning.