Monday, January 23, 2012

I've got nothing

Not really. I've got lots. I've got rhythm. I've got music. I've got my man. Who could ask for anything more? Okay, Gershwin aside, I'm quite content. Home, family, puppies, writing when I've got the time. A church member donated a new computer and I didn't lose everything in the crash. It's the quiet before the Lenten storm. I'm attempting to show Buddy Holly all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of the James Bond movies at the same time.

Buddy Holly turns twenty-five this week but we're waiting to celebrate his birthday and having a SuperBowl party. I'm making fancy (in the most manly way possible) cupcakes. I'll try to remember to take pictures of my success (or failure).

I get my Christmas present this Friday! We're going to the theatre. We'll be dressing up and I'll be wearing opera length gloves that are in the mail. I have a blue gown, a bridesmaid dress, and will be styling myself after Anastasia. I'll try to remember to take a picture of that too. Perhaps even with my music box. It's the hair I'll have trouble with. My hair is quite fine (in the thinnest sense of the word) and does not take to fancy styling, or curling, or volume, or doing much of anything.

So, when I say I've got nothing, it's more that I don't have anything to rant about just now. How boring.

I just finished Gilda Radner's autobiography It's Always Something. The biography, originally meant to describe the humor of her life. took a different turn when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 1986. She battled it, it went into remission, and then claimed her life in 1989. It was not at all what I expected it to be. I think I was expecting Tina Fey (Bossypants is also a very good autobiography) but, of course, it wasn't because I got Gilda.  She writes about having to find herself, her Gilda-ness, over and over. In the midst of the pain and despair, she talks about losing the clown, the Roseanne Roseannadanna, and having to discover it all over again. It's inspiring and bittersweet. She died of cancer in the end but, I imagine, Gilda would never say she lost or that she wasn't a victor because she learned to live life when she had it and to fight the cancer and the depression it inspires.

Next up is The Great Gatsby because I've never read it.

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