Step It Up and Write

Back when I had my TV on the wrong setting and thus only got twenty channels, I watched a lot of Top Chef on Bravo (strangely, that was one of the channels). A few months ago, I watched and enjoyed some Project Runway and realized it had a very similar structure and style, the way the challenges were set up, even the graphics. Then the other day, I came across Step It Up and Dance, and by gum, it's the same thing too. I find the formula engaging to the point of addictive, and clearly I'm not alone because Bravo has realized what works and stuck to it.

Which brings me to my latest imaginary entrepreneurial endeavor: a writing retreat that's structured like one of those shows. I'm sure people would pay lots of money for such a thing--they already drop a lot for writing retreats, and if it has a gimmick like that, all the better. I'm not sure whether there would be elimination, since everyone would have paid the same amount to be there. And it's sad.

To be clear, this would not be a show. No cameras present. When I found out the latest Project Runway champ was only 21, I referred to him as "just a baby," and my friend said, "Uh, how old are you?"
I laughed and said, "Twenty-four, but I don't have my own clothing line."
She said, "Well, if there were a show for writing, maybe you'd be on there. It's just a matter of opportunity."
As I agreed, another friend piped up laughing: "If there were a show for writing, it would be the most boring show ever."

Completely true, I'm afraid. Thus, it's just a retreat, not a show. Although we might have a shot at PBS. Maybe Levar Burton could be the host.

Woooooo.

I'm trying something new and exciting. Will we be able to see this video? I hope so. Enjoy.

Actually, It's Tolerable, but Just Barely

Today I watched part of Intolerable Cruelty. Besides having really gorgeous people in it (George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones), it's just not that great, from what I could tell. And that made me happy, because the Coen brothers are so talented, such masters of their art, and they have still made some forgettable, mediocre films. Barton Fink left me feeling the same way, and Blood Simple. Or A Simple Plan, whichever was theirs--see? It's not even good enough to remember the title! It means there's hope for the rest of us, swashing along through the creative muck. If you do stuff often enough, something great will probably come out eventually. A comforting thought.

I've still been indulging in nostalgia, about to start the last Dark Is Rising book and talking about it to anyone who'll listen. To add to the list, I found an online version of You Don't Know Jack, the best computer trivia game ever. It doesn't have the jingles for each question number, but it's still fun and challenging.

I Love the 90s

The other night, I found Quantum Leap on Ion, this weird channel with reruns from that era. I can't even tell you how happy that made me. The show is emblematic of childhood summers--it used to come on at noon every day, and we'd watch it while we ate lunch, then resume our playing. I want to find DVDs now and spend days watching Quantum Leap. It's better than the other bad-but-good shows from the 90s. I was up earlier than usual a few weeks ago and got to see Saved by the Bell and Fresh Prince. And I'm rereading the Dark is Rising sequence, from even earlier. So, nostalgia all the way lately.

It's remarkable how abruptly something can lose hold of me; I'll read two-thirds of a book and suddenly realize I'm not interested. And since school ended, I've had fun being mostly alone and reading, but just today I decided that time is over and I'm ready to be sociable again. It's like something outside me has flipped a switch, arbitrarily. So let the cartoons begin.

Know what's weird?

Lately, I've had some kind of switch flipped once a day or so, a switch that made me realize how absurd it is to be human. I mean, talking? What's the deal with that? Writing? Cooking and living in houses and forming communities and needing money and voting? We are strange. It makes no sense whatsoever. The world would be perfectly fine with jellyfish and pine trees and wooly mammoths and everything but us. And here we are, finding meaning in every little crevice.