Over the holiday weekend, I finished Just the Funny Parts by Nell Scovell. The memoir was published back in March 2018 and branded as a scathing but funny insider look at “the hard truths about sneaking into the Hollywood boys’ club.”
Honestly, before reading it, I had no clue who Nell Scovell was. Just the Funny Parts had been a digital book sitting in my virtual to-read pile on my Kindle for the last 6-months. Something suggested to me, given my penchant for humor and feminism, and bought on a book-sale whim.
Once I got around to reading Just the Funny Parts, I was not disappointed. Well, I was. Not by the quality of the book, but the unfortunate experiences noted therein. …
I’m going to reveal my strange superpower. It is so super-secret, I didn’t realize I had one until yesterday. While reading, How To Be Everything, by Emilie Wapnick I recognized my (newly identified) gift and, after digesting Wapnick’s helpful insights, was able to accept it as more of a blessing than a curse.
Come closer *gesturing you to do so, as I conspiratorially whisper*, “I am a multipotentialite.”
No *reeling back in response to your silly, obscure movie reference, and returning to my normal tone of voice*. I can’t duplicate myself like Michael Keaton’s character (Doug) in Multiplicity (1996 film). Though *I pause to consider this* it is oddly appropriate given each of his clones possessed and emphasized a talent the original Doug held. Doug was too overwhelmed to do everything he wanted and needed to. I can relate. …
As a self-taught knitter, I love to play with yarn. My stash is a shamefully luxurious variety of merino and silk-wool blends I love to paw over.
I am selectively, demonstratively affectionate. I’m practically in your face, inconveniently bidding for your attention until I want to be left alone. Then you might get scratched. Don’t worry, I provide an audible warning or a scowl beforehand so you can assess my interest.
If I’m spending time with you, it is because you have been chosen. Otherwise, I’m off doing my own thing, away from people.
I’m socially awkward, what can I say? …
A Love Story, I Mean Review, of My Typewriter Keyboard
My significant other gifted me a Qwerkywriter typewriter keyboard for our anniversary. I’ve been click-clacking on this retro-tech inspired device for several days now.
Using it evokes a wonderful sense of nostalgia. I feel like I should be hammering out the next great novel with a glass of Scotch within reach and a polydactyl feline curled up in my lap.
It has also generated some envy from a few of my writer friends. “Oh, I’ve had that on my wishlist forever.”
Note: My boyfriend and I have also been working from home for over two months, sharing our downstairs living room space, back to back from one another. So I’m seriously impressed with his resolve. He has yet to take me out or complain. Instead, he gazes at me lovingly, seeing (and hearing) the joy it brings me with each and every click-clack causing keystroke. …
Just the tiniest bit of contact would make all the difference. It would make me feel like it is an honor to walk down the street with me on your arm. Instead, I am rebuffed whenever I gently brush my fingers alongside the back of your hand. Sometimes, you acquiesce and clumsily grapple my palm for a moment, only to drop it and put yours into your pockets. Each time you do, it is a strike upon the nail in the coffin housing the end of our relationship. Death by a million tiny taps.
More and more, when we walk together, you distractedly stride ahead. Why not stroll alongside me the way a gentleman should? During, you continue to talk like we’re having a conversation. I struggle to hear half of what you are saying and give up trying to listen. You seem oblivious to just how rude this is; how much of a self-important jerk you are being. Still, no amount of mentioning it seems to make an impact. …
I recently finished reading, err listening (Audible), to “Stay Sexy and Don’t Get Murdered.”
While I am a Gen X’er with a black-belt in Dr. Michael Baden’s Autopsy, have childhood memories of watching countless episodes of Unsolved Mysteries, and have a penchant for anything on the Investigation Discovery (ID) and A&E channels, I am not a devout follower of the co-authors’, Georgia Hardstark and Karen Kilgariff, “My Favorite Murder” podcast.
I know, right? What is wrong with me? I tried to listen to MFM a few times but found they deviate from the true-crime topic far too often for my liking to discuss the day-to-day filler of their lives. …
Online learning. All you need is a device, the internet, and a desire to master something new. I get the convenience of getting an education while sitting in my home office, at 2 a.m., wearing jammies. Online learning is a less expensive alternative to a bootcamp or college, neither of which I can afford.
I’m sure my fellow autodidacts can relate. We want to continue upskilling, but not with the same price tag as college, which some of us are still paying off.
However, there can be a dark side to online learning.
The completionist in me wants to take and finish all of the course-ware I have accumulated. Some are paid resources, others are free. Most of it is web development, UX, or content writing related. …
When A Man Who Has Been Married For Over 50 Years To The Same Woman Offers Advice, You Listen
The other evening I took an Uber home from work. I’m still getting used to the idea of getting into a car with a stranger and telling them where I live — having grown up in the generation who had stranger danger hammered into them.
“Never get into a car with a stranger. Never tell them your name or where you live.” Now millions of people do it every day.
My driver, we’ll call him Carl, arrived promptly in his Toyota Camry and ferried me away towards home for the day. The spry Caucasian septuagenarian introduced himself with a distinctive South African accent. During the course of our 15-minute trip, Carl revealed he’d been married for over 50 years, had four adult children, several grandchildren, and was a preacher. …
There is something particularly satisfying about marking things off your to-do list. This is especially true when it takes an extra special effort to get certain ones removed. For example, I have a Goodwill box sitting in the back of my car which has been there since we moved a year ago. Well, actually it lived in our living room for 6 months, then it was allocated to my trunk. I really should drop it off already. It is on my to-do list after all.
Before you brand me as lazy, let’s remember that I have a full-time job, I do freelance writing work, I’m always learning something new (both for me and to enhance my career), and I have a home with kids and a partner. So you can imagine what my lengthy to-do lists (yup, plural) consist of. It is all about prioritizing. And while I could bore you with talk of bills, taxes, my inability to drop off donations, and my upcoming oil change, I think I’ll just stick with the more interesting and productive tasks. …
I assume most people here have seen or heard of Bewitched? It was a sitcom that aired between 1964 and 1972 and has since been in syndication. Think TBS or Nick-At-Nite; it might be on Hulu or Netflix.
The urban fantasy centers around a witch who has betrothed herself to a mortal man, and vows to adhere to the life of a suburban/domestic housewife, abandoning the use of her magic. Easier said than done, especially when her eccentric, spell-wielding relatives come to visit. Hilarity and hijinks are sure to ensue.
Gladys Kravitz is the protagonist’s nosy neighbor. She witnesses all sorts of otherwise unexplainable things but is never able to produce proof. …