An open letter to my boyfriend, Breaking Bad

My dearest,

I love you.  I'll just come right out and say it.  We met out of the blue, connected by chance through a mutual friend, and, though it took me until our third date to see how perfect we were for each other, my love for you is deep and true.

I love how real you are.  Unapologetic.  You're not afraid to be just who you are, even when it's really, really ugly.  You make me laugh, you make me cry...you surprise me in unbelievable ways every time we're together.  This honesty you possess has made me revisit how I see characterization, plot, the intertwining of storylines, assumptions, and everything else I used to play with in my own writing.  You have, in your amazing way, allowed me to revisit one of my true passions.  And, if that's not love, I don't know what is.

But, things have been changing.  I'm sensing an end to our....well, relationship just seems like too pedestrian a word. Is it true?  According to my calendar, you're leaving me.  And, I have to tell you, I'm pretty pissed off about it.  Who do you think you are, that you can come into my life and turn my world upside down and then just leave as though you were never here?  What am I supposed to do with my nights?  Who am I supposed to turn to for inspiration, for the unique companionship only you can provide?

Whatever, BB.  There will be another.  You weren't the first, and you won't be the last.  Even though I expected our connection to endure so much longer, I will be grateful for what you've given me.  You haven't left me much of a choice, I guess.  And, even though we may never see each other again after just a few more short months, know that I will never, ever forget you.

Love,
Kelly

Olympics!

I am such a huge fan of the Olympics---doesn't matter what sport, what season, whatever, I love it all.  Gymnastics, though, causes me stress.  I am addicted to gymnastics, but when I look at the girls' bodies and imagine the passion it takes to do what they do, I wonder "should I be supporting this?"  But they do it because they love it--and they, maybe?, love the pain that goes along with the win.  And, I don't want to spoil anyone's experience, but tonight was more pain than love for one girl in particular.  Worth it?  To me, the viewer, absolutely.  She was brilliant even though she didn't "win"---but, she's not going home with a gold, and, well, they only get one shot at it really....

But I do love me some Olympics--I truly do.

Wasting time

I wonder how much time I waste in a day.

I'm sitting here, watching TV and, yes, stalking Facebook. I have to leave to go to a meeting in 50 minutes. My psych book is sitting open next to me, and I'm thinking "Eh, I don't really have time to read much."

Really? I couldn't get 50 minutes of reading done? Better to play Bejeweled Blitz and drool over Adam Richman (Man v. Food marathon) for 50 minutes? And, I wonder how many times in a day I make the decision that 5, 10, 30 minutes isn't enough to do something, so I don't do it.

Tomorrow it's back to school...I need to become the queen of time management.

Stop making me hate people I love, please.

First it was Rosie O'Donnell.
Then it was Tom Cruise.

Now, with Mel Gibson, I'm putting my foot down.

I don't want to know anything more about these people other than that they are enjoyable to watch on my favorite movies and programs. I don't care if Rosie O'Donnell is an angry lesbian and she's rude to adults and won't give them autographs. I don't care if Tom Cruise is a crazy Scientologist weirdo who wouldn't allow his wife to scream during labor. I don't CARE if Mel Gibson beats his wife, how many children he has, or if he's racist.

What I care about is, did they entertain me in the media form for which I plunked down my hard-earned cash and provide me with the escape, amusement, knowledge, or whatever I was requesting at the time.

That sound harsh, I know. I SHOULD care if Mel Gibson is a violent bigot. And I do--to one level--the same level with which I read about abusers in the paper and think "man, I really wish they wouldn't do that." The difference is, I'm not emotionally tied to those folks in the paper. Rosie, Mel, Tom and I all shared a lot of good memories together (and other celebrities too...I'll just use these three as examples), and the most upsetting part of this whole situation with Mel Gibson is that I can't ever watch a movie with him in it without feeling a) guilty that I'm supporting him, or b) thinking about his violent outbursts.

Do I blame him? Sure. But, the fact is, if he is a violent bigot, he probably always has been. And Hollywood (and all of us) have supported him smiling and nodding the whole way through. But now, because the media has this compelling need to tell me every disgusting detail about every single person who has ever crossed the threshold of Hollywood, now I can't just simply enjoy those celebrities. Mel Gibson shouldn't beat his wife. He shouldn't threaten to hit her with a baseball bat. BUT, we live in an age where there is zero privacy--and that's not okay. A private argument between two people--however combative it may get-- does not need to end up on CNN. Even if it's Mel Gibson. Even if it's Tom Cruise freaking out. Even if it's Heath Ledger screaming at a grip. We all have moments when we lose our shit. And this attitude that the DJ on KDWB knows jack about Mel Gibson's personal life because he heard a snippet of an illegally recorded phone conversation is complete BS. And yes, they are (and should be) held to a higher standard--I teach high schoolers who look up to these celebrities and no one wants the celebs to be good role models more than me. But, the media has to play fair. They have to give people a chance to make mistakes, to pay for them, to listen to all sides before condemnation.

And, you may say, "just don't watch/listen to it." Believe me, I've tried. I can't turn left in my own bathroom without hearing some trash about some celebrity or another.

So, though I turn it off whenever I can, I'm sad that I can't watch 'Signs' and that tragic scene where Graham Hess finds his wife pinned to the tree and knows he has to say goodbye without hearing Mel's latest rant in my head. I'm sad I can't watch Top Gun without thinking "man...too bad he went crazy...".

Can't we leave just a little bit of fantasy in the world? Not to ignore or deny bad behavior...but do we need to seek out the bad behavior? Magnify and glorify it? I don't think so....and I'm irritated.

Things I am loving and hating: a list of extremes

Since it's summer :-)

Things I am loving:

--> An all-night marathon of 'The Nanny' on Nick@Night

--> Finishing my first class in graduate school

--> Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver

--> A kid in my summer school class who is overweight, socially challenged, and completely brilliant.

--> Watching my dog chase the laser around until he can barely catch his breath

--> Having total freedom to plan a ground-breaking curriculum for my hybrid writing class in the fall

--> The 4-5 hour happy hours with my friend Amy

--> Summer sunshine

Things I am hating:

--> The Justin Morneau commercials on the radio. It takes a lot for me to hate McDonalds, Morneau AND the MN Twins, but those commercials are doing a bang-up job.

--> The U of M sending me an email letting me know that, by the way, my instructor for my adolescent psychology class is changing effective July 19. Wha....?

--> I forgot to record Big Brother tonight


Clearly summer is much happier than it is hating. That's a good thing. Especially about the grad class: one down, a bunch to go, but I'm learning a lot that will already be put to good use in my classroom. Viva summer!!

Some things on my mind: a random list

1. I need to blog more often. I used to blog every day. Sometimes multiple times a day! Surely I have not run out of important things to tell the faceless masses? (Not that you, dear reader, are a faceless mass. You are an individual--unique and loved by me.)

2. Julie and Julia is a damn good movie. And, there was no better movie for me (a writer) and my best friend (a cook) to see together.

3. I need to get back to doing yoga. Seriously. I haven't done yoga in, roughly, 20 days. Which is about 20 days too many to be yoga-less.

4. Anna Karenina is a really good book! I'm totally digging it.

5. Melissa d'Arabian's new cooking show, Ten Dollar Dinners, would be a whole heck of a lot more awesome if she actually showed that the dinners actually cost ten dollars. Like, she says that the meal will feed a family of four for under ten bucks. But then she just shows how to cook something, and I'm thinking "Um...there's not a chance in the world that all cost less than ten bucks!" Or, if there IS a chance in the world, then show me. If you're going to have a show where budgeting and saving is an integral part of the show...um...mention it.

What about Bob?

A little more than six months ago, my former principal and friend, Craig, passed away. It's not uncommon for me to think of Craig, since I spend every day in the building that he built--the high school I teach in. He is *everywhere* in that building in both memory and spirit.

Turns out, he's also on Survivor. I started this season of Survivor about a quarter of the way in, and I immediately noticed Bob. I first noticed his physical resemblance to Craig. Bob is in his late 50s, has a beard, is tall and thin, and has wise eyes. I was struck by how much they resembled each other just based on visuals alone. Then, I saw him act, and this is no lie--it's as if Craig is reliving a bit of life through a reality show. Bob has won the last four immunity challenges. He plays with brains rather than brawn. He moves with intention while the younger folks around him are running themselves in circles. He is a strategist, trusting everyone just a bit, but trusting no one completely.

He's at home in the outdoors of Africa, and, oh yeah, he's a teacher. With very few changes, the following section of Bob's biography, taken from the Survivor CBS official website, could be Craig's:

"as well as President, Vice President and Chief Negotiator for his local Teacher's Union.

When not on an adventure, Robert interests include journal writing, story telling, photography, bone collecting, archeology and camping.

This tree climbing scientist, who describes himself as honest, adventurous, resourceful and witty, built his truly "green" summer cabin back when green was only referred to as the color. His "green" cabin was completely built with recycled material and requires a fraction of the energy of the average U.S. home. He's built numerous structures from recycled material including wharfs, saunas, a chicken house and a hunting cabin."

He says that he wants to prove that a nice guy can win the game.

I am enamored with Bob. I love watching him play a mostly-honest game against deceitful people. And I love that he reminds me so much of a man who had a lot more to give than what he had the chance or time for in his too-short life. It's a relief to know that, though Craig was one of a kind, there are others out there in the world who embody what he was and are able to continue demonstrating intelligence, kindness, and wisdom to those who are fortunate enough to know them.

Why I love that man of mine...

Last night whilst hanging out at Champps with JennScheit, I saw my most awesome Stephen King on tv. The Red Sox are, of course, playing toward the World Series, and King is the number one fan of the Sox. So, I was completely tickled to see the camera pan to him sitting in one of the most spectacular seats in the place, since I wasn't expecting to see my man on the tele.

Then, my heart filled to overflowing when they panned to his lap...to the book that lay open there. See, in King's amazing book On Writing
, he says that writers need to read ALL THE TIME. He says a writer should always have a book with her. In lines, in cars, at the dinner table...and a writer needs to learn to read in "small sips" as well as "big gulps." And to see him practicing what he directed in his book--caught on camera doing exactly what his advice to all of us writers was, well.... what can I say? The man rules.

My latest and greatest pleasure in life...

is 'The Principal's Office' on TruTV, the former Court TV. The Principal's Office is a documentary-style show featuring high school students as they get called into the principal's office for various infractions, from the administrator's point of view. This is a show that every single high school employee should watch roughly six times a day.

Here's what I've learned since I began watching this show:

1. Eric Sheninger is the yummiest principal in the US.
2. Teenagers have just about the most misguided perception of reality possible
3. High schools are exactly the same everywhere you go
4. I'm kind of a pushover teacher
5. If a teenager's mouth is open, lies are probably flying out of it
6. 75% of teenagers do the right thing...90% of the time
7. Divide and conquer
8. Humor goes a long way...sadly teenagers don't have much of a sense of humor
9. To work in a school, you really, really have to care about teenagers
10. I'm really going to miss this job when I'm not doing it anymore

Things that made me laugh so hard today I almost hurt myself

1. Jerry on Big Brother staring up at a message in the sky and walking straight into the pool. I had to rewind my DVR to hear him say "I hurt my ass", which sent me into a subsequent gale of laughter for a good five minutes.

2. Hippy-dippy stats prof introduced me to GraphJam tonight. Strolling along, I came across this:


more graph humor and song chart memes

And I'm still laughing. Really.

Chicks will WHAT?

A few weeks ago I went to my high school's production of Grease. I'd never seen the production before (only the movie), but I knew there was a "censored" version that was performed by high schools around the country. Chicks scream, no one gets off their rocks, there are no tits, and the wagon is of the station variety rather than the feline.

So I'm sitting in the auditorium with BFF Erica and the strains of Greased Lightnin' begin. A boy who is yet not old enough to vote sings, "You are supreme, the chicks'll cream" and my mouth drops. I turn to BFF and she whispers "I don't think he was supposed to sing that." At which point I dissolve into giggles and am really glad I'm not the high school musical director.

The next evening I had Saturday Night Live on in the background as I...well, I was probably studying. Christopher Walken, one of my favorite hosts of all time, does a skit of, guess what, a high school performing Grease. Running through the song in his 'Save the Drama Stage' t-shirt, he gets to "chicks'll cream," and he stops the song. "Chicks will WHAT? That's DIRTY."

He then discusses "get off my rocks", and "real pussy wagon" (and disposes of 'greased lightnin' ' itself all on his own) and changes them to something cleaner because, as he says, "If I let you sing that that the school board will put me in a box and push me down a hill."

Who says life doesn't imitate art?

The Trifecta

When I was growing up, there were three women who were instrumental in keeping my only-child-self amused. I would say now that I had crushes on these women in a very real way, and I went back and forth between wanting to be their best friends, wanting to be married to them, and wanting to actually be them. Looking back on them now, the traits that all three of them share are pretty interesting and are, I think, pretty telling of who I am.

1. Linda Hamilton -- Catherine Chandler on Beauty and the Beast
2. Louise Robey -- Micki Foster on Friday the 13th: The Series
3. Gillian Anderson -- Dana Scully on The X-Files

All three women had peripheral relationships with men, but were never *really* involved with them. None of them ever married, and all three were fantastically devoted to their jobs, to the point of distraction. All lived very dangerous, risky lives.

I wonder if part of the reason that I don't see any reason to involve myself with a man is because during my most formative years (1987 -- 1997, ages 10-20), I watched these women as models of who I wanted to someday be when I grew up. Part of being an only child is modeling oneself after specific adults rather than after peers. I never felt a connection to anyone my age, only to these television women.

It's interesting to look at them now, pictures on the internet and articles on what they're doing now, because now I see that these women were really just women. They were all married, they had children, they were simply doing their jobs acting out characters. I have no doubt that if I had seen these shows as an adult that they would have been just tv shows, nothing more and nothing less.

So what's the moral here? Keep track of what your kids watch on tv, lest they fall in love with a beast-man from the New York City subway system or an alien-hunting-socially-retarded G-man, while busy working at their job as an assistant district attorney or alien hunter or paranormal object collector. Seriously.

I remember when "backdooring" used to mean something

Dear children in the Big Brother house:

I know that you've grown up watching the game. I know that you used to get to stay up past your bedtime in your footie pajamas and watch the likes of Eddie McGee, Dr. Will, and Marcellas kick all forms of ass mental and social and you grew to love and admire them.

Here's a solid piece of advice from someone who has watched Big Brother, um, as an adult:

It's not "backdooring" if the person knows he's being backdoored!

Backdooring used to mean something. It was a skilled, strategic movie on the part of the HoH and other members in control of the house who stealthily moved about and flipped the house on its ass by putting up onto the block someone who had no idea that he or she is even in danger. It is not, as what happened tonight, the HoH hearing from the potential backdoor-ee that he's going to be backdoored.

There are a few of you playing the game very intelligently--and it is you who saved the game tonight from going to a very bad place. To the four of you who think that you "pulled off the most strategic move in Big Brother history," go back to your playpens and watch, on your Fisher Price televisions, the masters at work. This game is too big for you.

xoxo,
Kelly

Dear Tom Petty,

Thank you so much for providing a Superbowl halftime show full of good ol' American vim and vigor and free of breasts and malfunction.

Thank you for playing all of my favorite songs of yours, in order, and for modifying your voice to age-appropriate levels.

Thank you for being short, sweet, and to the point: providing us with good music, without explosions, half-naked female "back up singers" or boys' choirs from any of our country's impoverished areas.

In short, Mr. Petty, thank you for giving me exactly what I expected from you with no more and no less. You will not make the headlines tomorrow for flashing your penis to millions of viewers worldwide, but I'm guessing you're okay with that. Maybe someone will write a nice article about how awesome you were, with a picture that doesn't need fuzziness or black dots over it, and I can hang it on my wall as a reminder that it's still possible for someone not named Justin or Britney or Janet to have a fantastic Superbowl halftime show.

Love,
Me

Golden Globes, a minor slip, school, and the Packers

So I'm sitting here watching the "Golden Globes". I'm not sure why. A part of me thinks that this might be a much better way to do the awards...the other part of me misses the glitz and the glam.

I went for thirteen days (actually 12 days, 19 hours, 11 minutes and 34 seconds, according to my quitplan tracker) without even one drag off of a cigarette. Then I decided to take a trip back through memory lane via email folders and went back to a message I sent Greg two years ago tonight. Nothing special, just a report on how conferences went (actually, *after* conferences, with the drinking and the singing and the drinking and the singing) and I grabbed a smoke. Just like that. Because yes, I still have half a pack stashed away. It's part of my quitting plan. And it's working, see, because I had three drags off the thing and then tossed it. I didn't go out and buy a whole pack and then carry the obligation of needing to smoke the whole damn thing and then stop smoking after that.

I think slip-ups will occur from time to time. I'm not going to kill myself over it--most of the smoking I did in the last two years was either with Greg or because of him, so it's pretty natural that an email communication would draw it out of me.

I start biology in nineteen hours and fifteen minutes. See the new blog (Death Becomes Her) for frequent updates on all of my mania in that department.

And hey, guess what? The Packers are going to play at home next weekend! No silly Dallas curse, no "Brett has never won in Dallas," absolutely none of it.

"Super Skinny Me" (part 2)

BBC re-aired their documentary Super Skinny Me, and though I've already shared my thoughts, given the fact that 3/4 of the hits on I Am What I Am today were googling something relating to the doc, I thought I'd say a bit more.

First, a correction. I thought that Louise Burke was married but she is not. She lives with her boyfriend. I still contend that part of the reason that the "madness" didn't affect her quite as much as it did Kate Spicer was because she had someone living with her who was able to see how she behaved basically around the clock.

There have been a number of articles, for example Mary McNamera of the LA Times, that suggest that BBC filtered the experiences both journalists were going through to the point that it weakened the documentary. They compare it to how the US showed overeating with Morgan Spurlock in "Super Size Me." I would argue that though neither Louise nor Kate ended up stopping their periods or passing out from hunger, the "shock value" of the documentary was still there. We all know what starving people look like--we see them on the covers of magazines every day. What we don't necessarily know is how we, ordinary women, can spiral out of control into an eating disorder in the quest to lose a few pounds or to fit into a certain size. Watching Super Skinny Me shows the mental strugle healthy women can face when they KNOW what they're doing isn't right--yet they can't stop. Do I need to see Kate Spicer with her fingers down her throat to be horrified at her admission that she purged twice? Absolutely not.

In fiction, a lot of times "less is more," and I'll contend here that less was definitely more when it came to the experiences of Kate and Louise. It was not a "how to" on anorexia or bulimia. Rather, it was a demonstration of how simple it is to go just a little crazy. And in that regard, both women were amazing and both they and BBC should be commended for handling the issue the way they did.

"Super Skinny Me"

Last night I watched Super Skinny Me, a documentary on BBC. It was...strange. A strange experience to watch. Basically, two women journalists agreed to "crash diet" for five weeks in an attempt to drop from a British size 12 to a size 2; size 2 is equivalent to a US 00. The two women were tested both physically and mentally to make sure they were healthy enough for the experiment. The purpose of the experiment was to track the health of the women as they attempted to become "super skinny" by using a number of popular diets.

One woman in her late 20s was married and did manage to lose enough weight to stuff herself into the 00 jeans she tried on. She spoke with a 15 year old anorexic girl and also did extensive research on "pro anorexia" websites. When she spoke about the websites on camera, she began to cry. She was extremely emotional throughout the whole experience--and was very honest and open about it. By the end, her BMI was too low to be healthy and she ultimately lost, I think, around 14 lbs.

The other journalist, Kate Spicer, was disturbing. She's 37 (or was at the time, probably 38 now) and single. She began on a diet of 250 calories a day and lost 7 lbs the first week. The next week she went to a detox facility and it was here that she began to "spiral." She was upset with only losing a small amount of weight, and became very emotional and agitated. She confided in the doctor that was checking up on them that she was experimenting with laxatives after a "binge" where she ate almost everything in her kitchen. She gained three pounds after that binge. After three weeks the doctor sent her to an eating disorder specialist. She was ordered off the experiment after the fourth week. During a follow up, after both women had begun to gain weight, she admitted to binging and purging two times.

Kate made me cry. I don't talk about everything on I Am Who I Am, and one of the things I don't talk about is my eating habits. Those who are closest to me know about some of the struggles I've had, and to say that this second journalist's story hit home for me is putting it mildly. The eating disorder specialist said that if she was allowed to go unchecked for a few more weeks she would develop a full blown eating disorder. She was well on her way after only four weeks, and it was shocking to see how fast a perfectly healthy, normal woman suddenly became so unhealthy and disordered.

I found myself wondering if part of the reason that the first woman didn't spiral so far out of control and the second woman did, was because the first woman was married. She ate her meals with her husband and had someone who was with her during the evenings and at night. He was only interviewed for a brief time, but his disgust with the experiment and with his wife's "new body" was pretty evident. I wondered if Kate would have done better if she had been with someone who kept her in check. She went out with friends after week two and they all told her how fabulous she looked, but in her flat she was able to do whatever she wanted without anyone giving her a second glance about it.

I've been thinking about the show, and Kate Spicer, all day...I can't get it--or her--out of my head.

The light at the end of the tunnel

After a week of bad work, of crazy-busyness, of bad eating and too much time spent with people, today was the day I'd been waiting for. Actually, three particular hours were what I was waiting for: the border-battle between the Packers and the Vikings. I don't know that even the most die-hard Vikings fan actually thought they might beat the then 7-and-1 Packers, but even I could not have predicted the bounty of goodness that fell down from the skies at Lambeau Field today.

A shut out. 34 to Zero. My two favorite announcer quotes:

"It doesn't look like the Vikings have any intention of scoring any points today."

and

"This Packer defense is protecting their shutout."

Erica and I went to dinner at Chanti Grill and then to Target and Barnes and Noble, where at least one person in each place spoke to me about the game. The Vikings fans were walking around dazed and silent...the Packer fan who was the hostess at Chanti Grill grinned gleefully at me as she said "we fuckin' hammered them!"

It's always a great day in Packerland. Today, however, is an extraordinary day.

Friday: the most wonderful time of the year

During the summer I lose all appreciation for Fridays. Every day is Friday during the summer, especially when summer school is finished. Today, however, deep into the fall trimester and heading into winter, every Friday is the best day of my life.

I had an interaction with a student today that I taught this summer. He's a nice kid, but he has no filter, no boundries, no idea of what's appropriate or not. I like him a lot because he's funny and smart, but since he knows that I like him, he feels like he can joke around with me like we're friends. Today he pointed a yardstick at my head, about two inches away from my temple, and asked me if I was "smoking reefer." I looked at him and asked if I needed to write him up. The smile disappeared from his face, was replaced with panic, and he said quickly "I was just kidding!" I walked away from him.

It's hard to train kids how to talk to adults. I know that he thought he was being funny, and that he thought that I would think it was funny. But, it's important to teach kids the boundries that they need. Of course, sitting at home tonight, I feel badly about threatening to write him up, even though I know I did exactly the right thing. I'm weird, I know. Do kids appreciate it when a teacher is a hard ass? I don't know.

What I do know is that today is Friday and I've had my nap and my dinner and am now sitting by the fireplace in the Great Red Chair of Sleep watching Gordon Ramsay and writing my word quota for NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. And I'm happy.

Something I need to come to terms with...

There are certain things that become clear and obvious as time passes, and even though I try to rationalize them away, they still exist. This coming Thursday, Sara Sidle is going to die.

I'm going to have an issue with this. First of all, before y'all think I'm crazy, you need to understand that as an only child with two working parents, I grew up with tv characters as family. It's part of what makes me a writer--I see characters as more than just flat objects. But the disadvantage is that, yes, even as an adult, I can sometimes take these things just a bit too seriously.

No one likes Sara. She's an incredibly unpopular character. But I dig her. I like her because she's not skinny, not traditionally sexy, and she's fucking smart. She also fell in love with Gil Grissom and she got him. She showed him who she was, and he fell in love with her. I don't know why other people don't like her as a character. She's flawed in all the right ways.

When I was in 8th grade, Catherine died on Beauty and the Beast. Vincent tried to save her and he was too late. I was 13, and I cried for weeks. I wore black. It was the first real mourning experience I had ever had, and I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that this character--this woman--that I admired and wanted to emulate, was gone. Next Thursday, I am 99.9% positive that Gill Grissom will be too late to save Sara. I'm 18 years older, but I'll still mourn. Not because I wanted to be Sara in the same way that I wanted to be Catherine when I was a child, but because I have a greater understanding now of what loss is. And because the characters of Grissom and Sara have been so well developed and drawn over the years that I will feel for Grissom more than anything else. He shut everyone out, believed he would never find someone he loved....and then Sara took his heart. Her death will ruin him, and this breaks my heart. Her death will, ultimately, lead to the end of the show.

The ability I have to feel empathy and internalize the feelings of fictional characters is both a blessing and a curse. I know it makes me look shallow, that I care so much about a tv show and people who aren't even real. But it's who I am. And I do believe it makes me a stronger fiction writer.