Confessions

I'm really ashamed to admit this.

After watching "Late Night with David Letterman" this evening, I've just come to the realization that I've got a horrible crush on Keanu Reeves. Embarrassing, huh?

Now, I'll be the first to admit that his name will never follow the phrase "And the Oscar goes to...." I'm still cringing over the fact that, at one point, he played Hamlet on stage. "Shakespeare" and "Keanu Reeves" should be mutally exclusive topics. (Don't believe me? Watch Much Ado About Nothing. He's the EEEEEEVIL little wooden boy. His first line is "I thank you. I am not of many words, but I thank you." The preview audience I saw it with applauded at this point. Half of us were adding "dude" to every single line he uttered. And at the end, when he gets his comeuppance, Kenneth Branaugh whispers to Denzel Washington, "Think not on him till to-morrow. I'll devise thee brave punishments for him." My roommate leaned over and added, "Make him watch his scenes in Bram Stoker's Dracula. It was punishment for me.")

Actually, I have a theory about the acting ability of Mr. Reeves. You see, there are movies he's not bad in. My theory is thus: Keanu Reeves is only good in movies where he can be described as a dude. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Dude. Good. Dangerous Liasons? Not a dude. Not very good. Parenthood? Dude. Good. (He actually has one of the best lines in the movie, about fatherhood.) My Own Private Idaho? Not really a dude. Not really that good. (Yeah, I know that lots of people liked that movie, but after watching Keanu do his faux-Prince Hal thing, I was just as narcoleptic as River Phoenix. See above rule about Keanu and the Bard.) Speed? A cop, but still kind of a dude. Only a dude would answer with "Shoot the hostage." And while that movie will never be celebrated in the history of film, it was an fun two hours at the theater. (At least in the opinion of the group I saw the movie with.)

And even though he really wasn't much of a dude, I didn't totally hate him in The Devil's Advocate. Awful accent, cheesy goodness.

I can't offer up my opinions on Point Break, as I've never gotten around to seeing it, but I've heard it was a goofy fun little action movie. And he was an F. B. I. Agent. (Dude.)

And come on, admit it. You liked him in The Matrix. His most memorable lines were "Whoa" and "I know kung fu." He did most of his own stunts. He didn't have to be smart. (Hell, even the Oracle pegged him - "Not too bright.") He just had to stand there and look pretty and confused, and kick Agent Smith's ass.

Which brings me to the main problem. Keanu, while not being the best actor of his generation, is damn pretty. While I'll never be adding A Walk in the Clouds to my Netflix cue, I'll sigh dreamily at Keanu in romantic soft focus. He has aged quite gracefully (does he look 39 to you?) from Ted "Theodore" Logan to a very attractive man who can rock a suit like nobody's business. (Or that cassock thing he wore in The Matrix Reloaded.)

To make matters more confusing in the crush department, he comes off as a genuinely sweet guy. He gives good interview on late night talk shows. He seems to lead as private a life as possible, given his career. (And in the age of Bennifer, that's a really good thing in my book.) He seems to enjoy what he's doing, whether it be making critcally lambasted movies or playing bass in a band that probably never would've been signed if he hadn't been in it.

And according to the highly unreliable IMDB, he loves ballroom dancing. (Swoon.) He may not be a rocket scientist (he's admitted it himself - "I'm a meathead man. You've got smart people, and you've got dumb people. I just happen to be dumb."), but he's charming.

I guess it's the charming part that gets me. I tend to fall for personalities rather than looks. I've known and dated beautiful men that had the personality of a bowl of Grape Nuts. I've known and dated not-so-beautiful men that were fascinating. The fascinating ones always lasted longer than the cereal boys.

(And yes, I've known and dated beautiful men that were fascinating. I've been lucky like that. )

So go ahead, ridicule me. I'll be watching the charming pretty boy kick multiple Hugo Weaving butt in the latest installment of the stupid tecnobabble philosophy movie.

Making a List, Checking It Twice

It's that time of the year again.

No, I'm not planning early for Christmas. I don't do my holiday shopping until sometime in December, and it's usually a whirlwind "must get everything for everyone NOW!" kind of affair. (Unfortunately, it looks like this year's shopping extravaganza may be at the 99 Center. Stupid ankle.)

No, it's NaNoWriMo time again, and like the fool that I am, I'm giving it another shot. (This is all Rosencratz's fault, by the way. She's been excited about this since September and talked me into participating again. Of course she excited; she finished her novel last year, while I sputtered out at a paltry 24,000 words or so for the second year running.)

I'm trying to keep my confidence high, though. The first year I got a little too attached to my plot, and when my character's life went down the tubes, I followed suit. Last year, I decided to make arrangements to move while I was hashing out plot details. This year, I have no intention of going crazy or moving. My ankle mishap has pretty much destroyed what little social life I had, so my distractions should be minimal.

So now, with less than two weeks to go, I'm making up a little "to do" list...

- Come up with a plot. Well, sort of. I'm fully embracing the "No plot? No problem!" motto this year. My plot this year is that I don't have a plot. I'm going to write from the point of view of a NaNoWriMo participant who has no idea what to write about, and tries out ideas until they crash and burn, then selects another one and starts again. (Why yes, I have seen Adaptation one too many times. Why do you ask?) Can I make it work as a cohesive story? Probably not. Can I get 50,000 words out of it? Probably so. Hey, no one ever said NaNo novels had to be good. I'm just more concerned this year with actually finishing something and breaking my losing streak, in hopes that it will motivate me to finish at least one of the other two previous attempts.

Rosencrantz likes my idea, as long as I don't write a chapter where I describe myself as "fat, balding, and pathetic" (a la Donald Kaufman in Adaptation). I'm considering adding it in just to be a smart ass.

- Oh, that reminds me. Watch Adaptation again. I haven't seen it in the last month or so, and there won't be any time to watch it come November.

- Make up a "plot jar." Since I'm going with the whole random plot idea, I've decided to write down any ideas I might have and stick then in a jar. Then when I'm stuck for ideas, I can just pick one from the jar and see how far I can get with it until the wheels fall off.

- Clear calendar of social obligations. Well, most social obligations. Roger Mexico thinks he will be visiting during the Thanksgiving holidays, and seeing as how it's been a year since I last saw him... well, we've got a lot of catching up to do and the book will just get back-burnered during that time. A girl's gotta have her priorities, right? (Of course, if all goes well, the book will be done by then, and I'll actually have something for him to read. I always feel guilty that he usually has a CD of songs he's recently finished for me whenever he visits, and all I have to show for my time are my ramblings on this page, which he could have read online at any given time.)

I'll also be seeing Hamell on Trial at the Southgate House on November 16th. It's a Sunday, and I figure I can get my word quota in before 8:00 pm. Besides, I haven't been to see a concert since going to see Ben Folds at Jammin' on Main back in May. (I haven't really been in the condition to go to any shows lately, which is why I skipped the eight bajillion concerts at Tall Stacks this past weekend.)

I don't really have any other social obligations, except for physical therapy and sweeps month on TV. And I can always tape CSI.

(Of course, I did just find out that David Sedaris is going to be at the Taft tonight. It's not November yet, right? I guess I'll see how exhausted I am from back to back doctor appointments, and then decide.)

- Buy more coffee. I get the feeling that Mr. Coffee will once again become my boyfriend for the month. Well, he and Captain Morgan will have to share me, I suppose. (Lesson learned from previous years: a small amount of alcohol does loosen up the brain, but red wine makes me sleepy when I write.)

- Prepare the writing soundtrack. Of course, since I'm not sure where my plot will lead me this year, I have no idea what type of music will be best. Fortunately, I now have the added option of the mass of streaming radio stations on iTunes (now available for Windows). At this point, I'm limiting myself and staying away from the Music Store. I get the feeling that would wind up being too much of a money and time suckage from my life for the moment. At the moment, I'm too busy exploring all of the Ambient radio stations and looking at the pretty pretty swirling lights on the visual feature. Hopefully that will come in handy to clear my mind when it gets too tied up in knots, but I also fear that I will find myself staring at the screen for hours on end. That wouldn't be good - I have no time for virtual acid trips.

Besides sampling radio stations, I'm also going to experiment with making a few mix CDs. I have a perfectly good CD burner in my laptop that I've never bothered to learn to use (it was an open box product, and I have no instruction manuals), but after browsing through the Help section of iTunes, it seems much easier to understand than the factory installed system. I'll give it a shot. I've got lots of blank CD-Rs, so I can afford to mess up a few while I test things out.

- Attend the Meet and Greet this weekend at Claddagh Irish Pub at Newport on the Levee. There's actually more than a handful of writers in Cincinnati this year, and we're making plans to meet up for socializing and moral support. Sounds like fun, plus the pub has really good fish and chips.

The idea of doing a CD exchange at the Meet and Greet this weekend has been kicked around, so that's providing extra motivation to learn how to use the burner. Although I'm not sure if anyone's going to want to listen to a mix CD of Myo's writing music. I don't want to scare these folks off before NaNoWriMo gets started!

- Schedule some days off in November. I still have a ton of vacation time to use up before the end of the year, and it would probably be for the best if I put it to good use rather than selecting random days in December to sit at home and watch Jerry Springer.

Huh. For someone who doesn't have a social life, I sure do have a lot of things to do.

House of Pain

So, first the good news.

I am 100% weight bearing on my ankle. Crutches? Long gone. The bionic ski boot? Bid it adieu this past Sunday. My car is back in my garage. The bath bench no longer resides in the bathtub; it's currently being used as a shelf for my bath gel and shampoo and conditioner.

And now for the bad news.

I really hate to be a complete wimp about this, but walking without the boot hurts. It hurts a lot. There are a lot of muscles in my ankle and leg that I haven't used in over two months, and apparently they've atrophied away to nothingness. I'm now walking with a slow shuffling kind of limp, which I'm sure is probably pretty amusing to watch. Children who have just learned to walk are currently more graceful than I am. And stairs... I have decided that stairs are a tool of evil.

Oh, and the swelling hasn't gone down. As a matter of fact, it's worse now that I've taken off the bionic ski boot. Last night my ankle was the size of a softball, with bruising under both incisions. I was wearing an elastic ankle brace, and I had to take it off because it was constricting my foot too badly. I currently have one pair of shoes that will actually fit around my mutant ankle, so don't look at me funny if I show up to a formal occasion wearing my black Grinch sneakers.

Of course, the freakish size of my ankle might have a little bit to do with the fact that MyoMom and I completely went overboard on the interior decorating thing on Sunday afternoon, and the original plan of assembling two CD racks led to shopping at WalMart for window treatments and curtain rods, framing prints, and redecorating half of the kitchen. What should have been 90 minutes of work turned into an all afternoon affair, and we still have the bathroom to finish. But after that I'm DONE. (It's only taken 10 months, but I think that I'm almost completely moved in.)

And I'm sure that setting up tables and chairs for three classrooms at work on Monday morning didn't help matters either. Oh well.

In an effort to make me walk like a normal human being again, my orthopedist has referred me for a month or so of physical therapy. Or, as I like to call it, Chris and Tammy's House of Torture, Inc.

Yes, that's right. While the local courts are busy attempting to prosecute Larry Flynt for the millionth time, they've apparently deemed it perfectly OK to physically abuse patients recovering from injuries. Medieval torture devices like the rack and the iron maiden have given way to the cross trainer, the BAPS (Biomechanical Ankle Platform System) board, and the diabolical slant board. (Who would have thought that so much pain could be extracted from a simple wooden plank slanted at a 20-degree angle?)

The pain dealers (or therapists, as they prefer to be called) are cheerful folks, smiling while they mete out their punishments. Upon seeing me wincing with pain while doing rapid plantar flexion exercises, my "therapist" grinned with satisfaction. "Good," she said encouragingly. "Now do two more reps of twenty seconds."

Twenty seconds? Seemed more like twenty minutes. Twenty excruciating minutes.

Finally, when they've run out of humiliating ways to inflict pain upon my ankle, I am given a reprieve. For the last fifteen minutes, electrodes are strapped to my ankle, which is then wrapped in an ice pack. (The electrodes are attached to a TENS unit - that's Transcutaneous Electrical Neural Stimulation for those of you playing at home. I just call it the Tingly Machine.) I get to read my book while my ankle gets electrocuted and becomes frostbitten. As intimidating as the machines look (and yesterday I got to use the big one - they had to wheel it over to my table), it's actually pretty relaxing. Well, it is until you hop off the table and realize that you can't feel your ankle. Walking back out to the car is always an interesting experience.

But even sadder than this whole torturous tale is the fact that I do this twice a week, and I pay for it. And I faithfully do what exercises and stretches I can at home every night, in preparation for my next session of pain. I know that all of this is supposed to help, but it certainly doesn't feel that way when I'm there.

There's a word for people like me, and that word is masochist.

Someday this will all be over. Someday my ankle will stop hurting. Someday I'll be able to walk at a normal speed and not look incredibly stupid. Someday I'll be able to wear another pair of shoes besides my sneakers.

I'm really ready for someday to be now.