Writing, Neatness, and Idol Robbery

You know that writing tip about keeping a notebook by your bed and trying to write stuff in it before you're fully awake? I wanted to report that this advice is a load of hollyhocks (what are hollyhocks?), a load of rotting durian, a load of fast food shrimp poppers (what?), a load of dirty kleenex, but...it's not! This totally works, particularly for someone like me whose plots (such as they are) are hard won. So, yes. As soon as you feel yourself starting to wake up, grope for your notebook and get to it. You should clip your pen on the notebook the night before, silly, so you don't double your groping efforts. If you have to fumble around too much, you're liable to become too alert, and then all is lost for that morning. Also the night before, make sure there's a page open already. Also, don't put on your glasses. Do all this and you will be magic.

You know what else would be magic? One of these slightly creepy hanging lounges. They are distributed via Dedon, and they are cleverly named "nestrests." I want one. I have no place to hang it, and even if I did, I would be too scared to climb out on a branch and somehow scuttle myself into the little opening, but I want one nevertheless. Hmmmm...I see that now that they don't necessarily have to be hung somewhere. You could just, you know, set it down in a corner and climb in. It would cut off my peripheral vision, which is a good thing because my peripheral vision is always revealing Grapenuts on the kitchen floor, pencil shavings near the dining room carpet, a bit of spilled juice on the counter. Such distractions are...distracting. This brings to mind something else. Was your house ever a mess growing up? Because I can honestly say that I do not recall my growing-up house to ever, ever be in the state of hopeless disarray usually displayed in my grown-up house. How did my mother manage that? Or maybe it was sometimes messy, but my overall memory is of calm and order. Or maybe what you end up remembering about your growing-up house is not whether it was messy or neat, but whether or not you were liked and loved and cared for.

I'll end with some random thoughts:

I think my daughters are secretly crushing on Justin Bieber, but they are afraid to admit it because they think I'll be disappointed. This is what my harsh judgements have done: they have turned them into closet Bieber-ites.

I think dental hygienists inflict violence on gums.

I think writer Vince Gotera's daughter, the incandescent Amelia Blue Gotera, was completely robbed! Robbed! ROBBED of a spot on this year's American Idol (she made it through the first day of Hollywood, as far as I could tell—no small feat, that). I have watched this video like 50 times. I love it. Love her, her voice, and this song:

It's raining hard here. We're off to the movies...