Self Borrows a Page From Garcia Marquez

In his autobiography, Living to Tell the Tale, Garcia Marquez has this story:

He is 21 or 22, and unlike the rest of his friends, who go carousing in bars or what-not, he remains all the time indoors, in a locked room.  When friends ask him what he is doing, he replies:

“I am writing the novel of my life.”

So, this morning, self decides to return Dearest Mum’s calls (three already, and it’s not even 11 a.m.).  All went straight to answering machine, my bad!

Self:  Mom, I got your messages, I will see you this afternoon, all right?

Dearest Mum:  What are you doing now?

Self:  I am writing an absolutely brilliant novel.

DM:  Really?  OK, then, don’t worry about the pills.

BWAH.  HA.  HA.  HA.  HA.

Now, let’s see if self can practice saying that line to hubby, when he returns home cross and cross-eyed from the start-up on the other side of the Bay.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Woo-Hoo! Let the Fun Begin

8 a.m.   Phone gives a little tinkle.

Self:  Hallo?  (Self already knows, even before checking Caller ID, who it is)

Dearest Mum:  Don’t bring the pills back before 9 a.m.

Self:  OK, I won’t.  (Pause)  Sounds like you want them right away.

DM:  No.

Self:  You want me to bring them over right now?

DM:  No.

Self:  I can bring them over after the plumber gets here.

DM:  What time?

Self:  I don’t know exactly what time.  He’s supposed to come between 9 and 11 a.m.

DM:  Can’t you have your husband bring me the pills?

Self:  He works in San Jose.  You are in Daly City.  That’s in the opposite direction.  Besides, right now it’s rush hour.  If you can wait an hour . . .

DM:  Cancel the plumber.

Self:  What?

DM:  Cancel the plumber.  Come right now.

Self:  Okey-dokey!

Amazing.  She hasn’t even been here 24 hours, dear blog readers, and already normal life goes out the window.  Self is reminded once again that life is filled with people who trail chaos in their wake —  like Hansel and Gretel with the breadcrumbs?  Self decides that is an awful comparison, but what the hey.

And self turned out to be a writer!  Exactly the kind of person who abhors chaos, who shuns it, all in service of the writing!  What irony!  What a joke!  The universe makes no sense!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned..

A Few Thoughts on The 2009 MTV Movie Awards

Self has been watching the MTV Movie Awards since the very first year.  She loves the categories: “Best Fight”, “Best Kiss”, “Best Villain”, etc etc

Following, a few of her thoughts on the evening:

First of all, who is Zac Efron’s stylist? Because Zac’s hair looked like “poetry in motion” 🙂

* * *

By the way, was anyone paying attention to Zac Efron when he went on-stage to receive his award? Self is willing to bet: no one.  Since every one in the audience must still have been so mesmerized by the sight of Bruno’s naked butt descending on Eminem’s upturned face.

*  *  *

And, who knew Zac Efron could be so effortlessly funny? As he was when doing his spiel during the Ben Stiller “Generations” Award?

Self, what is with you and Zac Efron? Don’t you remember, you hate “High School Musical”!  Right, let’s turn to something else, such as:

Chris Pine! What a cutie! Even in a sweater, self noticed his biceps were nice and firm!

*  *  *

If self were Ben Stiller, she would be depressed about receiving an award called “Generations.” Also, Ben Stiller, fire your hair stylist. You looked like you were wearing a wig.

*  *  *

The cameraman’s favorite of the evening (judging by the number of close-up shots): Cameron Diaz

*  *  *

So everything was “Twilight”, “Twilight”, “Twilight.” Who decided to focus on Vanessa Hudgens’ face, every time “High School Musical” was nominated in the same category as “Twilight”? And, yeah, she did look rightly disappointed whenever her film lost. Can any one blame her?

Her dress was cute, though:  waaay cuter than Kristen Stewart’s.

*  *  *

Self kept trying to figure out who the oldest person in attendance was:  J. J. Abrams?  Will Ferrell?  Jim Carrey?  Kiefer Sutherland?  Ben Stiller?  The dudes from upcoming movie “Hangover”?  Sandra Bullock?  Cameron Diaz?  Boy, self felt old.

Dear blog readers will have to content themselves with this short recap, for it is imperative that self conserve her energy for tomorrow’s encounters with Dearest Mum.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Interesting Evening

Dearest Mum asked self what she thought of the bronze-y mettalic tote she had with her when she got off the plane. Self pronounced it “very cute.” Then Dearest Mum said, “Here, you take it.” Self said, “Why don’t you just use it for now and give it to me before you leave?” But even before self had finished her utterance, Dearest Mum had up-ended the bag, shaking out pocketbook, cash, lipstick, scraps of paper, pens, what-have-you. “Here,” said Dearest Mum. “Well, thanks!” self said.

After getting home, self decided to look at the bag more closely. In one of the side pockets was a plastic bag filled with different kinds of pills: round and oblong, yellow and white, all mixed together. Self called Dearest Mum at uncle’s place and asked if Dearest Mum needed the pills right away. Dearest Mum said no, self could just bring them back to her on the morrow.

“Not before 9 a.m., though,” Dearest Mum said. “Come around 9, that would be fine.”

Spoken like a person whose friends immediately rush over when they discover Dearest Mum has left something behind with them! Self nearly choked but said, “Don’t worry. I won’t be there before 9 a.m.”

This evening, further interesting conversation ensues, this time between self and hubby. Dinner is leftovers, hubby grumbles. Dessert is strawberries over warmed up pound cake. At the last minute, self decides to sprinkle confectioners sugar over the strawberries. Hubby takes one bite and goes: BLEEAAAHH!!!!@@####. Claims self is trying to poison him by feeding him strawberries sprinkled with Clorox. Self hotly denies wanting to poison hubby (though, she cannot tell a lie: there are times when the thought has occurred — aargh! Don’t even go there, self!)

With tremulous hands self produces the box of confectioners sugar and — ooops! Box has passed its expiration date! By one year! Sorry, hubby! Sorry!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Iain Kelly

Fiction Writing

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