Hungry for Stories

I realise increasingly that I am constantly hungry for stories.

I read PostSecret religiously.  The fact that I made it to Wednesday this week before reading Sunday's secrets only indicates my baby brain has truly taken hold.  I haven't done that unless I have been truly out of e-contact... for like years.

I used to read the wedding announcements on the New York times website every Sunday before I got utterly sick of the classist perfectionism.  The snobbish money-ism. Did that increase recently or did I change? It used to be that my favourite stories were the improbable ones.  Not "she went to Harvard as did he where they met doing their PhDs in MBA blah blah", which seemed rarer, and you just know that these poor souls are striving for someone else's narrative, and measuring themselves in finite units.  I preferred the ones where he was her divorce lawyer as she tried to extricate herself from a difficult marriage.  (Actually, come to think of it, that was my great-grandparents.  Good story, but moving on.) But the ones where they were sweethearts in the forties, but fell out, but always missed each other, went on to marry other people, have a bunch of kids and really decent lives.  But when they saw each other the buffet sneeze guard, it was as if not a moment had passed...

I think that is another reason FaceBook and Pinterest are inextricable for me. Although to a lesser extent. And that's ok. Music with stories, with scenes, with original sentiments.  Cary Tennis. Pamela Stephens Connoly in the Guardian.  Heck, the whole family section of the Guardian.  Also religiously, but on Saturdays.

And I think this is a good indicator that my life's work really is to be some sort of a therapist or counsellor. I don't want to share the secrets and stories.  I just want to know that the boundaries of what people are capable of are ever-expanding with every glimpse into a story I hear.  That peoples' humanity can always surprise and impress me. That the longer I carry on in this lifetime, the less I will believe those people who set up short barriers and close-in boundaries as fact and then ask me to commiserate: "you know how it is".  Men are like this.  Kids are like that.  Work is like you-know-what.

No, actually, I really don't.  Tell me why you think that.  That is more insightful for me. 'Cause the one thing I know is asking why is one of the most natural impulses I have and it's always been that way. And you containing your life means something for you. Those are stories too.  Because it takes audacity to tell one's own story outright.  That's why PostSecret is so radical and safe.

And that's why I yearn to hear what people say behind those safe doors, with permission, in the somewhat privileged place of listener, confidant, guide, questioner. I am grateful that I know that, however "late" (to some peoples' minds) and however far off it is still will be. In the meantime, I have ye olde internet, depository for the human condition.

With a different perspective, all the time aspects of the scenario, of whatever scenario, are perfect.

I {heart} British television.

Weird.

After resisting for so long, not owning a television myself for... YEARS, I will finally admit it: I love TV... in the UK.

Not all TV, not all the time. I still gotta write my novel, right? And resist. But sometimes, somethings... genius.

{And I will say that there are some US shows I like, namely things I can't afford to see unless someone lends me their hyper-pricey HBO or I rent them on DVD: Six Feet Under, Big Love, etc. but even that is rare. And resisted.}

But in the UK, they have TV geeky enough even for me!

A few examples:

1) Countdown

In this locally shot (in Leeds in the north) show, contestants *don't play for money*! Instead, they come on and have word and number challenges. They must make words (the longer in length, the more points) and solve math equations using randomly chosen letters and numbers respectively. There is a resident word geek with a rotating guest. The word geek presents information about arcane and underused terms like the origin of the term "Curling", like the Scottish sport so popular with Canadians. Apparently, there is an old Scottish word that means “singing” that is "curring", so as the stones (usally flat, irregularly shaped river stones) glide over the ice, so the theory goes, they sang. Thus curling’s nickname: “singing stones.” Of course. The champ of Coundown right now, Ennis, is probably on the spectrum. (He is almost an “octo-champ.” I’ll take that over Octo-mom.) And the pretty, young blonde thing acting as the local Vanna White? She's a math genius, who checks the contestant's figures... live. And they are there for the sheer love of it. I repeat, no money is involved. I wonder if the presenters get paid for their sheer and palpable love of being there and geeking out. Brilliant.

[Tony loves the show afterwards, Deal or No Deal, because you come to care about the characters of real people who may or may not win a huge amount of money, and as a result, may or may not have their dreams come true. He likes caring about people. Very endearing.]

2) Revelations

This show is a documentary/ investigative show that goes into religious places (that usually restrict access particularly) to explore the issues of faith and culture (or cults) that arise. The show last week was about the English Christian movement, the Alpha Course, that takes agnostics through a pretty low-pressure 8-week-course (ok, so they speak in tongues) that may or may not change their undecided faith. Next week, it is an expose of a Muslim school. Pretty smart stuff.

3) Question Time

Ok. So someone needs to come up with a better title. Last night’s show featured a bunch of MP’s (Members of Parliament) and ministers of various wings of government, all from a variety of parties, an obnoxious newspaper naysayer and Jarvis Cocker, the lead singer of Pulp. Of course. And people just ask questions from the audience. And it gets sorta heated, but is very informative, interesting, and pretty darn accessible.

And then there is the BBC and their news and specials and Russell Brand, saying the rudest sh*t, you know, just on the TV. Maybe it is novelty, but I am not as upset as I thought I would be about our TV set playing such a prominent role in our living room.

In other news, today was my first day of work in the UK. I took a one-day temp gig taking notes during a meeting. It was good. It feels good to work.

I was running yesterday (as in, for exercise) and I was thinking that North London could do with a local chapter of We've Got Time to Help. In Portland, it has meant that unemployed people can inject a little extra pride and meaning into their lives, do good and get out there while they are also looking for work. It occurred to me because I was running through a park near our house that is incessantly covered with litter. Sure, there is about one bin (a.k.a. garbage can) for the entire park, but please people! What a better place to be, I mused, if the litter was gone. Something to think about.

That is the latest from a gorgeous Friday afternoon in North London. We are heading up to a friend’s 40^th party this weekend in Standon, a little hamlet near Bishop’s Stortford, about a half hour north of the M25. It is 70s themed and I am going as a disco ball. I can’t find my pink wig, BUT I will use the word “boogie” in the proper context and think of my friend Lynn at Smith Rock in Oregon, biking and being a rad babe that still says “boogie.”

My writing sounds so banal and specific. It is about on part with the Writer’s Almanac and most of the stuff that Garrison Keilor does. As Homer screams (as he beats the TV with his shoe): “STOP BEING BORING! STOP BEING BORING!” {PS Why is this not a youtube clip?!)