Did you ever notice …

… of things you don’t like there is always too much. Like dirty laundry and dishes and bad TV. Then there are the things of which you never have enough: sleep, free time & hugs are just a few.

So I think I’ll call it early and retire to the dark chocolate bed with the slab of marshmallow mattress and have me some sugar plum dreams. Not that I like sugar. Nor plums all that much either to be truthful. Something maple syrupy would really be much nicer. Ohhhh, I know maple syrup fudge. Yeah, there you go. I can dream about it without guilt cause I am woman who went to gym, cooked a healthy meal, played guitar, wrote and talked with people I love. Now that is some kinda good day.

But bed early. Too late to sleep last night as I didn’t want to give up the last fragrant wisps of beauty. And I think, besides the maple fudge, I’ll also dream of being loved. And of being valued. Maybe I’ll replay all of my office friends passing thru my office today to ask about how the Canadian Tenors concert was. And their true joy in listening to my silly, excessively detailed account of the event. But true, you know, because they love me. So they not only tolerate my silly, they embrace and encourage it. It makes them happy somehow to see me clap my hands like a five-year old and wax rhapsodic about the music and performance and the deep peace and joy the boys always sprinkle, and my concerns over their tiredness and crazy schedule.

See, I don’t want to go to bed tonight either as with the dawn comes the obligation to be present in the world. But sleep I must, for as in this, as in so much else, the Bard is correct.

“Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care. The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath. Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourishier in life's feast.” William Shakespeare

So I may not get roses or kisses this Valentine's Day (bah humbug). But there are those who laugh at my jokes and ask for my advice and who love me for all kinds of silly ephemeral reasons. So I am profoundly grateful for them. And, maybe if I keep up the new 30 workout time I can have a couple pieces of maple fudge. Or a couple peanut butter daisies. MMmmmmm.

The Line.

The Line.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the line. You know, The Line, the one that we individually and collectively should never cross. It is tough being an artist in that you are always flirting with The Line. Sometimes you cross it. Sometimes you respect it. Sometimes crossing can lead to ruin. Sometimes crossing can lead to riches.

I have before stated and will state here again for the record that I have no morals, only ethics. In the Cocoverse, morals are sets of rules and strictures placed upon you by others, while ethics are the rules and parameters that you develop for yourself, reasoned and rationale choices made after analysis and reflection. Additionally, the philosophy dominant in the Cocoverse is neo-pagan in its insistence that one is responsible for ones own actions and if it harm none, do what though wilt, and it harm some, do what thou ought.

That brings us to the place where I announce that I am boycotting a TV show that was previously a favorite. True Blood and its producers are off my bus. This pretty much goes against everything that I have hitherto been about. Free speech and all that. And those of you that know, know that I have been a nearly life long connoisseur of vampire and horror fiction. Not slasher flicks though, which in general are devoid of artistry. I never like being hit in the head repeatedly with a shovel, and the movie fan corollary to that is that I don’t like everything graphically laid out every second in the same way that I hate reading scripts where all the characters say exactly everything they mean all the time. Cause people don’t, almost never. Even a conversation in the elevator about the weather is colored with what people were thinking about before they go into the elevator and by their thoughts of what they are about to do after the elevator. That’s why good acting teachers insist that you, as an actor better know the before and after of the scene – otherwise the scene is YAWN inducing. As a writer, you better know even better!

I can deal with the graphic sex and a certain amount of gore, but this most recent episode had a pair of vampires having sex in a bloody bed while a human victim bled to death beside them – with blood pumping from her ripped out throat. A her I’d like to point out. The far less attractive husband had been neatly dispatched with a broken neck. It was ugly ugly ugly and revolting and disgusting. It crossed my way out there Line and became pornography, poorly written, poorly made up and poorly shot pornography I might add. And while if taken in isolation I may have put it down to poor choices by the episode director however, coupled with –and the word coupled is a deliberate choice – the town wide orgy scene later in the episode… I turned off the TV and I thought about it for a few days. Talked with some of my friends about it and realized with some surprise that this group of TV writers, producers and directors had finally helped me find my Line. Further, despite my ambitions related to writing in the field, I felt strongly that I had to speak up. Alan Ball, this was not okay, nor was it good. The only remotely interesting character interaction was Jason and Sarah getting it on in the choir loft because Sarah convinced him it was God’s will. The rest was getting hit in the head with a shovel, which I just realize is kinda an unfortunate image choice given your fabulous work on Six Feet Under, but there it is. So, thank you Mr. Ball, I will no longer be joining you on that side of The Line, you and your TV show True Blood are off my bus.