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The disease is scaring me this time around. My achy joints and over-tired exhaustion coupled with heightened kidney function levels and the sinus headaches make me think that this time the disease is more like the first time, and I actually feel sick.

On a sweeter note, I bought a cute pair of flip-flops for summer. Let’s hope the sheer power of cute, new shoes makes me better.

Well, it’s a huge ham-bone of a movie, from start to finish, but I honestly rather enjoyed it in all its bloated goodness. Orlando Bloom, criticized for being stiff in many of the reviews I’ve read, really wasn’t terrible at all, and I think Liam Neeson might just be developing an entire career out of being the “oh-wise-sage Daddy that dies.”

It was exactly what I needed tonight. And I laughed with Zesty afterwards because I don’t know anything about the Crusades from a historical perspective, so even though I’m sure there are historical imperfections in the film, that didn’t bother me. She joked with me and said, “Ignorance really is bliss, isn’t it?” In this case, maybe she’s absolutely right.

Oh, and I heard Orlando Bloom on Virgin UK radio last weekend talking about the film and he said, “It’s nice to go from being a boy to a man.” Ahem, I heard that and I still enjoyed the picture—now that’s saying something.

To know me means to know that I love television. No, let me re-phrase that, I love watching television, sometimes to the extent that it borders on complete and utter obsession.

But lately, I haven’t been watching much television at all. I’ve been reading, I’ve been writing, I’ve been blogging, I’ve been sleeping, but I haven’t been watching television, which is completely and utterly unlike me. In fact, I’ve missed so many episodes of television shows that I used to watch faithfully that I don’t even know who I am anymore. What’s happening to me?

But there are still a few things I’m faitfully watching this year, but instead of, like twenty shows, it’s only three or four: Gilmore Girls, which is the best it’s been in two or three years; ER, because I’m sickingly addicted to the show; and Deadwood, which has replaced The Wire in my heart for now, but not for always.

Having been trolling around the internet the past few days, weeks, months, well, years now, I’m always interested in reading writing advice. Something about the inspiring words of other writers spurs me on and makes me think at some point I’ll actually finish something that might get published, but on the whole, it’s just nice to read other people who think writing is important enough to want to advise other people about how to do it.

One of the best “Advice to Writers” columns I’ve read is Jennifer Weiner’s. I’ve read all of her books, In Her Shoes being my absolute favourite, and I frequent her blog on a regular basis. Her last book was a bit disappointing, but I have hopes that it was a blip on an otherwise stellar career in chicklit.

A couple of other inspiring things I’ve seen over the last little while is this article about common mistakes many writers make and how to fix them. I love grammar. I love books about grammar, love to read articles about grammar. Now, I don’t necessarily understand grammar, but I do love to learn about it and think that it’s important, and am still stunned that Eats, Shoots and Leaves made me howl out loud. Honestly, it’s a book about grammar that’s intelligent, funny, and easily digestable. Anyway, I like this Holt Uncensored article quite a bit.

The other day I read Diana Gabaldon’s advice to writers. Now, I’ve never read a single one of her books, but she gives sound advice, much like Stephen King’s On Writing. I’ve never read a single Stephen King book of fiction, hate his EW column, and generally can’t stand many of the movies that are made from his books (Stand By Me the obvious exception to the rule), but I’ve recommended On Writing to every single one of my friends who are writers, even bought a few copies for people as gifts—the ultimate recommendation from a girl who tends to be cheap in terms of buying presents for friends. Annnyyywaay, Diana Gabaldon’s web site kind of sucks, but her advice section is sort of interesting, even if she writes tripe (ooops, did I say that out loud?).

The meds are so hard on my system. I’m exhausted. I find it hard just getting out of bed even though I’m sleeping well at night. And so many of my symptoms are disease symptoms, the sore joints, the losing weight, the cough, the sinus headaches, that I’m actually scared for the first time in many years. Maybe the disease is getting the best of me this time? Who knows. All I can do is go for my tests and wait to see what the doctor says.

The assigment was to write in pentameter. Of course, I thought it was to write in iambic pentameter, so that’s what I did. Here’s what I came up with, and it’s quite honestly the worst poem I’ve ever written in my life:

Imitating Travel

The cab came in along the FDR,
I rolled the window down to feel the air,
The East River, a finger’s breadth away,
And everything I see wants me to stay,
Beyond the pale of this quick two-day trip.

Honestly, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever come up with…

…Where you feel like having cereal for dinner, and you do. I just sent in a short review to Chart for Blade: Trinity. What a piece of poo that movie was — not like I was expecting anything different.

I also watched Alfie this weekend and thought it tried just a bit too hard to acheive that balance between loveable cad and tragic ladies man, but whoa, is Nia Long good. I read somewhere that Jude Law’s such a good character actor that he should only be cast in supporting / character-type rolls, but he’s so good looking that people keep trying to make him a leading man, and it just doesn’t work. I’m almost on side with this, maybe it was in Vanity Fair? Anyway, he’s good in the film, but again, it just doesn’t feel right…

Maybe I’ll start keeping track of the films I’ve watched this year too, like the 50 book challenge, only it’ll end up being about 500-to-one in terms of the movie-to-book ratio and can I really live with that?

Oh, and add another one to the list. Let’s count it #3, Open Water. Terrible film with lame dialogue and moments of scariness, but as the Rock and Roll Boyfriend pointed out, it could have just as easily been a short film and been just as effective.

I loved The Book of Joe so much that I sped right up and read Jonathan Tropper’s latest novel Everything Changes in twenty-four hours — not straight, but pretty darn close (minus the time spent at the Suburban Fund Raiser, of course).

It’s another really swiftly crafted novel that buzzes along like a film but still feels like the work of a master fiction crafstman. This time, it’s the story of a thirty-two-year-old man, Zack King, who has the world by the, ahem, balls. He’s got a beautiful fiance (but he’s in love with another woman); he’s got a good job (that he hates, being the middleman and all); and he’s got a great apartment (that he shares with his millionaire friend who simply hasn’t recovered from the death of their best friend). When his father returns after being away for the better part of his adult life, Zack’s own life starts to unravel. And with Tropper’s ability to weave excellent characters into larger than life the book is really impossible to put down.

I finished John Vaillant’s The Golden Spruce this past week. It’s an interesting non-fiction book that tells the story of a magical golden tree that grew in Haida Gwaii, that is until a slightly crazed man chopped it down in protest. The book itself is solid, it’s written in the style of Touching the Void or Jon Krakhauer’s Into the Wild.

Once Grant Hadwin chopped down the tree, he disappeared. His story, intermixed with the story of how logging evolved in Canada and how it all fits with the current situation with the First Nations of the Pacific Northwest, makes for a read that feels unsettled, especially when you start thinking about the trees that are logged every day and how our natural resources are being depleted at an astonishing speed.

The story itself didn’t stay with me as long as thinking about the trees did, or has. It made me think of the things I use everyday (paper towels, computer paper, newspaper, books, notebooks, paper bags) and how they all have to come from somewhere and then go somewhere when I’m finished with them. How will the Earth survive the billions and billions of people like me who simply don’t think about what they use every day and how it affects the very world we live in?

I started looking at every single paper towel I used to wipe my hands dry after using the bathroom at work and decided I’d let them air dry. I decided I was going to try to make my work paperless as much as humanly possible and use both sides of each page I printed. I decided that I would use everything I bought and think carefully about where I shop (Kensington Market this weekend, at the health food store). In the end, I really am going to try to be more committed about leaving a smaller footstep. Let’s see if I actually get there.

My stepmother had a fundraiser for her local branch of [Insert name of bland non-urban suburb here]” Crime Supporters. It was a completely surreal evening. Totally fun in a completely surreal sort of way. We drank way too much because what the hell else is there to do at the crazy suburban arena where I grew up watching my brother’s hockey games, eating stale popcorn and never wanting to learn how to play ringette. Thank goodness girls are playing hockey these days.

To make the evening even more strange, I ran into one of my best girlfriend’s from high school. We haven’t spoken in at least ten years. She’s got three kids and her husband sort of looks like John C. Reilly, but he works in Waste Management, and she has no idea what he does. In her own words, “I don’t really ask.” They’ve got three kids, which is also strange because she was the most f**ked up girl I ever knew. Her own mother used to lock her in her room for days and, at one point, she poured Draino or something equally harsh into her mother’s tea because she was so sick of how she treated her. Makes you hope that she’s learned from her mistakes and that she’s a better mother than the one that raised her.

She often came to school completely loaded and would do the strangest things. Sleep with the boys I loved, mess around with my cousin, pretend she was pregnant — and once let a bunch of people in my house to have a party when my dad and brother were up north and I was at camp.

But now she lives [insert the name of a bland suburb here] and seems to have turned her life around. Her dad, who was a lovely man, died about eight months ago from liver cancer, which is quite sad. Funny how you remember people you once knew in a certain way and can’t really conceive of them not walking the Earth any longer.

All in all it was the stuff Adam Sandler films are made of. A totally rude MC making obscene cracks about people’s breasts as they came up to win door prizes. My Rock and Roll Boyfriend drinking 1.5 bottles of wine and me dancing with someone I’ve known my whole life and his crazy wife to a really bad funked up version of one of my favourite Bob Marley songs. Where you just have to cackle as the sweet couples are dancing around you like it’s a wedding reception and there are women wearing ball gowns they bought at the mall that night just for this special occasion.