Two shows I'll give up sleep for

One, I'm ashamed to admit, is American Idol. I got tired of never knowing what people were talking about, so I've watched it from the auditions this season. And I can't wait to see it each week. If you're a fan, I'm rooting for Blake and Jordin. Blake's updated version of Time of the Season by The Zombies was pure genius last week.

The other show is The Riches on F/X on Monday nights. The main reason I love this show is because of Eddie Izzard (see previous post). He's brilliant in it, even though it's more dramatic than comedic. Minnie Driver is wonderful also. It's such a different premise (a family of grifters decide to steal the American Dream from some dead people), and so far the writing's holding up too. I think this role will finally bring Eddie into the mainstream. After all, now he'll be a cross-dressing comedian, movie AND TV actor. How much more mainstream can you get?

Fighting the instinct

It's three in the morning and I've been up for over an hour and a half listening to Gabriel cry. We're trying to break him of his middle-of-the-night feeding for the first night. Supposedly we have to go through this to get him to realize he'll have to eat more during the day. I've been in to comfort him a couple of times, scratch his back and tell him everything's ok, and once to change his diaper and give him something for teething pain. But I'm not supposed to cuddle or rock him, which goes against every maternal instinct I have.

Oddly enough, this is making me think of the book club selection I finished last night. It was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon, told from the perspective of a boy with autism. He doesn't like to be touched, and instead of hugging, his parents hold up their hands with fingers spread to touch his fingertips, and this means that they love him and he loves them back in his own way. I can't imagine how tough it would be to fight the cuddle instinct all the time.

And now my stomach is growling, but I'll be damned if I'm going to eat anything when I know he's in there hungry. This is just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Spring Fever has sprung

And we want to be outside all day long!

It's showtime folks!!

One of my favorite movies of all time is All That Jazz, which is based on the life of choreographer Bob Fosse, but in the movie his name is Joe Gideon. Yes, it's a dance movie, but it's also about human weakness, drive and creativity, and ultimately facing your own death. It's a bit haunting also, because the entire movie is focused around the probability and then reality of Gideon dying from a heart attack, and Fosse actually died from one some time later after this movie was made. Gideon is brilliantly portrayed by Roy Scheider, who chain-smoked, pill-popped and tail-chased his way through the part. There is a recurring scene of Gideon getting himself going every morning with his morning routine. Hot shower, morning cigarette, popping the upper-of-choice for the day, splashing cold water in his face, and finally looking at his reflection and murmuring, "It's showtime folks" while listening to the same piece of classical music-I think it's either Bach or Vivaldi.

Trying to deal with a baby at my age has caused me to feel as if a truck ran over me every morning. It's taking more and more effort to get myself out of bed in the morning. Then it dawned on me this morning that I already have to have the hot shower and the cold water splashed on my face to get me going. I also have found that lately I crave drinks with LOTS of caffeine during the day, and a glass of wine to unwind in the evenings. I have this fear that if we try to have another baby, the uppers aren't far behind.

Rocket Science

I was walking Stanley yesterday and noticed a torn up Nerf rocket in the gutter. This prompted a string of really strong memories from my 5th Grade science project in Mr. Anthony's class. It's amazing to me to think of all the memories our brains have stored up, because this whole thing came back to me clear as a bell. We were supposed to construct a rocket out of balsam wood and test it to see if it would actually fly. I thought about the entire class going to the covered open-air recess area to spray paint our rockets silver. I could almost smell the spray paint and hear the muted rattley sound of the cans when we shook them up, and even remembered the lightheaded feeling I had from the fumes. I could recall how cool they looked hanging there to dry with the sun reflecting off the silver. I also remembered the feeling of absolute dread when it came time to try mine out to see if it worked. I don't think mine ever went anywhere, but there were those teacher's pets whose rockets went waaaaaaayy high up in the air. Science show-offs. And for some reason, all of these thoughts led me to have a strong craving for ice cream sandwiches. Aaahh, the carefree days of elementary school.