Abdul-errific

Here is when my favorite moment from this season's "American Idol" began:

Paula: "Oh gosh, we've never had to write these things down ... fast enough," she began, sounding like her usual self (somewhere between manic and "thank you, sir, may I have another"). "Jason, first song, I loved hearing your lower register, which we never really hear, um ... ."

And that's where the show started to have meaning for me again.

"The second song, I felt like your usual charm wasn't — it was missing for me. It kind of left me a little empty."

Which was awesome because Castro had only sung his first song. So I found myself (literally) stating to my LCD, "There's only been one song! There's only been one song! This is great because there's only been one song!"

I was torn between my usual glee, and feeling very awkward for her. It must make for a very messy personal life, but it sure does make good TV.

Memoirs of a Tween

I don't know why I care, but I just read that Miley Cyrus is all set to pen her memoirs. At 15. 'Nuf said.

If I'd be able to write a memoir at 15, I could have hit a mid-life crisis at 20, and now, at 27, should be able to retire.

Kids sure do grow up fast these days.

Writing again?

So I had a few poems published late last year, and I'm desperately trying my hand at short stories again. Here's where I am. I have a long way to go.
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The day was hotter than most. Jan stood on the platform, with the toes of her right foot inched slightly over the yellow line that was the boundary between people and trains. Right foot slightly over, left foot slightly behind and en pointe, she watched the train roll in from the left. She assumed it was coming from the West, since west was always left on a map.

The train kicked up dirt and spun it off as red dust into the air as it neared. Squinting her eyes, Jan saw that it gave the mountains that rose up from behind a pinkish hue, and she liked that. She had seen mountains before, after all, when the carnival traveled, but they’d never been pink like that.

The carnival. It was the first place she remembered and the last place she’d seen her parents.

Jan had two parents who she had called Dan and Lily for as long as she could remember speaking. Dan and Lily, especially Lily, pleaded with Jan to call them mom and dad. But they were unlike other parents, though Jan did not know it at the time. Dan was the midget who worked the Ferris wheel and Lily made cotton candy. One would think that Jan, having been born into the circus world, would not know that her parents, or even their very way of life, were different. Most children are like goldfish, and adapt to whatever environment they’re put into. But Dan and Lily were different, and Jan was not like most children.

Jan was born in the middle of a lightning storm on a night in early February. This in itself was odd, given that Kansas was not prone to lightning storms much before the spring. It was what it was, though, and it was a lightning storm. Many of the carnival workers were superstitious folk, and did not believe it to be healthy to move a woman in labor. So Jan came quietly into the world under a big top.