I'm getting ready for bed, which is ironic given I'm starting this thing to devote my clear-headed awakened-ness to writing again in the wee morning hours before Joe wakes up. (9 a.m. - 11 a.m.) And though this is a weekend blog and not a Thursday night blog, tonight is a test. Tonight I introduce myself.
I'm not a fan of the word blog by the way. I think it's one of the more annoying words we say. Right up there with caucus and David Petraeus. So lets call this something else. Something a little more lyrical or sarcastic or poetic or plucky. Joe has a composition book he keeps track of all his finances in. A true composition notebook - the white and black kind teachers made us buy in elementary school. Joe has one of these that he's outlined all his finances in. He drew a calendar inside with the months of the year broken into boxes big enough to log his daily expenditures and incomes. And in each day he's alloted himself money for various things according to his budget. In the space where a student might write his name. ("This book belongs to ...") Joe wrote "2008 Financial Ledger."
After Heath Ledger died I crossed out the word financial and scribbled in Heath's name. So now we call the composition notebook The Heath. As in: "Do you want to do Chinese take-out tonight?" "I don't know. Will The Heath allow it?" Or: "We can go to Radiohead next month! I'm $200 over in The Heath."
I think it's a loving tribute to Ledger.
I tried to make a Heath. It didn't work. I lost interest in the organization. But I really want one. So in honor of Heath, Joe and my unborn novel I'm going to call this my Lance. Here's why:
I have a good friend named Sarah who still lives in my hometown in Western New York. When we were in high school Sarah used to fantasize about running away with a cowboy named Lance as many country girls are inclined to do. (Except me. Cowboys are fine, I just like nerdy writer types better.) I, unlike Sarah, fantasized about running away with a book. Camping out in the woods Thoreau-style and writing from sunup to sundown, oblivious to mosquito bites and societal norms.
So this my Lance.
And I've got to go. I'm reading the best book. It's called "The God of Animals" by Aryn Kyle. And it's amazing.
PS. The picture above is of a ferris wheel I waited too long to ride. Let this be a warning to those of you who wait to ride ferris wheels. ("Oh lets go get cotton candy first." Or: "The Whack-A-Mole line is shorter.") Ferris wheels break down. Sad but true. So ride them before they do. And if you happen to be on one when it does go kaput, count yourself the limelight-loving storyteller of the evening when you tell your friends and family how your life (and several carnies) flashed before your eyes as you waited to come down. I can only imagine the kind of creative brainstorming that comes on like a nausea when you're stuck on a broken-down ferris wheel.