Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Hollywood and Us

My friend Pam over at And We Shall March sent me this Fade In link last week. It's an insightful read into the life of Black creatives in Hollywood. Check-it-check-it out...

Enough Already!


She was a frumpy, pasty spinster on the verge of being mocked. She sang a song from Les Miserables (a song that shouldn't have been sung with such cheer in the first place) and now, they want to give her a book?! GalleyCat has the latest on Susan Boyle.

Do you think it's gone far enough with this lady? Or am I just being mean? Would you buy her book?

Sunday, April 26, 2009

My Eyes, My Eyes!

I've worn glasses since 3rd grade. I remember the day the opthamologist said I couldn't see. My mom, sister and I took the RTD to Kaiser that morning. Two weeks later, we picked up my glasses. I selected a bright pink Bionic Woman eyeglass case. I thought it was all so cool... until the first time someone called me Four Eyes. Until the first time they broke. Until the little ridges on the side of my nose started to darken. Until a boy told me that I was much prettier without glasses.

Back in the 80's, you had to have incredibly jacked-up vision to get contact lenses through an HMO. My vision was just jacked-up. And so, during the last few months of my senior year in high school, my mother took me to LensCrafters. I got contact lenses that day. It was a marvelous thing - being able to see without these heavy plastic things on my face. Being able to have clear peripheral vision. And it also helped that my face was free in order to attract guys -- majorly important as I headed off to college.

Contacts were cool. They eventually got cheaper, and easier to care for. But as my eyes aged and, at the same time, improved, it became more difficult to read up close. And then, I had eye allergies. And then, if there was a Zombie Apocolypse, I wouldn't have time to grab my glasses, contacts, solution, case and then, what would happen if my glasses broke or my lens tore. I wouldn't able to see the zombies shambling slowly towards me.


Two weeks ago, I saw a man about some vision. Dr. Hamilton, tall and blond and handsome, told me that I was a great candidate for Lasik. I believed him. Believe me, I was a bit scared. Being a writer and all, I had drafted these tragic narratives in my head about Dr. Hamilton sneezing in the middle of the procedure. Or the Zombie Apocalyse occurring right as the laser is cutting my right cornea. Or an earthquake. I'd never be able to read a book or write again. And on and on...

The day came, and the kind medical folks gave me a Valium to put the anxious writer in me at ease. That in itself was AWESOME. I cared about NADA. The house is on fire? Meh. We owe $6000 in taxes? Whatever.

Nothing tragic happened. Dr. Hamilton's hands were sure and true, and now, I can see, I can see!! Life changing, I tells ya.

Science has changed so much. I've come so far since that pink Bionic Woman carrying case.

Today's Digested Read


John Crace digests Handle with Care by Jodi Picoult:

Charlotte: I called you Willow. Though it's the readers who would be Weeping by the end. But not because they were sad. I felt as broken as you when Piper, the gynaecologist, saw the 28-week scan and told me you had osteogenesis imperfecta (OI), a rare condition where your bones snap easily and you never grow taller than three foot. I was so happy, though, when she told me you had Type III and you wouldn't die at birth but would have a short painful life and then die. Otherwise I wouldn't have a story.