… despite everything I tell you, it’s a wonderful life. Thanks for it.

The rest of you should be reading Uncategorized, hop to it! If you’re done with that, start My Serialized Novel. Read from the bottom up and send your own installaments for My Serialized Novel, here.

(My Serialized Novel, by the way, should not be confused with Howard and Ellen and The Good Wife, pieces of which are scattered haphazardly throughout Writing.)

Back on Monday.

In the meantime read “Uncategorized.” Tell me where to stick them.

… for my treadmill, for the Times on Sunday, for taking Jr. to school today. You’re super-duper!!

Bill McKibben says we eat, drink, and drive too much. Not necessarily in that order. I’d add that we also cook and clean way too damn much, too. I’m going to cut back.

I’ve got work to do today, the pro bono kind — pack for trip, clean stupid house, tell A.’s furnace guy where to stick new vents, make lunch for Julie Nipp, put the super-rocket antenna on my wireless router. Yes, all that. So I really must go.

In other news: M., you never write you never call. You never pick up your dirty socks … (wait, that’s me). Anyway, write me; write me today. No time like the present. That goes for all of you — you, too, Kelly V., I mean it. Write me today and I won’t tell you I’m tired.

Happy Spring Break. Feed the ducks.

Someone was sitting in my office yesterday … and they forgot to close the door. They also left four Winnie the Pooh books and a note to G. Whoever you are, my office never used to look like this! It used to be really cool, why didn’t you come when it was cool! It’s just a holding space now, a warehouse. That’s why it’s empty and sad and looks plundered and lifeless. Boy you should have seen it in its day, when it was young and wily and had the whole room in stitches.

My “U” key isn’t working, there’s something stuck under it, so I’ll try to steer clear of “u”s. Uh-oh, and it looks like spaces, too. Spaces is acting up. Stupid keys.

I’m working, and working very hard, but here are two quite different takes on Clive James’ new book of essays, Cultural Amnesia. (First written about, by the way, here. Kind of.) The Atlantic piece probably requires a password, sorry about that. It’s just Christopher Hitchens ranting in his usual Simon Cowell fashion. Go to B and N and read it in the store.

A. says you’re not supposed to complain about the traffic, being tired, your extra body fat or the weather. I can’t remember why. I’m too tired.

Go out there and get ‘em!

Julie Nipp’s making lunch, for invisible friends. 

… I had a disturbing conversation with G.’s friend, N., on the way to school.  We were discussing the term, “cuckoo” and its usage when N. said:

“I’m cuckoo for my imaginary friends.”

“Oh?”  I ventured cautiously.  “You have imaginary friends?  Where are they, N.?”

“They’re at home.  Some are on the wall, some are under the sea.  I talk to them at night.”

“Interesting,” I said, and then to the 411 operator, “‘Yes, Sherwood, Oregon, please.  Child Psychiatry or Social Services, thanks.’   Um, how many imaginary friends do you have, N.?”  I asked while on hold for the number.”

“Eight.  Gianna’s seen them, too.” 

“Well, Gianna might not be able to go to your house for a little while, Sweetie, until your Mommy gets you a really nice doctor.” 

I only had one imaginary friend.  His name was Bobby and I took him everywhere.  I don’t know why N.’s mom makes him keep his locked up all day in his room. 

Have a wacky Friday, kids.   

Shameless plug of the week: 

  Cedar Canyon Water — Crisp, sparkling taste!  Special teeth-whitening enhancement molecules!  Get rock-hard abs in three weeks or my name’s Wilma! 

What are you waiting for?  Order yours today!

Very Obvious List today recommends Andy Richter’s new show, “Andy Barker, P.I.” I like Andy, so yeah, watch it.

Also, buy The Bird and the Bee’s self-titled album because they look fun and the cover art’s cute, plus they have EXPLICIT LYRICS. Get Roy Hargrove’s Nothing Serious for rainy days and Mondays. And read Christine Falls by “Benjamin Black” (John Banville, of The Sea).

There. You have something to do. And, surprise! Everyone in my audience today gets a car. Send your shipping address here.

The Guardian has a piece on Britain’s most popular unread books (and a companion piece revealing their endings to save you the trouble.)  Books you buy with good intentions that end up boring your hair stiff 30 pages in, those books. 

Vernon God Little and Cloud Atlas — two of the lists’s top five in fiction — are on my list, too; couldn’t do either one.  Though I didn’t see Special Topics in Calamity Physics, jumbo yawn – maybe Brits were too smart to buy it. 

My Life was on the Non-fiction list, and yes, I have it and didn’t finish it, it’s long.  But A. and I listened to the abridged version on tape, every single riveting word. 

What’s on your list?  What dumb books are you buying, because they’re piled in toppling stacks at Barnes and Noble, and then not finishing?  M., this one’s right up your alley.

Send them here.  Also, send me a huddled mass. 

[A. took the kids to school today, thanks A.  So this is what it feels like to breathe.  They're probably thinking the same thing.] 

This one is for my son’s father (A.) and his Grandmother (H.), mostly.

Jr. and I are reading the Lion, Witch and Wardrobe book (thank you, Helen). Tonight was chapter 10, a carousing breathless sort of chapter where the children go on the lam with a couple of nice Beavers, narrowly escape the Witch, and run into Santa Claus. Then when it all settles down Mr. Beaver cuts sandwiches from the ham and Mrs. Beaver pours the tea.

I’m not one to go on, but I’m a sucker for small moments. And I said something along those lines to Jr. Excitement’s great, yes, but unreliable. In the end its the tea and ham sandwiches that mean a hill of beans.

Junior was very attentive. I was lying next to him on his bed and he was quiet and serious and looking at his wrist the whole time. When I wrapped up he said, “That little comment took you five minutes and 35 seconds.” His watch has a stopwatch. Which is obviously defective, I didn’t go on for five minutes, no way. Whatever.

We could all do with less talk and more tea.

Send flowers to your Postman.

M. doesn’t like my taste in cars, but I’ll go on.

Things that caught my attention over the weekend:

1. A car engulfed in flames on the way back from Seaside, by the side of the road. (No one in it.)

2. Iberico ham.

3. Beaches. They’re nice to walk on, even cold ones with rain. Especially at night with A. (Awwww!)

4. James Wood, who said in this week’s New Republic: “Broadly speaking, there are two great currents in the novel: one flows from Richardson and the other from Fielding.”

6. Peter Bogdonavich in 1972 — he looked really young.

7. Alice B. Toklas. I picked up a used copy of her cookbook Friday. You’ll hear more about that later.

8. Work. Work caught my attention.

The idea of going away, to me, is all about work. Not that I get any done, but that I get excited about it again. And I did! The James Wood line (above) triggered some things. Because Richardson is all about internal rumination and Fielding about dialogue and we’re alternating the two quite cleverly, I think, in my collaboration book. The dialogue is brilliant but I may reread Clarissa to make sure we’re nailing the soulful bit.

In other news, A. and I watched Marlon Brando on Cavett Friday night, he talked really slow. A. didn’t mind, but it bugged me. And my Games came today, so I’m off to do that.

Click here to Get to Know Me.

Julie Nipp and Lisa Austin are having lunch Friday without me.  Screw them. 

I am driving around in the rain and getting my hair done and have no time for any of you.  Yesterday, though, I ate shrimp scampi at Lisa’s house and promised to stick her in a book –she doesn’t care as what.  I also discovered it’s not just me — mothers who stay home and manage the traumas and dramas and castle intrigue all day in this (sometimes) lonely little vaccum, are depressed.  All three of us yesterday – clinical!  Whoo-hoo!  Next time, Lisa, skip the shrimp and bring Paxil; Julie doesn’t like shrimp anyway.  I’ll bring Adderall, Julie you find some pot, which I hear works great, too. 

Me, I just need the X5.  An X5, A., write that down.  In blue.   

Out Thursday and Friday.  At the beach.  Life is one, etc.