At the Circuit City blow-out sale I bought one of those big new TV sets. It's not that big, about the size of a large suitcase but real flat. I've forgotten the acronym that explains what kind of TV it is, possibly LCD. I'm too old to remember things like this. I'll have to ask my 86-yr-old mum.
I'm doing some heavy-duty writing this evening so the TV is off. Occasionally while writing I do peek at the Times and they tell you what's happening at the 81st Oscar ceremonies.
Finally, I COULDN'T STAND IT ANY LONGER and turned on the TV. Watched the last suspenseful moments. Scott works the graveyard-shift at SEPTA so he won't be home till 8:45 next morning. It's a mean place to work. No phone calls allowed, so I left him the following message on his answering machine:
(roaring of the crowd can be heard in background)
Scott, Sean Penn just accepted the award for best actor. (He looked adorable in his reading glasses with that tiny piece of paper he pulled from his inside jacket pocket.)
There were five people nomionated for Best Actor and RICHARD JENKINS from THE VISITOR was one of them.
See you tomorrow.
Scott and I had never heard of Richard Jenkins OR The Visitor until we watched it tonite. On Walt's recommendation, I went online and ordered it inter-library loan.
Okay, back to work on a handout I'm writing for my Bipolar Talk on Saturday, March 7. It begins something like this (a little piano music please):
I'm not so young anymore. How has it happened that three years ago I passed the 60-year mark? No matter. Nothing can be done about it. I fulfilled my biological destiny and raised two fine children. Unlike me, neither suffers from manic depression. Though, truth be told, neither do I anymore. My own manic depression came, tried to wring the life out of me, and then like a fast train passing through town disappeared for good.
