Literary Broccoli

As frequently happens in my life, I avoid something because I know deep in my soul I will hate it. That happened with Judging Amy. A recently divorced woman with a small girl moves in with her mother: hilarity and drama ensue. For the first year I was working nights, when a morning rerun of Judging Amy came on TV I could not change the channel fast enough. Girls. Ick.

Then one morning I accidentally did not change the channel fast enough and caught a scene with Tyne Daly -- an actress I had always avoided because I just knew I'd hate her -- and she was good. I can't remember the scene, but I do remember thinking, "Everyone gets something right once in a while." I sat and finished the episode. Not bad. Another came on, and by the end of that episode I was hooked. TNT shows two episodes a day and in about three months you can see the entire series. While Amy Brenneman is a competent actress, and the rest of the cast showed flashes of genuine intelligence and talent, the reason to watch the series is Tyne Daly. The woman can convey a spectrum of emotions in a two-second reaction shot that will send shivers down your spine. Although I have no plans to return to acting, I have studied her performance to see if I could break her formula. Like Lisa Kudrow, it's all about unexpected rhythms. Anyway, if you've not seen the show, it is your duty as a thinking American human to set your TiVo and record each episode. My favorite episode and moment of the entire series comes at the end of the one that guest stars Rosie O'Donnell. I won't spoil it for you because Tyne Daly's final scene in that episode is a revleation.

Last fall the selection of classes offered in my writing program was pretty grim and I ended up taking a class with a professor who had a reputation. Based on that reputation, I just knew I'd hate him. What's more, the class was the history of the personal essay. Could there possibly be a more boring topic? I prayed the class would not detract from my grade point too severely. Of course, this class turned out to be one of my favorite and the professor was truly the best I had in the program.

And the result is a new-found love for the personal essay, an allegedly dying artform. I believe the blogosphere belies that claim and I seem to be in an endless search for entertaining/informative/fortifying blogs. The fruit of my search has turned up a personal essay that I think beautifully captures the form. "I Blame Dennis Hopper" by Illeana Douglas is one of the most entertaining things I've read in a long time, and it fits in nicely with recent themes of this blog. Illeana, there is much for me to learn from you.