Stuff I care about, stuff I don't

Stuff I don't care about …

Rudy Giuliani's wife and her previous marriage(s).

Aside from the fact that I'm surprised Judy Nathan could hide an entire bridegroom from the New York press corps (Liz Smith and Michael Musto, I'm surprised at you both!), this isn't interesting and it's certainly not my business.

TomKat and the Beckhams and Brangelina. Yawn.

The Grey's Anatomy salary dispute. I'm not so fond of Izzie anymore, so it's OK if the producers let her walk.

Spiderman 3. I care as much as I did about 1 and 2. Which is not at all.

Stuff I care about …

Anna Nicole Smith. I know, I know. Caring about this silly saga is one of the early signs of dementia. But I admit it, I'm hooked. I believe the tipping point was the addition of wacky Judge Larry. (I'm referring to the crying Judge Larry, not the toking Judge Larry.) The whole thing is so gloriously surreal. The centerpiece of the case is a pregnant junkie/Playmate of the Year and her evil lawyer. And it takes an epic harmonic convergence for Virgie Arthur and Zsa Zsa Gabor to end up in the same story.

The captured UK sailors. It's so sad. The Brits are paying a very, very high price for supporting us. While I realize it's not funny, in fact it's way beyond not funny, but I still keep thinking of Tim Matheson's line from Animal House: "You fucked up -- you trusted us."

That Girl/Season 3. When is that new DVD set coming out? I love her hair. I love her little handbags. I love her false eyelashes. I love her wacky adventures. I've greedily devoured Seasons 1 and 2 and I'm jonesing here! Amazon is teasing us with a preorder option and a June release date, but they don't show any cover art, so I'm dubious.

Elizabeth Edwards. And Jack and Emma Claire and Cate.

Didn't do, should have done, don't have …

I'm watching Joel Osteen right now (yes, I have my own minister, but sometimes I need his predictably sunny brand of Christianity). He is talking about listening to the wrong inner voice. Instead of listening to personal condemnation, I should tell myself: "I have made mistakes, but I know I am forgiven." (I know that as a "gay-loving baby killer," aka Liberal Democrat, I'm not supposed to take comfort from God's forgiveness, but I do.)

Or, as my minister has said, "God doesn't expect us to succeed. He expects us to try."

I do have a tendency to be hard on myself. In every area except my work, I often feel deficient. I'm not pretty. I'm lazy. I'm pudgy. I have a bad temper, paired with a quick tongue, which can be a brutal combo. I can be judgmental. I'm undisciplined. I'm selfish.

And I'm a coward. I'm terrified of flying. The talisman I held in my hand as I took off and landed this past week was the printout of an email I received last Friday from my best friend. I felt stressed and sent out an SOS,* telling him that I was at the end of my tether … with people appearing in my doorway every five minutes there was no way I could get all my work done. He wrote:

"There is a reason that everyone is in your doorway. You have great insight, you are compassionate, you are genuine, you are understanding and deep down you truly care about people. It is no accident that people come to you for advice. You do things all the time that make a difference in peoples lives.

"Not everyone would be willing to adopt all the sheltered animals and all the wild children running around Target, Walmart and Kmart."

Joel is saying I should "bold enough to believe" what my best friend wrote. I'm trying. I'm growing. I'm working at doing better where I must and trying to appreciate my good qualities.

And I'm very literal. If it's in writing -- black type against white paper -- I tend to take it more seriously. So I shall clutch that piece of paper when I'm blue or frightened and take reinforcement from it.

*"Finding Solace and Strength from Friends and Strangers." Thank you, Elizabeth Edwards, for reminding me I can and should ask for help.