And so, Lent beginneth.  Say what you will, but keeping track of your year via the church calendar is downright convenient.  As is my yearly tradition, I am giving up green vegetables and all of my New Year's resolutions.

This year, the bidding to a Holy Lent also coincides with not getting a position, the 1st anniversary of my friend's death, and a major medical showdown for a family member, so, it's generally been really easy to focus on writing.  I was listening to a radio interview with Walter Kirn, who wrote the novel which was turned into the movie, Up in the Air, which I haven't yet seen, so don't blow it for me.  He was talking about how, after he had written the book, he met with the same experience he wrote about, except that he was being terminated from a job by a guy who came in special to do it.  When the host asked if he had said something kitschy like, "Hey, I wrote the book on this!" (radio laugh track), he chuckled and said, "Well, art may imitate life, but when life happens, the last thing you think of is Art."

Walking out on the portico, throwing your arms as wide as can be and welcoming the universe in to uplift your greatness is cute.  This, however, (and among other reasons) is why I love Lindsey Vonn.  She skis on a bum leg, takes shit for posing in the SI swimsuit issue and STILL wins the gold by a half second.  Why? All she does is prepare. Evan Lysacek, too. And Ohno and Davis and White - who had the gold in hand and STILL went out and stomped the 1260- and, for that matter, Twyla Tharp, who I'm re-reading.  From the porch, I saw the preparation horse in it's stall.