Bring me the hedgehog of John the Baptist

Like most people who wish for talent and inspiration but avoid the "heavy-lifting," I scribble down ideas while driving home, in the middle of the night, on napkins, etc. Shockingly, these gems tend to live and die on pink Post-Its. Inevitably I find myself walking the aisles, listening to NPR, or flipping through book reviews and thinking "Curses! I should've thought of that/was going to write that!" Then I worry that I've been stricken by that Helen Keller disease where I don't realize that I'm stealing other people's ideas. And, no: I'm not being glib ("Of course, she didn't know she was plagiarizing...she couldn't see it/hear it/etc."...I'm talking about The Frost King, people.

(Wow. No wonder I'm not famous: that last sentence struck the perfect, rare balance between being boring and pretentious.)

So, I jot down ideas in the hopes of coming up with an essay or article for some beloved editors who have been kind enough to run some of my work in the past. Lately, though, my random scribbles dead-end. And, since said beloved editors have ceased to send me assignments or buy my pitches, I'm treading creative water. Anyway: in keeping with the themes of self-involvement/pity and lack of ambition, here are some of the more random notes-to-self. RIP, mediocre ideas.


1. "Bring me the hedgehog of John the Baptist." I stumbled on this note while I was cleaning out my desk last Fall. At first, I thought I was having a religious experience. Then I remembered my mini-Dachshund waking me up in the middle of the night with her stuffed, squeaky hedgehog in tow, beady little eyes all fierce and furious. Believe it or not, I actually climbed out of bed to write this one down. Several reliable sources have confirmed that this line is, neither, funny nor interesting.

(I maintain, though: Salome sounds like salami. Wiener dogs are salami-shaped. I think there's life in this idea yet.)


2. "My night at the sports bar on the least important night in the history of sports." To jog my memory as to the details behind this note I actually had to Google "ice skating cut partner face blade." This phrase is now up for grabs if anyone needs a name for their Emo-ska band.

One night my old man--is that your husband or your dad...because I'm going for "husband" here--and I went out for beer and wings one night and found every big screen tuned in to the free skate at the Four Continents Figure-Skating Championships. Now, this is Indiana. For every skewed understanding of Hoosier country, if you think sports bar patrons watching figure-skating signals despair, you're spot-on. But after the Colts Super Bowl win and before March Madness? A bit of a No-Man's Land. Anyway, during the free skate in question, a Canadian skater clocked his partner across the cheek with his skate blade. It was horrifying. And replayed ad nauseam. And what did the crowded bar do, sports fans? Cheered. Sweated schadenfreude. Trash-talked our Canadian brethren. Inexplicably chanted a few smart-alecky rounds of "U-S-A! U-S-A!"

And then the network cut to talk of Nascar pensions and golf highlights. Further hilarity from the peanut gallery ensued.

A funny enough story, for sure. But I gave up fleshing out the idea when I realized that, outside of baseball, my relevant sports know-how is limited to my eighth-grade obsession with figure-skating and a battered VHS tape of the "Battle of the Brians" at the '88 Calgary Olympics. Yes, we taped it. Over HBO's midnight showing of Dr. Zhivago. So there.

Besides, my husband assures me that the guys in the bar were a funnier. Love means never lying about your spouse's comic prowess.


3. "Whatever happened to that one, blond, villainous guy from every '80's movie?" His name is William Zabka. You might remember him as overbearing bully boyfriend/martial arts master Johnny from The Karate Kid, overbearing bully boyfriend/champion diver Chas from Back to School, overbearing bully boyfriend/dancing machine Greg from Just One of the Guys. Oh and fun fact: he was nominated for an Oscar in 2003 for the short film Most. But, anyway, Entertainment Weekly beat me to the punch. And the free gift-with-subscription--a three-cassette set of super '70's sounds--they sent me in 1989 does nothing to ease the pain.