My co-worker Kathleen greets me a good morning before asking: “Did Ben read yesterday’s blog?”. “No, he’s been reading them the next day on his lunch break…why?” “Oh, there were a couple of mistakes”. “Like bad mistakes?” “Not bad…just noticeable”. “So what, like one or two?” She pauses for a moment “There were like five or six of them”. “Five or six?” Holy Moses–that shit ain’t right.
I’m frustrated by that, there’s nothing I could do about it …I can’t leave work, drive home to re-read and edit…though the thought crosses my mind. I am such a shameless perfectionist, I simply loathe the idea of some glaring error distracting from perfectly lovely prose. “Does it take away from the piece?” I ask her, my anxiety increasing. She shrugs mildly, “It was fine…I just figured you were tired”. Yes, I was tired, and while the writing came easily, I had some technical difficulties and then suffered from one of the worst plights of any writer: having to edit my own work. To write a piece and then to revisit it almost immediately in search of mistakes, it’s so easy to miss minor or major inconsistencies. Kathleen tries to soothe my injured pride–“Don’t worry…maybe you can write a blog about it…people know that you’re human”. Which brings up an excellent point–y’all knew I was human right? I’m not a robot or a proboscis monkey…I’m a human woman-girl, and I am incapable of editing my own work. Which brings up a second point…I wish I had someone who would read every single blog before I send it out there into the world.
Lost in thought amongst the prep tasks, I daydream about potential blog buddies…someone that could just hang around the house with me–keep me on track, offer gentle guidance and advice. And you know who came to mind. That’s right, you have no idea, because it’s totally random, and you won’t see it coming: Stanley Tucci. You may not recognize the name but you’ll know his face:
He is in so many films that make me think–fuck yeah, Stanley Tucci! He would be the best friend and co-worker ever. If I could make my own Tucci fusion, I would mix his characteristics from “The Devil Wears Prada”, “Julie and Julia” and “Easy A”, with just a bash of “Burlesque”, and by all means, hold “The Lovely Bones”. But he would be supportive, yet bitchy, darkly humorous, he’d call me on my bullshit, totally hurt my feelings, but then would make me tea, brush my hair and tell me all about working with Meryl Streep. And it would be amazing.
Sigh–but alas, until Mr Tucci answers my phone calls or cancels the restraining order, expect the occasional mistake–and believe me when I tell you that I wish it wasn’t so– each daily contribution is full of so much love and affection for all you lovely readers. So please forgive me, after all I am only human.