Poor Jessica Simpson (Really)

I'm not Jessica Simpson's biggest fan. In fact, her (father's??) strategy of dumbing herself down in order to sell her persona makes my blood boil. But I have to draw the line somewhere.

In my opinion, Terrell Owens can go screw. He's the one being the most vocal about blaming Jessica for the Dallas Cowboys loss last week. Here's what he said: "With everything that has happened, obviously with the way Tony played and the comparison between her and Underwood [Julia's insert: Don't you remember? A woman has foiled those Dallas Cowboys before!], I think a lot of people feel she has taken his focus away," says Owens. "Oh, I got a message for her when we make the playoffs. Just stay tuned."

That's right, Terrell...the presence of a pretty girl can account for the bad playing of an entire team. Those damned pretty girls -- evil temptations, all of them. And you, oh Holy Man, can stop them from ruining you. Just send them a message loud and clear.

Barf. But worse than barf - rage! Not even Jessica deserves this.

As a born and bred Boston girl and Patriots fan, I never saw the Patriots blame a loss on Bridget Moynahan or Gisele Bundchen. That's because they take responsibility for their actions.

So to anyone still blaming Jessica Simpson and Carrie Underwood for poor Cowboys performance, here's my advice: grow some boobs and admit that your beloved team lost on their own.

~Julia

P.S. My pregnancy hormones make me TOUGH! Yay estrogen.

Marathon Monday Musings

Well, Marathon Monday has arrived here in Boston, along with a huge Nor'easter that has kept me secluded to my studio apartment for much of the long weekend. However, I plan to fight the elements at some point to check out the amazing athletes who are literally braving the wind, rain, and snow to make it to that finish line at Copley Square.

For many, Patriot's Day marks the start of spring in Boston. People emerge from their winter cocoons to check out the runners, the Red Sox, and the BU students partying along the marathon route on Beacon Street. For me, the day is a reminder of how much discipline I don't have when it comes to working out. Recently, as I was riding comfortably in a friend's jeep past a slew of sweaty runners, my companion asked me if I ever had any desire to run a marathon.

"For a hot second," I told him. "Then I realized it would be a horrible idea and I got over it. "

I've never been a real athlete by competitive standards, and thus I admire those who have the discipline and drive to train for such a huge undertaking. Last summer, my younger brother stayed with me while he was marathon training, and he would return from long runs with calves caked in salt from the sweat that had dried on his cooling body. Meanwhile, I spent my days drinking coffee, and sitting by the large window in my apartment, concentrating on a page, a paragraph, sometimes only delivering a single line of workable prose. And so it went, each day, for most of the summer.

As a teacher, the summer is when I get most of my writing done, and I just started reading Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer to motivate myself to write more in the next few months. The first chapter discusses how much a writer can learn from close-reading and analyzing the works of great writers--not a new idea, but one that I think writers often forget in the competitive marketplace. I know that there are times when I feel so pressured to get the work done that I find myself unable to concentrate at all. Prose brings us back to the basics by pointing out that sometimes all we need is a burst of inspiration from those writers who have been down the same road many times before us.

Maybe that is why every year when I watch the marathon I find myself clapping and cheering for the runners as they climb their way up Commonwealth Ave towards the finish. It's a little like reading Nabokov--you can't take your eyes away from the scene. The hundreds of feet pounding the pavement make me think of all the training, the mental preparation, and finally the immense feeling of accomplishment that must come from such a feat. I always vow that I will start running the next day.

Maybe this year I'll start writing instead.