Oh deer

I was outside with my dogs a few minutes ago and saw Zuko sniffing something fuzzy in the grass near the house. I did my automatic "get away from that fuzzy thing" yell like I usually do when it's a mouse or a bird. I've become strong about my dogs catching mice or birds or even little snakes. Those are normal things that live in backyards. But I thought tonight they'd caught their first squirrel. I told my boyfriend I'd need to call him back and inspected it further. The long, furry thing sort of looked like a squirrel's tail. But it had some really large bones sticking out of it and was too long to be a squirrel's tail. I got a little closer and saw that it had ... a hoof. A big black hoof. I screamed and flailed and did what all 31-year-old women do when faced with a dead deer's leg in their backyard. I called my parents. They were supportive and humored me but I knew I needed in-the-flesh support. I called my next-door neighbor, and I said, "Can you come stand by me while I shovel a dead deer's leg into a plastic bag? I'm scared." She rushed over in her robe and said she was watching "Grey's Anatomy" and I felt terrible but she said, "I'm TiVoing it." Of course! TiVo is a blessing in all of our lives. She ended up holding the bag for me because it was really windy and we were truly a sight. Her in her bathrobe and slippers and me in my sweatpants and sweatshirt and shovel hollering, "I swear I won't touch you with it, oh my God, oh my God, I am going to throw up." She was very calm. Thank God. Meanwhile my phone rang and it was my mom, who announced, "Daddy's on his way over." I said, "No! I've got it taken care of! It's in the bag. It's in the bag!" She ran out the door and chased him down the driveway to tell him never mind. Now I've got a big dead deer's leg in a big black trash bag in my trash can and I was all set for the garbage truck to take it away in the morning but my boyfriend thinks I should call Animal Control or Wildlife & Fisheries to report it just in case there's been a rash of dead deer parts in people's yards or something and that they might want to check it for diseases or something. I should have taken a picture of it or something, but I was too beside myself and now I can't face it again. Meanwhile I am panicking severely that my dogs gnawed on the dead deer's leg and are going to be poisoned and die. Or that my other neighbors hate me so much that they went hunting and threw a deer's leg into my yard where my dogs could possibly eat it and die or where it would nearly scare me to death. So there it sits in the trashcan which I pulled away from the curb so it won't go out with tomorrow's trash. And I poured bleach all over the grass. And it makes me feel very sick and weird. Poor deer. It's not like I live in the country or in the forest where deer typically scamper about. It's not like a big-assed deer leapt over my fence in the middle of the city and left its amputeed leg behind. It's just nasty and sad and scary and bad. I just want my dogs to not have gotten sick. And I want to not find any more parts of deer carcass in the daylight tomorrow morning.

A few links

I have one of Kymm's scarves, and I love it. It's blue and soft and beautiful. You should buy one.

I am delighted that Grace is updating regularly at a redesigned Roman Lily. Her words and photographs move me on a very deep level. It's like an early Christmas present.

Finally, I can't imagine that this isn't being linked all over the place already, but I can't not link to it. It just makes me unspeakably happy. Partly because I've always loved Neil Patrick Harris and once saw him on the Nederlander sidewalk giving Christine Taylor a kiss on the lips, partly because that's one of my favorite showtunes, and partly because I cannot see Jason Segel bursting into song without thinking of the way Nick Andopolis sings "Lady L."

Haul Out the Holly

I'm sitting here at the coffee shop on a spectacularly beautiful afternoon. Looking back, I've mentioned the Broadway Cares: Home for the Holidays CD (that Melissa sent me a few years ago, God love her) several times before, but I'm not sure I've stated emphatically enough that everyone needs to have it. Every song on it isn't perfect, but the ones that are -- they are breathtaking. Liz Callaway and Ann Hampton Callaway, Christine Ebersole, Lillias White, and Audra McDonald, you are breathtaking. And Patrick Wilson, no song in recent years gets me more in the Christmas spirit than your exuberant, joyful, wonderful rendition of "We Need a Little Christmas." We do, Patrick. We do.

It's been a lovely week, really, since returning from vacation. Thanksgiving was nice, if on a smaller scale than in past years due to Katrina having wiped out our previous stomping grounds of every Thanksgiving I can remember since birth. After gorging ourselves on turkey and everything that goes with it, my boyfriend attended this event for the first time, and it was very cool.

This weekend, we went out to dinner on Friday night. I had shrimp and pineapple and vegetables over rice and he had a vermicelli salad with sugar cane-skewered shrimp. We went to the farmer's market on Saturday morning, having breakfast pizza and grits and a biscuit. We went to Best Buy and fooled around with some digital cameras, went out to lunch, wandered around the mall, played a game of Scrabble where he came close to breaking 500 points for the love of God, and went to see the matinee of Stranger than Fiction, which far exceeded my expectations and which I enjoyed completely. Then it was time for Thai take-out and the rental of The DaVinci Code, which basically bit the big one. We also finally finished Big Love, and I am looking forward to season two.

This morning was coffee and muffins and I went on a 4.5-mile run, completing week 3 of half-marathon training. Running continues to be bitterly difficult, but I am forcing myself to soldier on. The only things I like about it are listening to good music, having some good thinking time, and feeling afterwards like I've accomplished something. I'm still totally taking it mile by mile, run by run. I try to focus on the breeze and the beauty of being outside, but mostly I think, "Ugh, I hate this," as men, women, and children smoke me one after one. I try to tell myself that it's okay to be slow and steady. I'm not quitting, I swear to God, I am not quitting.

While driving home from Thanksgiving, I listened to the soundtrack of The Sound of Music in its entirety. It was strange to realize that as I listened and sang along to every word, a sort of DVD commentary was running through my mind, only instead of being like the director or actors talking about making the movie, it was my own memory talking to itself about what it was like to grow up watching the movie. During "I Have Confidence," I remembered how I would act out the song by swinging rectangular couch cushions around as my version of Maria's suitcase and guitar. I remembered how Liesl and Brigitta's voices were always my favorites. During "My Favorite Things," I remembered how I always wished I could have bed covers as thick and miraculous as Maria's beautiful gold comforter that seemed to stand three feet tall when folded over. How my mom always cried with Captain von Trapp appeared and sang, "I go to the hills when my heart is lonely," and when Maria took over for him when he couldn't get through "Edelweiss" without crying himself. How before we had a VCR and only watched it on its yearly TV airing, I always fell asleep before the end, and how I felt like I got kicked in the stomach the first time I saw Rolf say, "Lieutenant, they're here!" I love this movie forever for always.

I'm reading The Thirteenth Tale right now, but I'm having trouble getting through it. I think it's because the last book I read was Behind the Scenes at the Museum and I loved it so much that whatever follows it is just going to suffer in comparison. I would almost rather read it again than anything else, that's how much I loved it. Last night when we were at the bookstore, I had to stop myself from buying every Kate Atkinson book on the shelf.

And now it is getting chilly, and I must leave.

Tell me what your favorite holiday CD is if you have one to recommend.

Mexico: Cancun

View
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Le Meridien! It took us about four hours and 15 minutes to get to Cancun after breakfast at Rancho Encantada, which we didn't even realize was right on the water until we saw it in the daylight this morning. It was very peaceful, and we dug the school of catfish.

After leaving the jungle it's certainly a huge change to be here in Cancun. Our hotel is surely luxurious and is almost Disney-esque in its perfection. They charged us $10 each for use of the spa, and it turns out that the fee covers amazing his-and-hers showers and towels, a steam room, an aromatherapeutic sauna, a whirlpool, and a Scandinavian bath -- all very decadent and wonderful. I did some Ham Sa-ing in the sauna and felt very cleansed, especially because I took one shower at the beginning and one at the end. Totally worth the $10.

Before that, we ate lunch at the St. Trop restaurant overlooking the beach, eating the most expensive quesadillas and salad in the history of humankind and enjoying a mojito and mango daiquiri. Then we headed to the beach, where he relaxed in a padded chair and I swam for the first time in the Caribbean Sea. Glorious! Totally salty, mildly wavy, and somehow cool and warm at the same time. Perfect.

Then we went in the pool for a little while before heading to the spa. I don't think we're getting massages as they're truly one million dollars, but that's okay. I feel pampered enough by our beautiful room and this balcony overlooking the water on which I'm sitting at dusk in this robe and slippers smelling of grapefruit lotion and the sea. I feel blessed.

Mexico: Laguna Bacalar

Arch
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Writing from Rancho Encantada in Laguna Bacalar, our stop between Rio Bec Dreams and Cancun. We ended up spending the day at the former after a nice breakfast and a fairly restorative night's sleep, what with the crickets and frogs and jungle breezes blowing the curtains in a dreamy and billowy manner through the screens. (And in spite of the thunder and lightning.) The bed and sheets and pillows as I've said before quite frankly rocked the hizzy.

We went to the ruins at Becan this morning, which were cool. It was very drizzly and grey outside, and that added to the mysterious atmosphere of it all. We climbed to the top of Structure IX which was tiring but afforded quite the spectacular view.

We drove around Xpujil aimlessly in a search for the possibly nonexistent gas station, ate lunch at the bar counter, and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the outdoor restaurant (the scene of last night's monstrous emotional breakdown) reading our books. I am so in love with Behind the Scenes at the Museum that it's bordering on the maniacal.

Finally Roberto the Campechano accountant arrived with the passport, and we set out on our merry two-hour way here. We listened again to our one CD (Mariachi music), purchased in the Mayaland gift shop once we figured out we had no radio antenna and which we now know entirely by heart. (Viva México, viva América! Oh suelo bendito de Dios!) (Ay ay ay ay! Canta y no llores!)

When we arrived at Rancho Encantada, the restaurant was already closed, so we headed into the town of Bacalar and ended up at La Casa Nostra, where L and Pato, the owners, introduced themselves and chatted with us. They were very nice. I ate spaghetti with red sauce (surprise), and he ate enchiladas in mole sauce and we had salad and garlic bread and it was very pleasant even though I spilled a bottle of orange Fanta all over him. Now we're settling in for the night and preparing for our drive to Cancun tomorrow.

Mexico: Calakmul Biosphere Reserve

Cabana
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

We arrived at Rio Bec Dreams in the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve after a four-hour drive. Our stay began with a jolt when B. realized that he forgot his passport at the hotel in Campeche. Oops. We went to the bar to talk to Diane, who advised that an effort to have it mailed would be futile and concocted a scheme wherein Roberto the Campechano accountant would fetch it and bring it with him tomorrow when he comes here on business. Crisis averted! Big phew.

We drove to Chicanna this afternoon because Diane told us the gods would speak to us there. The gods did not speak to us, but the mosquitoes sure did. Thank you, Off Wipes. We returned to our cabana and took a brief siesta. I love our cabana! The sheets and towels are super nice and soft, and the decor is lovely and relaxing, and the bed is sort of a magical tropical princess sort of bed. There are many small bug carcasses atop the canopy that look startlingly prominent when facing heavenward so I'm just avoiding that view whenever possible.

Which leads me to the topic of bugs. Sweet merciful and holy Jesus. We sat down to wait for dinner, along with a Chalmatian and a trio of Utah Mormons. And Tally the most awesome Jack Russell. And I noted that there were lots of little bugs crawling on the (beautiful, elegantly set) table and in the water glasses and such, but I resolved myself to their presence as we are in fact in the jungle. It was with a mounting horror, though, that I realized that buzzing about the overhead lights in that agonizingly loud, slamming way was an unspeakably enormous flying cockroach. I knew because I just instinctually know these things. It's like radar. I've honed it since childhood. I didn't even have to see it -- I knew. I asked B. if that sound I was hearing was a giant flying cockroach and he assured me that it was just a big bug. But I knew. I knew. I could hear it careening overhead, and I knew that something very bad was about to happen.

And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw it coming in for the dive-bomb. I knew it had made some sort of contact. I leapt out of my seat instantly and practically flew to the opposite corner of the dining area. I think I made my way back to our table after apologizing to the Utah family, foolishly assuming that the offender had since hurled itself away from our area. But I saw it. And I asked with my back turned, "Did it land on our table?" "No, it did not land on our table," B. lied. But I saw it. IT WAS RIGHT THERE ON OUR TABLE. I again sprinted to the Mormon corner while he heroically trapped it under his glass and somehow killed it with a magazine about Mayan ruins.

I begged some more pardon from the other diners and somehow managed to choke back the vomit and continue to sit there. Then as Rick was at our table talking to us, another one flew down and landed on his shoulder in a shudderingly awful-sounding vibrating descent. I huddled over into B.'s lap in terror lest it fall on me. Then a praying mantis somehow ended up crawling inside B.'s shirt. I don't even know. He was handling all of this with great calm. Then our food finally came ... pork chops yucatecan for him with rice and corn and guacamole and spaghetti for me with tomatoes, onions, and peppers. All yummy.

Then I'm not sure what happened. I was so shaken by the giant cucarachas that a small bug hit me in the face mid-bite and I jumped so violently that I ended up slinging half my enormous plate of pasta in red sauce off of the plate and onto the white tablecloth. Then I started crying. I scooped up as much of the pasta back onto the plate as I could, desecrating two pretty yellow cloth napkins in the process, and started shoveling it into my mouth in misery and mortification. The white tablecloth looked like something had been slaughtered on it. I was still sniffling and recovering from all of this indignity when something loud buzzed in my ear and I knocked over my water. Which was just as well as there were bugs floating in it anyway. Then dinner was decreed officially over.

B. exhibited the patience of a saint, the other guests and Rick and Diane were utterly gracious about my total spazosity, and it's really quite beautiful here despite the bug mayhem. The bed is unbelievably comfy, and there are stars by the zillions.

Mexico: Campeche

Francis Drake Hotel
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

We're relaxing in our room in Campeche at the Francis Drake Hotel. It would be a lot more relaxing if we didn't have a balcony door that doesn't close all the way overlooking a very busy street where apparently the Campechano tradition is to rev your engines and honk your horn in an ear-splitting and nonstop fashion. The shower was a nightmare. The shower door doesn't close all the way, either, continuing the theme of very aggravating ajar door ridiculousness and I had to use one hand to hold it closed while getting blasted in the eyeballs with the shower nozzle that cannot be repositioned. AUGH. Thank God the bed is large and comfortable or this hotel would get a big fat zero from me.

But I don't want to focus too much on the blinding (shower) and deafening (horns, motorcycles) aspects of Campeche because the truth is that I love it! The colors, the buildings, the people passing you on the sidewalk who smile like they mean it. The walls with the cannons that protected the city from pirates. Very deliciously cool. It's a really nice place, and I'm very glad we came here. I probably won't sleep much, but what in the hell else is new?

Photo by B

We ate a very yummy lunch at La Pigua ... the best on our trip so far. Seafood crepes, coconut shrimp with applesauce, and stuffed shrimp. It was a camarones extravaganza to be sure. We each had two beers and then good strong cafe con leche and coconut cake. DELISH. The guidebook described it as "the place local professionals come to linger for lunch," and that is dead on. Laptops and the whole bit.

:::

It's now 10:40 pm, and we had a nice stroll around the historical centre -- along the water and through the park/plaza/whatever it's called. The Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception looked beautiful all lit up for the evening. We ate at Casa Vieja, which had a great view but unfortunately had food that tasted like ass. Shrimp the size of corn kernels and teeth-breaking bread. We got out of there as quickly as possible and left a giant tip for the elderly waiter who looked like he might keel over from the frantic pace at any moment.

Photo by B

We took a leisurely stroll back to the hotel and stopped for ice cream -- chocolate and pistachio. Overall, it was a lovely day in a very beautiful, friendly, and lively city. I recommend Campeche to all.

Mexico: Chichen Itza

Hacienda Chichen
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

We are here at the Hacienda Chichen. I'm sitting by the pool after a quick dip. The water was surprisingly chilly considering that while walking around Chichen Itza earlier it felt approximately like one billion degrees outside.

Anyway, the trip here was pretty smooth. We watched Big Love on the plane, and I read a lot of Gilead. We drove two hours or so to the hotel and ate dinner at the hotel restaurant -- I had some shrimp and he had chicken with honey chipotle sauce and I ate three of some of the best rolls ever. We watched a little more Big Love before bed. I slept like bung, partly because that's just who I am and partly because the pillow was apparently constructed from a leftover slab of rock from Chichen Itza and the sheets were so sandpapery that it felt like I was getting brush burn every time I rolled over.

We headed to breakfast -- fruit and more rolls and coffee and kickass orange juice and huevos rancheros. Then it was off to the ruins! Despite the scorching heat and the rivers of sweat pouring down our faces the entire time, it was super cool and fascinating. Sort of hard to process how the temples and other buildings were built and how they're still standing and what they all mean.

Photo by B

The experience probably would have been a bit more magical, mystical, and mysterious if not for the endless rows of vendors, but those people have to earn a living and it's their country after all, hello. Tonight we're going to the light show, and tomorrow we head to Campeche. Oh, and we ate lunch at the crazed Mayaland buffet. The steamed carrots were really, really good.

:::

Okay. After relaxing in the pool and in the room, we headed to the light show at Chichen Itza. It was very windy and cold and B. had to enter into a body-slamming frenzy for chairs in the pitch-dark blackness. The lights were pretty cool; the narration was over-the-top and somewhat comical. We beat the rush and came back to the Hacienda to eat. He had steak, and I had shrimp and fettuccine in tomato sauce and we had chocolate ice cream. Oh, and earlier we made wishes in the old wishing well. We came back to the room and got organized. Tomorrow we head to Campeche.

Cats and Such

Early morning with Khaki
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Khaki woke up this morning, ate breakfast, and jumped up onto the window ledge, which is what Khaki does most every morning.

Though you probably can't see it on her face, she's pretty excited about the Democrats taking the House, but the fact that seven more states passed same-sex marriage bans makes her want to puke her guts out.

My parents' cat is a cat they've had for twelve years. He was actually my kitten that I got against my dad's rules (he was my landlord at the time) at age 19. He became flea-ridden and tore the apartment apart and I pleaded with them to take him off my hands. They did, and he's been chilling on their brick wall ever since. I've always thought he's lived a pretty charmed life for an outside cat despite a few scrapes with things like racoons. He's always seemed really fat and happy. Lately, not so much. He's thin and dirty and it makes me so sad that I can't even be around him. I know I should take him to the vet but I am scared to. It's weird. I haven't felt any ownership or responsibility towards him since dropping him off at my parents' house twelve years ago, but I feel like I owe him something now that he's not doing so well. I feel guilty and sad about him.

My brother's girlfriend looks after my pets on occasion. She likes the dogs (or claims to) (she's nice that way) but admitted she feels like she doesn't know the cats very well. I told her, "Oh, the cats are perfect. They are the sweetest girls." Which was the barfiest thing to say, but I mean it.

I feel like so many people are driven so crazy or even terrorized by their cats. But I must have lucked out with mine. Sure, sometimes they puke on the rug and they manage to track cat litter into every nook and crevice of the house, and sure, they scratch things and shed and meow annoyingly like they are being starved to death and act like I'm murdering them when I trim their claws, but they make up for it in so many leaps and bounds with their cuteness, their sweetness, their spazziness, the way they wrestle in the bathtub, and the way they cuddle up on the couch with me always when I need them to. I love them. It's true.

I've decided all I'm doing tonight is petting my animals, watching last night's Veronica Mars and Friday Night Lights, enjoying the smell of my pumpkin candle that smells so good it almost makes me feel drunk, eating breakfast for dinner (eggs and grits), and waiting to see who takes Virginia.

My Own Capacity

Pelicans
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Today I took the day off. I voted, returned library books, ran an errand for my dad, had lunch with Maryelizabeth, ran three miles, and embarked on an obsessive journey trying to take a decent picture of the white pelicans on the lakes. I didn't really succeed, but I enjoyed stalking them and being awed by their number and by their grace.

I saw Metamorphoses. Parts of it were very beautiful. I was not prepared for the naked shlong. But I loved the part with Apollo's son, the father/daughter section, and the part with the man who turned around and looked at his dead wife so she had to go back to the underworld. And I really, really loved the end.

Here's a Bill Moyers interview with Mary Zimmerman, who started the whole thing. Here's Ben Brantley's review, and here's a rather amazing teaching guide for the play.

Of course I remember how much Kymm and Lisa and Tamar and Melissa raved about this show, and Stacey assured me that I'd love it, and Shelley loved it as well.

I wish I'd seen it in New York in that time and in that place, but I'm glad I saw it here nonetheless. Melissa quoted this excerpt in her entry about it, and I'm quoting it again because it was my favorite moment of the play.

Let me die the moment my love dies.
They whisper:
Let me not outlive my own capacity to love.
They whisper:
Let me die still loving, and so, never die.

:::

About this time in ...

2005

11/9:

On Saturday, we headed to City Park to volunteer with the clean-up. Notwithstanding the fact that my hamstrings are still so aflame that I can hardly move my legs, it was a good way to spend part of the day.

2004

11/8:

However, Elizabeth is clearly deluded if she thinks that Gilbert Blythe in any way resembles Johnny Castle, and she will never convince me otherwise.

2003

11/10:

My sister and I sneered via finger spelling in our laps at the dreadful cantor. My sister stifled a giggle at my M-Y-E-A-R-S-A-R-E-B-L-E-E-D-I-N-G.

2002

11/8:

No, really, I swooned and almost passed out, knowing I should not have looked, but I felt I had to look to make sure she wasn't faking me out.

11/7:

Whatever possessed me to buy a home with white berber carpet I will never, ever understand.

Weekend

Favorite
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Ah. Weekends.

Friday night, I drove to the big city, dined on sushi takeout and hazelnut gelato (thinking of Kymm and our virtual milkshake date), and watched part of the pilot Big Love before deciding that I'd rather go to sleep than see Bill Paxton's bare buttcheeks again. Saturday morning, it was to the French bakery for an apple turnover and almond croissant and to my favorite store for various cards. We went to lunch at the home of the world's perfect barbeque shrimp po-boy. They hollow out the bread and shove shrimp inside until they are overflowing in their buttery, peppery sauce of sensationalness. Lots of moaning accompanies the eating of this po-boy. I think it might be one of the best things I have ever eaten.

Lunch was followed by Scrabble on the front porch. We were neck and neck, but my boyfriend came out on top. I think it was 340-something to 330-something in the end. The afternoon included a coffee run, a short siesta, and the ordering of shrimp pesto pizza. That night my boyfriend's band had a gig, and they were awesome. I stayed up until 2 in the morning for the first time in I can't even remember when.

We ended up watching the first two episodes of Big Love before the weekend is over, and I like it so far, Bill Paxton's too frequently exposed hiney notwithstanding. After coming home on Sunday, I did a huge grocery shopping trip and ran 4 miles. It was not easy after the late night, but I pulled it off somehow. I took a long bubble bath, lay on the couch under a blanket with the kitties, read Gilead, made some rice-a-roni, and basically passed out.

And that was my weekend.

I'm happy to report that you can buy my favorite brand of cards in the world online. You can find them at All Posters. Which is swell. But they're expensive there and it's not that easy because you have to scroll through other cards that are completely sucky. Like this weird one with some mice on it. But I was overjoyed to discover that you can also buy a value pack of them here. Mine arrived today, and they're designs I've never seen before in a store or for sale on another site. I don't care that they require 13 cents of extra postage because of the square envelope or that my post office lady fusses at me every time because it's such a headache for her. I adore every last one of them.

It's coldish and rainy and icky here tonight. I hope the sun comes out tomorrow. I guess everyone hopes that. My friend with whom I shared a love for Annie in childhood that remains strong today has a nearly three-year-old daughter who is now getting into the movie. That kills me on about every level possible.

:::

About this time in ...

2005

11/1:

And then you can walk past some very stinky refrigerators sealed up with duct tape and some people sitting on their front porches with their dogs on probably the cutest Uptown street you've ever seen to that old pizza place your sister took you to and you can wave away the flies and eat some damn good pizza with four different kinds of cheese on top. And in this little way, life is goes on.

2004

11/2:

My respect for my parents is infinite, and no election will ever change that, and I was pleased that none of his reasons was simply listed as "TERRORISTS" or "THE LORD!"

2003

11/6:

I was just watching my brother and I was so proud of him that I clapped fervently and cheered after every song like a complete dork, sloshing my Miller Lite onto my matriarchal sandals.

2000

11/1:

Somehow, in my life, it's a song that has never gone out of style. Out of date. I guess its theme is similar to my theme. Which is probably just sad.

Heart Like the Sea

For the past month or so, I've run exclusively outside. I like the trees, the clouds, the birds, and all that naturey goodness. It's harder on the feet and joints and everything, but it's so pleasant. I especially enjoy running past an old lady and her poodle who never appears without a folded up umbrella in his mouth. Even on sunny, clear days. I guess he just likes to carry it. I don't know how he really pants properly with his mouth closed, but they seem to have a system going. I try to imagine Daisy or Zuko performing a duty with such obedient efficiency and I have to laugh. This morning I got up early and went to the gym to run two miles, and it was sheer misery. I was sweating like a lunatic, there was no air circulating in the room, and it was like running through stagnant muck. Even watching Angel didn't help. I dread having to run in there during my half-marathon training and will avoid it if at all possible.

I am still really liking Gilead. And can I please just take a moment to speak again about Friday Night Lights? This show is so good. As much as I love my other shows, it's so damn refreshing to watch something that's not set on an island or in space and that isn't about solving mysteries or heavy on the camp. It's just about real people in a real town. I can't even tell you. I love it so much. If it is canceled, I will be sorely, bitterly sad about it. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose. When reading those words on the page they sound so cheesy but when the coach said, "Clear eyes, full hearts," to Jason Street as he lay in that damn bed last night and Jason said, "Can't lose," I wanted to sob. Maybe I even did sob a little bit. If you're not watching this show, you are missing out.

Tonight I watched The Making of Miss Saigon. And let me tell you -- enjoyable. From the auditions, to hearing the composer and lyricists bang out the songs and attempt to sing them instructively for the cast (that is always hilarious to me for some reason), to when the company all sits down together for the first time and introduces themselves, to the initial rehearsals, to all of the technical stuff like the lighting and the sets and the props, to Jonathan Pryce clapping his hands in the middle of a number to yell that some piece of the set was moving and being totally pissed off about it, to listening to the super-powerful chorus as they practiced "This Is The Hour" and having my TV speakers nearly blow up with the awesomeness, to being reminded how much I did not like the original Chris or Ellen, to director Nicholas Hytner completely flipping out and screaming that they had a fucking show to open -- fantastic! It doesn't touch at all on the Jonathan Pryce controversy (a Welsh actor playing an Asian character), surprisingly, but it's still a mighty fine behind the scenes look at the show. I can't really form an opinion on the allowing of Jonathan Pryce to play the Engineer when he is clearly as caucasian as you can get and that seems really ridiculous -- there is something so brilliantly riveting about his every move, gesture, and sound that I am blind to any opinion except that he is perfect. I realize that might be very wrong of me. Anyway, I wish there were documentaries like this for every musical ever made.

Oh, my God. It's too good to be true. I loved this show with my entire seventh grade heart.