Spring Awakening

(transcribed from paper journal)

It was a packed house, and I felt so excited to be at a Broadway show on a Saturday night!

Then the show started, and it was everything I hoped it would be and more. Let's face it, I cried throughout, even when the song wasn't remotely sad. I loved the lighting and staging and seeing the songs I know so well in my head exploding into life.

The cast so impressed me so much that I don't think I can convey it aptly. Their voices were so powerful and amazing. I was especially impressed by the three leads, John Gallagher, Jr., Jonathan Groff, and Lea Michele. I had my typical anxiety that my favorite cast members would be played by understudies, but they were all there, there, there.

Some of the songs were regulars for me during my running training, and I know them inside and out and backwards, and to see them in person was just mindblowingly great. What can I even say. I wanted to jump out of my seat. These kids were really just phenomenally gifted.

It was especially great to see Gallagher as Moritz metamorphose during his songs from the meek, terrified kid to the full-on blazing powerhouse rock star. I would love to see his real-life band play. And I really thought that Groff was quite incredible as Melchior, whom I see as the heart of the whole damn story. I read one review that described his performance as "wan," and I was like, excuse me, WHAT? He was anything but wan. Even when he started doing some weird modern dance moves that were kind of like vogueing that made Shelley put her face in her hands, he was flat-out awesome. He really did a great job balancing being the wholesome and idealistic gentleman, the reckless and jerk-like adolescent boy, and the heroic rebel. I think they both definitely deserve Tony nominations.

And you could tell that the audience members, young and old, were really with the show the entire time. (Except for the mom who dragged out her 11-year-old son at the end of Act I -- she couldn't be convinced to stay by the lovely older couple behind us who encouraged her not to leave. My sister whispered loudly that she should let him stay because "THAT'S WHAT THIS SHOW IS ALL ABOUT!" Clearly.) At intermission, my sister expressed her discomfort about the way a key scene went down, but I was like, "What? You're crazy."

Then Act II started and flew by, and too soon it was almost over and I found myself losing all control of my tears and during "Those We've Known," I just kind of fell apart and wept in manner of a river. And the tears continued during "Purple Summer," even though that song is random and I have no idea what it's talking about or what it has to do with anything but it was so beautiful and I was so heartbroken that the spell was about to be broken that I just cried and cried like some kind of unbalanced lunatic. I was very composed and quiet about it, though, because I think those who make scenes in Broadway audiences should really be shot on the spot.

I'm not kidding when I say that when it ended, the audience leapt to its feet. And that lack of hesitation, that unquestioning, instant ovation was so moving to me that I had to keep crying. And I said goodbye to the stage (silently as not to appear crazy), shuffled out sniffling, and we headed home.

I'm not sure why I was such a basketcase about it, but there you go. I felt so lucky to see a show that I love with its original cast with two of the original loves of my life. It's okay that they didn't love it like I did. My love remains pure and true. It turns out that lots of people, we discovered, have the same problems that my sister did with that scene, but we all kind of agreed to embrace the ambiguity, amen.

Part of what I love about seeing a musical for the first time after only knowing the CD is that the plot transforms from uncertain to clear, the funny parts become hilarious, the sad parts become devastating, and you are close enough to see the sweat and the spit fly and really, what is better in this life than going to a Broadway musical? Not much, that's what.

I just turned on my iPod as I sit and wait on the runway to fly home, and what part of what song should be playing but "NYC, just got here this morning, three bucks, two bags, one me. NYC, I give you fair warning, up there in lights I'll be." I'll never be up there in lights, but I will always go back to see those who are and love it more than just about anything.

Honestly, I think I might be kind of inconsolable about the dearth of live musical theater in my life if not for the fact that I'll be seeing the Wicked tour very soon.

My romanticizing of New York is something I've mostly outgrown ... I realize that I could not live in such a maniacally loud, busy, crowded place, but the skyline still moves me and I still love the adventure of feeling brave enough to navigate and maneuver through the chaos if a bit spastically and with my hand sanitizer always within reach. It's so weird to think of Shelley not living there after seven years. I'll always look back on our times there together so happily, even when we screamed at each other. Even that is okay.

Overall, it was a great trip to NYC. I loved seeing Kymm and Anne, staying in Shelley's tiny and wonderful Chelsea studio, going to a museum and a Broadway show, eating Thai and Indian and Italian, going to Crumbs not once but twice, walking through the rain through some of my favorite neighborhoods all by myself without getting (totally) lost, and most of all, being with my beautiful friend and my beautiful sister before they set off for sights unseen.

More cupcakes, immigrants, and pasta

(transcribed from paper journal)

I'm sitting at LGA trying to block out the annoying anime audio being loudly emitted from the laptop of the kid next to me. It is a beautiful sunny morning in NYC.

Yesterday, my sister arrived from Mexico in the morning looking sunkissed and resplendent, and we ate some breakfast and visited and she passed out.

Then Shelley and I headed out to meet the glorious Iz for lunch because no visit to NY is complete without seeing her and also for another round of cupcakes at Crumbs.

I had the mini-strawberry buttercream, and it was possibly the best cupcake I've ever had. I also had a caramel cafe au lait.

We headed to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, which let's face it, I dragged her to. I just felt like we should go, partly because of Tateh and Little Girl in Ragtime and since we'd be seeing Little Girl all grown up later that night as Wendla in Spring Awakening. The museum was cool but not as cool I hoped it would be. My favorite part was seeing the different layers and patterns of linoleum on the floor. Maybe I'm morbid, but I wanted to hear more about diseases and squalor and fire and less about the set-up of the garment shop in the apartment. But I'm still glad we went.

After the museum, we went back to her apartment and fetched my sister and walked over to Cola's for Italian food. I had whole wheat penne with peas, asparagus, fennel, and marinara sauce, and we had bread dipped in olive oil and white beans. We had a good talk about religion, faith, and the search for and lack thereof. I started weeping and professing my love for them. My sister had penne with giant prawns and Shelley had salmon with pink sauce. Those are two smart, deep-thinking women. Then it was time to head to the show!!!

Margaritas, Cupcakes, and Samosas

(transcribed from paper journal)

So lunch with Anne at Cowgirl was really super. We had frozen margaritas (me: blood orange, her: lime), sweet potato fries topped with pecans, a grilled veggie salad, and a grilled veggie wrap. We caught up on our lives, and it was so lovely. It definitely did not feel like it had been years and years since we last got together. Anne is so funny, fun, beautiful, and wise.

We headed out in the rain, Anne eschewing an umbrella completely and me gripping mine for dear life. And it's always exciting for a couple of Annie fans to stumble upon One Fifth Avenue.

We arrived at Crumbs, from where to no one's surprise Kymm requested a plain cupcake (but with coconut frosting!), and Anne got red velvet, I got Reese's (shock), and Shelley ordered a cappuccino cupcake.

We rode the subway up to see Kymm and had a nice talk on the train about the pointlessness of seeking a life-altering event that will suddenly make you happy but rather just trying to be at peace where you are, with who you are.

We went to Kymm's theater, posed with our cupcakes, and had a good visit. I parted ways with Anne (tragedy) and Kymm agreed to meet Shelley and me at the movie later.

I fetched Shelley at her ridiculously, insanely fancy office nearby and got to meet some of her work friends and we took a self-portrait in the bathroom, and we headed down to the Angelika, eating our cupcakes and talking about life and love. Kymm made it just in time and we settled in for The Namesake, which I liked very much, and which Kymm was so attuned to that she would start crying BEFORE anything sad happened. Shelley said that it was very faithful to the book, and I'm excited to read the copy I borrowed from her. I found Jacinda Barrett's wig annoying to distraction and thought that Kal Penn wasn't up to the level of the actors who played his parents, but he seemed to give it his best shot. The parents -- God. The parents were amazing. Every iota of each of their performances was so beautiful, so perfect. I was in love with them both, especially the dad.

After the movie, we headed to Indian Row (theme) and ended up at Taj Mahal on 6th, where luckily the food was very good because the ambiance was fouled by a very loud talker who spoke as if into a megaphone about topics too profane to mention in a family journal. Ugh! We split vegetable kurma, chicken and spinach biryani, samosas, and naan. Super delicious. It was just great, despite the idiot nearby, to sit down and have a nice dinner and some wine together. That sort of thing doesn't happen often enough. Look at my beautiful friend!

In short, it was great to spend the evening with her and to see where she works and also to see Anne and Kymm. Anne and I had lots of quality time and discussed a lot of heavy things that we somehow just understand about each other in a way that was really peaceful and inspirational, and it worked out well that Kymm could come to the movie because there is truly no better person to laugh and cry beside in an audience than the Mighty Kymm Zuckert.

People Watching

Pearl River was the store. Cool place. I wandered around some more. Then Anthropologie. Then the rain came. Splashed around with my umbrella and am now at the corner of Hudson and W. 10th, relaxing and people watching through the window at Starbucks.

I dropped my map at some point like I usually do and someone blew his horn and yelled at me, "YOU DROPPED YOUR MAP! WAY BACK THERE!" So that was helpful. It's still raining. I wish I'd brought a book with me.

The music in this Starbucks is loud, almost blaring, and it is really quite agitating. Isn't my caramel macchiato stimulating enough? What gives with the assaulting music, Starbucks?

It's almost time to meet Anne for lunch. I really enjoyed walking through this 'hood despite the rain. I have the cuffs of my cords rolled up in a very dweeb-like manner because if there's anything I hate, it's wet cuffs.

Morning in the City

(transcribed from paper journal)

It's 11 a.m. on Friday, and I'm sitting in Cafe Duke in SoHo with a hazelnut coffee and a poppyseed bagel with veggie cream cheese. Feeling a bit lost and lunatical after the morning trek from Chelsea. Luckily the weather is divine. Of course I wish it were more sunny, but I'm mostly glad it's not (a) raining (b) cold or (c) God forbid snowing. Snow's nice and all but not when I'm wandering around on foot. I mean, who am I? I know, I am weak, delicate, and lame.

"Chasing Cars" is playing in here, and it's playing in every store I enter, it seems. It was fun to get ready with Shelley this morning. It was like the old sleepover days. She went to work, and I walked down 7th Avenue to Greenwich and then through Washington Square Park and thought about when I was totally coming to NYU for grad school and how alarmed my mom and sister looked through our entire walk around the area. Lord! I don't regret not coming, but I do have to wonder what different paths I might have followed in life by living here, meeting people here, taking whatever chances and opportunities that would have been presented to me here. I guess in the Felicity scenario, I did not listen to Noel's impassioned plea, "Stay in New York or perish."

I stopped and looked at some of the Tiles for America, which was a neat display.

I bought some postcards, and after eventually getting to SoHo, I started feeling quite antsy and like I really needed coffee and a snack, and I almost wept when beholding Dean and Deluca as if it were bathed in heavenly light at Prince and Broadway only to realize that it's a giant (albeit awesome) grocery store Dean and Deluca with no tables for taking a load off with a cup of coffee in a chilled-out manner.

I regrouped and spotted Kate's Paperie, thank God, which is always a salvation haven, and I walked around in there and calmed down for a few minutes. Then I ended up at this nearby cafe. There wasn't any sort of real line at the breakfast counter, and I couldn't tell who'd been there before me, so person after person kept shoving forward to order while I just stood there clutching my messenger bag, and I finally worked up the nerve to order and possibly cut in front of someone. Thankfully, I ordered without incident. Now I must find the store whose name I can't ever remember at Broadway and Broome. Which makes me think of Bialystock and Bloom.

Arriving in NY

(transcribed from paper journal)

Last night I went to B.'s. We had an excellent dinner ... I had grilled shrimp over citrus risotto and capers, a side of grilled asparagus, and a spinach/arugula salad with goat cheese, strawberries, and pecans.

This morning we parted ways, and I killed time at Morning Call, Scriptura, Earthsavers, the mall, and Borders, and I finished the absolutely wonderful Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life. (Thank you again, Melissa.)

I then went to the airport, where my flight was delayed for two hours and I saw Terry Bradshaw. I amused myself by reading the latest Vanity Fair and the Sarah Vowell book I got at Borders, Assassination Vacation. Love. Brilliant. So glad that B. played part of The Partly Cloudy Patriot for me and I was able to realize that Sarah Vowell is My People. I almost finished it on the plane ride up here, which went smoothly after the delay o' pain.

I hopped in the cab at LGA and told the driver Shelley's address and he asked me which way I wanted him to go. "...? Uh, the fastest way?" About 20 minutes and $35 later, he dropped me off at her corner. I was frightened by the giant mounds of snow on the sidewalk but relieved to discover that it felt like 60 degrees outside.

We had a joyful reunion, and I told her about my feeling emotional at the sight of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building and that I want to go balls-out tourist and do things here I've never done.

We ordered Thai take-out ... it got delivered, and she accidentally ordered an eggplant dish, and she famously hates eggplant. She drew maps for me and even fixed me a little welcome table of snacks and tulips. And her studio is to die for. And I love it. And she might be the nicest and funniest person ever to live.

I made lunch plans with Annegrrl, said goodnight to B., and have settled in for the night. I can't wait to walk to SoHo in the morning and just really enjoy spring in the city. I really wanted to go to the East Village Tenement Museum in the morning or the Jewish Museum, but apparently they don't open until the afternoon. And I am sort of fantasizing about taking the ferry to Ellis Island after hearing this amazing story about its "dark side," but I don't see that happening ... maybe next trip.

Goodnight, NY!

Toms and Cynthias

A few thoughts:

Mark Ruffalo's appearance on Inside the Actors Studio is one of my favorites ever. It's new, and you should try to catch it if you're interested. His appearance is now up there with Hugh Grant's and Kate Winslet's as the best hours of this show I've ever seen. Oh, and Juliette Binoche's. When she started crying when talking about The English Patient because she said she wished she could always be there, she was so beautiful and it was such a beautiful moment.

Also, I just want to say that the second Bridget Jones movie is one of the worst movies I have ever seen. It is so bad that it's almost shocking. I thought so when I saw it in the theater, and I thought so when I caught parts of it on cable yesterday. It made me embarrassed for everyone involved. I unabashedly loved the original book and hated the second, and I found the first movie very delightful so I guess it just follows that I would hate the second movie, too. It's mortifying. Poor Hugh, Colin, and Renee. Seriously. It's like a big black poop mark on their otherwise pretty decent careers, I think.

I guess that's it for now. I am still not adjusted to Daylight Savings Time. I just ate some whole wheat linguine with a slice of Kraft American "cheese" melted on top. My dogs are zonked out, one on the rug by my feet and one on a chair she is not allowed on. I am excited to see Kymm and Annegrrl soon. I am very sore from my demented exercise class.

Tomorrow is Shelley's birthday and we will be together to celebrate soon, so happy birthday a day early, Shelectra!

When leaving the gym I saw the strangely ageless and dashing father of the little baby boy I babysat for in college. He was a newborn back then who grew into a toddler when I babysat for him and I loved him, I adored him, he was the light that shined on my world. It was amazing to watch him grow from a little baby into a little boy and I have wonderful memories of playing silly games with him and sitting around watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He hated wearing shirts with tags in them and would make me cut them out, and he loved playing the simplest, silliest games like having me pretend to be asleep so he could "wake me up" and have me pretend to wake up in a dramatic manner and he would guffaw like he was going to bust a gut and then we would switch parts. Soon his little sister was born and I moved away. Anyway, he remains frozen in time for me as a little boy but tonight I saw him as a fully grown I don't even know what. Pre-teen? Tween? I guess he's got to be 10 or 11 now. And then I saw his three siblings, two of whom I've never even laid eyes on, and it was all very weirdly emotional for me. They are the most exquisite and beautiful family -- like those rare people who are as gorgeous on the inside as they are on the outside. I would have given them all hugs, especially the little baby boy who is now fully probably in the double digits now, except that after this class I smell seriously worse than I have ever smelled and I did not want to frighten the children. I doubt that he remembers those days, but I remember them so well. I remember that I was more overweight than I had been in my life and feeling kind of lost and angsty in general, but I was always able to have so much fun babysitting for him and feel like I must be worth something to make a little kid laugh so much. I guess I thought I was kind of like Cynthia to his Tom Terrific. I guess I will always think of us that way. And I felt what Cynthia felt when she said after the first day she ever watched Tom Terrific, something along the lines of: "It sure doesn't take very long to start to love a kid." And I guess even once they grow up and you become strangers, that love never goes away.

Uttering joyous

I've now been to the crazy exercise class five times. Each time, I feel this weird combination of weakness and strength, slowness and speed, pain and elation. It is bizarre. I have become obsessed with being able to jump rope for the full 60 seconds of the station without messing up. I finally did it on the last station of the last class, which was kind of a triumphant feeling. I tend to get it all caught up in my ponytail and stuff. I also am fascinated with seeing all of the fancy ways that people in the class jump rope. They do some crazy stuff, like banging it on the floor and flipping their feet around and doing things sideways and I am in awe of them. I still have to do it like I did when I was a kid, which is the basic move of two little jumps, but I'd like to do it with just one jump and do some fancy footwork. I am pretty much incapable of fancy footwork in any activity (dancing, jump roping, life) so I'll probably not try that but surely I can work up to one jump. That would make me feel proud. I am so glad to have discovered this class because I was really in a running rut post-half-marathon and this is exercise I actually get excited about doing. And there's plenty of running in the class, just shorter bursts of it at greater speed. I am not very good at the step aerobics part when they start doing complicated routines of turning around and shit like that, so I just do more basic moves. So far my heart rate is always in the 85th percentile as soon as we stop, and I don't know if that's good or bad. I hope it's good. It probably means I'm kind of out of shape. Or maybe it just means I'm working hard. Who knows? Nobody is judgy, and it's all just very brutal and also very funny.

I finally finished The Last Seven Months of Anne Frank, and I definitely recommend it. (I think I first learned about this book from Chiara.) I'm really looking forward to reading What Is the What and Human Croquet (also birthday gifts from my boyfriend) and Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (from Melissa).

Mostly I've just been working, eating too many Thin Mints, worrying about Daisy's love of carrying dead animals around in her mouth and her getting old, and trying to get rid of some stuff around my house. After helping my boyfriend pack up some of his stuff last weekend, I realized how even someone with not that much stuff has too much stuff. And I am a person with a lot of stuff, so for sure I have way too much. If that makes sense. So I've been slowly boxing up un-needed tchotchkes (I'll always keep those tchotchkes that mean something to me, so I'm definitely not anti-tchotchke) and things like extra vases and t-shirts and candles that I never burn and books and stuff like that. I'm barely making a dent, but it feels good to do a little bit at a time.

Last week I had sushi with Maryelizabeth and her little girl, who never ceases to amuse and entertain me. I always decide, whatever age she is, that it's the perfect age for a kid. She used to be 2 so that was the perfect age, and now she's 3 so it's really all about being 3. It boggles my mind how we can carry on a full conversation with her like she's a grown-up person. I wish I could remember some of the conversations that adults had with me when I was 3. I wonder what I said and what they said to me. It's a shame she won't remember much, if anything, from these conversations when she's my age because she is so hilarious and smart, and I hope she will always know that about herself, that she was always that way.

This weekend my boyfriend was here. On Friday night, we shared crawfish etouffee and a spinach salad with dried cherries and walnuts and had some ice cream. On Saturday morning, we got a scone and a muffin and played a game of Scrabble. We went to my old roommate's son's first birthday party. The shirt I gave him was a big hit. We then headed to downtown to take some pictures at the Capitol, which was fun. It was a gorgeous day, and the Spanish moss and the pink azaleas and the sunshine and blue sky and the way that the oak trees made me think about Walt Whitman were just knocking me out. Then we went to get sandwiches and he went running and I mowed the backyard. We drove out down River Road for dinner, which was very good. (I had shrimp primavera and he had a hot crawfish salad and chicken and andouille gumbo and we shared an appetizer of shrimp and peppers in spicy sauce in a bread bowl and then we ate flan and it was all just really quite fantastic.) Then we watched United 93, and what can I say about this movie that hasn't already been said? I watched it with what felt like an elephant sitting on my chest. It was very well done and filled with me dread and then a very powerful sadness. That sounds very lame but it's hard to put into words. I thought that it's probably not the best movie to be watching shortly before getting on an airplane but then I realized that was a pretty gross example of making it all about me.

This morning we headed out for my favorite Sunday morning drink, cafe au lait and hot chocolate mixed and a banana nut muffin and to buy a new comforter and we ate leftovers and watched a few (sad) special features and then he went home and I went running. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful day outside -- beyond beautiful. I'm now sitting out on my back patio typing all of this up and listening to The Weepies and Zuko is lying at my feet and Daisy is doing that thing she does where she takes a few pieces of food in her mouth, runs a few feet away, and then spits them out and then runs around and then goes and eats them. And then sticking her paw in the bowl and knocking it over and then running to chase some birds which hopefully she won't catch because that would really ruin a very beautiful and peaceful afternoon.

And now, a few pictures from our day downtown.

The Heart of the Game

Recently I watched a documentary about a Seattle high school girls basketball team and their coach called The Heart of the Game that I first heard about on Ebert and Roeper. During the last fifteen minutes of the movie, what started as teary eyes and sniffling evolved into a full-on blubbering extravaganza. I was so overcome by the emotion and the suspense of the film that I just fell apart. I actually clutched my dog in my lap and sobbed. I cried even harder during the "making of the movie" behind the scenes feature, and then I cried some more throughout the "where are they now" special feature because of scenes I would tell you about but I want you to experience it for yourself. I did the kind of crying where before you know it, the collar of your t-shirt is soaking wet and you start hiccupping and are unable to breathe properly. Now, this was during a pretty hormonal time of the month, but I can't remember the last time I was so emotionally affected by a movie. The last true crying jag I went on was when I lay on the living room floor listening to "Tomorrow Is a Long Time" by Nickel Creek on repeat for an hour while boo-hooing my brains out. But that was a while ago.

If you're interested in this movie, I recommend not reading too much about it beforehand. Reviews and even the most basic summary of the film might take away from the enjoyment of being surprised by things that happen as it goes along. It was just so moving to me. I think part of why I loved it so much stems from how organically it all came together, which I learned about by watching the special features. It doesn't give too much away to say that the filmmaker met the coach at a friend's house and was invited to watch a practice and it all went from there. Then he spent the next seven years of his life of following these girls and this amazing coach.

And another reason I think it made me dissolve into prolonged, unending tears was because it reminded me so much of the high school girls I taught. And the truth is that even though I hated lots about teaching, I really did love being around high school kids because some of them -- the ones who didn't behave in such an asshole-like manner that I never really got to know them -- were some of the most hilarious and talented and awesome people I've ever met. And I think I cried because I wished I could have gotten through to the assholes and actually taught them something -- and let them teach me something, too. I cried because there is still an idealistic part of me that wishes I could have been to them what this coach was to his players. And because I wish I'd been an athlete so I could have had someone be that to me.

It starts off kind of slowly, but if you stick with it, it's gripping, powerful, funny, inspiring, and really just something I feel blessed to have experienced. It made me want to grab hold of life and try to do something great for myself and for other people. It made me want to have the courage to fight for what is right and against what is wrong. It made me want to become a real sports fan. It made me want to create art and tell stories. It made me want to work with teenagers somehow. It made me want to be fierce and brave and to find ways to bring out the best in myself and in everyone I love every single day. I know it sounds silly that a movie about girls basketball could do that. But I'm telling you. It really did.

Grapevining

It was an enjoyable weekend for certain. On Friday night, we headed out to my favorite Asian restaurant and ate spring rolls with peanut sauce, a vermicelli noodle bowl with shrimp and pork, and some coconut chicken soup, and for dessert, we shared a giant leftover slice of birthday cake. We watched the first hour of Babette's Feast but turned it off because life is too short. (Other movies I have tried to watch but have given up on in the past month or so: Ponette, But I'm a Cheerleader, the new All the King's Men, and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.)

On Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market and replaced the birthday and Valentine's jewelry that I lost like an imbecile. We ate a gigantic orange blossom muffin and banana nut muffin and went running. It was my first run back after the half-marathon and the three miles went pretty well. I was a little winded because I tried to speed up a little bit, but it was a gorgeous sunny day and it felt great to be moving again.

After running, we headed to our massage appointments at the fancypants spa. I really did enjoy my massage overall, especially the use of the hot stones, which I'd never experienced before, but I wonder why they have you fill out little forms saying what you want them to focus on or skip if they blithely ignore your requests. I guess it's my own fault for being too paralyzed to speak up when the massage therapist does things I expressly asked her not to. I'm trying to remember what we did after the massages. I know we went to Starbucks. Oh yeah, we went to Supercuts! Which is always a fun time.

Eventually it was time to go see Zodiac, which was really interesting and had a great cast but was ultimately way, way too long. People used to bitch and moan about the interminable length of my beloved The English Patient that I sat through three times in the theater in a blissed-out reverie as time lost all meaning, but Zodiac is ten minutes shorter than that and it just really got slow sometimes. I do recommend the movie, but go during the day when you're not sleepy or you might be looking at your watch and yawning a lot. After the movie, we got takeout Lebanese food and watched a little bit of Saturday Night Live.

We tried to go out for brunch on Sunday morning, but there was a 30-minute wait all over the place, so we settled for cereal at home. My boyfriend went home, and I went to a giant garage sale and to Target with Maryelizabeth. Target is exhausting. My favorite garage sale purchase was a nearly full bottle of this for 12.5 cents. I also bought some old drinking glasses and a couple of sweaters that look like they've never been worn and spent a total of $4. Satisfying, I tell you.

After spending all the money in my bank account at Target, I took a bubble bath and got about halfway through The Last Seven Months of Anne Frank, one of my birthday books from my boyfriend. It's devastating, unsurprisingly, and it's nice to be able to picture a lot of the women interviewed for the book because they were also in Anne Frank Remembered.

In the effort to diversify my exercise habits, I attended the most insane class possibly ever held at a gym. There are different stations -- stationary bikes, jump roping, jogging, push-ups and sit-ups on big rubber balls, sit-ups with small rubber balls, various lunging with big poles, step aerobics, this weird bouncy blue thing that you sort of jump on with your feet, I don't even know. There must have been more than 100 people there. I kept messing up during jump roping and could definitely not do some of the moves at all, but I tried to follow what some of the people around me were doing. It was also very challenging in terms of my germophobia because I was using balls other people had just held or rolled around on, gripping jump rope handles that others had just gripped, and lying on mats that actually had splashes of other people's sweat on them. At first I had to keep telling myself that there's really no catastrophic disease that I can catch from someone else's sweat and eventually I just decided not to care. I think it was a healthy thing.

By the time I would figure out the moves half the time it was already time to switch to the next station and once I skipped a station on accident. It was very hard and very intense but also very, very amusing because I had no idea what I was doing and kept thinking of my friends. I first met Shelley, after all, under a tree in the second grade when we engaged in a rousing round of "I Like Coffee, I Like Tea," and Maryelizabeth will be very happy to know that there was grapevining. There was also a lot of yelling. People yelled throughout the class. Yelled in pain, yelled in triumph. Bizarre. (I wonder if there is yelling at Grace's boot camp.) It was an altogether different experience from running, obviously, and definitely a lot more fun.