Holidays so far

Let's get the running talk out of the way first. Since this week was the first week of four runs, I figured I'd get cracking as early as possible, so I left work early on Monday to head out for my 45-minute run. It's possible that a couple of hours were not sufficient time to adequately digest the giant amount of food consumed at my siblings' birthday lunch -- red beans and rice, hush puppies, both fried and marinated crab fingers, etc. -- BUT! I soldiered on, and somehow I ran 4.5 miles in 45 minutes. Yes, you read that correctly. For those following along, that is quite fast for me, to keep a 10-minute-mile pace for several miles in a row, and I just feel sort of proud about it. The perfect weather helped! In case I haven't mentioned it, the weather this month has been vile and disgusting 9 days out of 10, and this burst of sunshine and dry ground is just making everything so much better. I think that I am getting a little faster in part because I am being really conscious about relaxing my arms, almost to the point where they're more straight than bent at the elbow, which is weird, but it's working for me. On Wednesday, the run was really short -- only 20 minutes -- and I missed run three as it was set for Christmas morning and was literally freezing outside and I thought, "Eff it." Run four was set for 80 minutes, and I only made it three miles after yet another gargantuan holiday meal before just surrendering, walking to my brother's house, and asking him, defeated, to drive me home. And that's it on the running front. Tomorrow begins a new week, and I'm going to start it with the long run that was a bust yesterday. It's a process.

I finished reading The Daily Coyote: A Story of Love, Survival, and Trust in the Wilds of Wyoming by Shreve Stockton, and it's a mighty fine read indeed. I've been aware of her website for a long time, but somehow I missed that she'd published a book about her life with Charlie the coyote. Reading this book is making me feel all sorts of smooshy lovey-doveyness towards my pets. It's fascinating, and the photos are beautiful. Now I'm in the middle of Kitchen Confidential, and so far, so good. I also finished Catching Fire, the sequel to The Hunger Games, and it, like book one, was ridiculous. Ridiculously awesome in every way. What happens in these books is unbearable on many levels, but that's just part of what makes them impossible to put down. The fact that book three does not come out until August is causing me actual physical pain. I guess I'll just re-read the first two over and over until that day comes!

Now ... The History Boys. I'd heard of this play and movie but never knew much about it. Because everything lately comes back to Gavin and Stacey, I noted when listening to audio commentary of the episodes that one of the creators/writers/stars of the show, James Corden (Smithy), explained that many of Smithy and Gavin's guy friends were in The History Boys with him, so I rented the film. And I have to tell you, I really liked it. I had no idea that the play was a smash hit in London, then went on a smash tour, then was a smash Tony winner on Broadway, and then became a film, and that these cast members were together for years upon years playing the roles all the way through. The special features on the DVD are adorable and quite funny and touching, especially the tour diary. I'm very glad I saw this film.

On Christmas afternoon, as is a tradition, we headed to the movies. This year it was Up in the Air. I knew this movie has been getting raves, but I didn't know much about it. It definitely exceeded my expectations and proved to me that George Clooney is not only a first class dreamboat (which obviously I knew) but also a mighty, mighty fine actor. He was just incredibly good, and the movie was totally enjoyable even when uncomfortable and sad. Anna Kendrick: also fabulous. It was excellent, and I'd totally see it again. We were still in the movie mood that night, so we watched Up, which made me laugh and cry and was totally scary and traumatic and not for young children, I don't think. But totally and completely great nonetheless.

The holiday season thus far has been lovely. My mom outdid herself with the tons of delicious food, meal after meal; it was great to spend time and laugh with my sister and brother-in-law, who were here for Christmas; I had a great meal on a friend's birthday with the best Sazerac I've had in ages, which was somehow just what I needed on Christmas Eve-Eve; we all spent a ferociously stormy Christmas Eve morning feasting at my very favorite cafe, which was wonderful; my dad surprised us with tickets to today's Saints game, which was fun even though the ending was truly hein; (for the best piece I've ever read about the Saints, and maybe even New Orleans as a whole, read this article); there were moments of reconciliation. I'm looking forward to more relaxation and fun in the coming week as we all ring in the new year.

Alright?

I will now talk more about Gavin and Stacey. One of my favorite things about this show is how the characters will randomly burst into song, which is something that happens quite regularly with my own family and friends. There are tons of these moments on the show, more than clips exist online for, but here are a few of my favorite of these moments on the show, none of which are spoilerish in terms of plot: Smithy's big entrance, featuring the magnificent Pam. Uncle Bryn singing James Blunt in the car. (Oh my God, Uncle Bryn. Who is funnier, sweeter, more tragic in a way, and more ridiculous than Uncle Bryn? No one.) Smithy and Rudi rapping. I wish I could find the clip of Nessa and Bryn sitting at the arcade rehearsing "Something Stupid" and the gang singing Jack Johnson at a crucial moment I won't give away, and many more. And finally, in the spirit of the season, Smithy and Gavin doing "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

I really can't stop talking, at least in my head, like the characters on this show. A common Welsh greeting, apparently, is to say, "Alright, Stace?" and then the person responding will say, "Alright, Ness?" (I feel like I sound like Uncle Bryn when explaining something like this.) It is now how I want to greet everyone. Basically, I want to pretend that the entire world of Gavin and Stacey is real and that I live in it. I was able to find season three, so now I'm all done, except for the Christmas special, which is eluding me. I will not give up until I find it, though. (In case this sounds like an insane amount of TV, know that it's only 18 half-hour episodes, which is shorter than one season of an American show.) Basically, this show has made me laugh my face off and also get very moved at times, which is all I ask for in a show. I LOVE IT.

Other misc. things:

Four Months, Three Weeks and Two Days. I've been meaning to watch this for years, ever since A.O. Scott, whose reviews I normally trust, declared it his top film of the year a few years back. I knew nothing going into it. Um ... don't watch this movie by yourself on a cold and rainy night. That's all I have to say. It was harrowing. And horrifying, and bleak, and stark, and really scared the pants off of me in ways I can't really articulate without being spoilery about it. It might be a good movie, artistically speaking, and an important movie, politically speaking, but it's a movie I never want to see again.

The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games! I've been hearing all about The Hunger Games, but somehow it didn't fall into my life until now. On Gavin and Stacey, Gavin's mom, Pam, who is one of my favorite characters on the show and possibly ever in anything, exclaims, "Sh*t a brick!" when something truly major happens. And it was her voice, in her accent, that I heard in my head when finishing the book in bed late last night. "Sh*t a brick!" Like ... something major had happened, and that something major was reading this book and every single thing that happened in it. Major. Majorly exciting, majorly scary, majorly romantic, majorly awesome. I cannot wait to read the sequel. I am sh*tting a brick in anticipation.

And now for a running update ... feel free to skip if such things make your eyes glaze over. They practically make my own eyes glaze over, so I feel you. Yesterday wrapped up week 8 of training with a 72-minute run. I made it 6.62 miles. (10:45, 10:46, 10:50, 10:59, 11:14, 10:53, 10:33). I feel fine about it. After a week of no other running (I know) and a steady intake of cookies, brownies, turtle cheesecake, chocolate covered pecans, peppermint kisses, etc., I wasn't in the greatest condition for running and definitely felt it. But the day was the first truly gorgeous day we've had in weeks ... low 50s without a cloud in the bright, sunny sky ... so I vowed to enjoy the run as much as possible. When I felt tired, I told myself that I was basically running half a half-marathon, and with 10 weeks to go, that feels about right on track. I don't want to start going really far until the end; in addition to being probably physically impossible for me in this shape, it also seems anti-climactic. From here on out, the schedule demands four runs per week, and I'm going to have to be way more on the ball about actually running when I'm supposed to!

It's been a truly lovely weekend so far. A little sunshine goes a long way, it turns out.

What's occurrin'?

I've decided to try to start talking like Ness on my new favorite show, Gavin and Stacey. This means I will say things in a Welsh accent like "fair play," "tidy," "genuine," "well done," "crackin'," and "what's occurrin'?"

I am honestly starting to bore myself with the running entries so I'll try to keep this one short & sweet. Big surprise, I only ran twice last week. Again. I was set for a 65-minute run over the weekend but ran a five-mile race instead. It was in the low 40s and pouring down rain when I got up, but I knew my friends were going and I wasn't about to be the only one who stayed home. Miraculously, the rain slowed to a drizzly mist right as the race started. I ended up running the whole five miles with a friend, which was fun. I knew this route like the back of my hand, so it was nothing too adventurous or exciting, but it was great to have company and to notice on my trusty watch how we were speeding up a little bit pretty much each mile. (10:30, 10:30, 10:18, 10:17, 9:45). I feel good about my pace ... a little over 51 minutes wasn't anything record setting, and we came in very near the end of the pack, but I keep reminding myself that I'm getting faster, for me, and that's what counts. The only truly heinous part was soaking both feet in a very cold puddle about half-way through, but I toughed it out. I've never done a non-tri race without music, but iPods were outright forbidden, so I left it at home. (UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE. I'm just too much of a rule abider, I cannot help it.) It was strange to run without music, but I didn't mind it much since I was with a friend. It started pouring pretty much immediately after we finished, which put a damper on the post-race festivities, but overall, it was a good event. We milled around inside for a little while to visit, and I changed immediately after finishing into some smartwool socks and dry sneakers that I'd brought with me in the attempt to stave off the death cough that plagued me for several weeks after romping in the snow last year with wet feet, and so far, so good! This week, week 8, is the last with three runs ... it's 4 runs per week for the 10 weeks after this, starting with Christmas week, God help me. At least boot camp will be over! I've really enjoyed it, but I am tired, and I want to start sleeping past 5 a.m. more often than not.

It seriously rains every day around here lately. Everything is saturated. We are a moist, moist people.

What else? I finished Born to Run, recommended by Linda, and enjoyed it. I wish more of the book had focused on the Tarahumara because they were the part of the story that mostly interested me. I liked learning about some of the major characters in ultrarunning because they're quite a group, and all of the stuff about feet was interesting. Overall, while it isn't a perfect book, it's a pretty good read, and it definitely made me want to become a better runner. (I also liked this piece about running barefoot in Central Park. The whole barefoot running movement intrigues me, but I keep wondering, what about the skin on the bottom of your feet? Do you basically end up with hooves? No, thank you?)

I ordered calendars made from the beautiful photographs of my friends Jessamyn and romanlily, and they've both arrived. They're lovely, and I can't wait for 2010 so I can use them.

I went to my favorite local cafe three days in a row last week, which might be excessive. But if that many gingerbread au laits and peppermint mochas and pastries and good visits with good friends are wrong, I don't want to be right.

Dog update: The man I yelled at last week and his big dumb black dog were about to cross through my yard when I pulled in my driveway recently when coming home from work, so I just sat there with my car idling across the sidewalk staring at him so he'd see me and hopefully keep walking. He did. Yesterday morning, I happened to be in my room when I heard him telling his dog to "do his thing" in my yard again, so I banged on the window, waved, smiled, and yelled, "GOOD MORNING!" Once again he jumped out of his skin. He looked away and mumbled "Good morning" and hurried along. I mean, what is it going to take? Seriously? He's a little older than I first wagered, so maybe he's truly senile. Who in his right mind would take his dog back to a yard, clearly with no baggies in hand, where he's been spotted numerous times, been given the stank eye from both inside the house and the car, and even been asked rather vehemently to clean up after his dog? Encouraging his dog, "Do your thing"? Again? What is the world coming to? I can't even be mad anymore, it's too ridiculous.

Finally, design genius and overall nice Southern lady AB Chao (some of her work) stopped by yesterday with her cute husband and supercool daughter on their way home from winning a state football championship because they might as well be the Panthers I mean Lions. Basically, she told me how to live. As some of you know, she is good at this. It was a delight to see them all.

Now there is nothing left to do but finish up season 2 of Gavin and Stacey and company, my new best friends, and figure out some way to score the Christmas special and season 3 from across the pond. Luckily I have a mighty fine Irish friend who might be able to assist me in this endeavor. This show is really only about three things: family, friendship, and love. And it manages to be about them in a very hilarious way. And I love it very much. OH! And I started The Hunger Games, which I'm about a million years late in reading. And holy mother of heaven. It is so good! I can't put it down. You were right, everyone in the world.

Cool weather and cool times

A few misc. thoughts to start:

I am continuing to regularly update my House Ideas post.

I never tire of Scouting NY. It is full of such cool photographs and stories.

I am in the market for a small coffee maker. Most of the time, one or two cups will do just fine. If you have any recommendations, I'd love to hear them.

I finished Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver, which I mostly loved, which I knew I would, except that now I feel guilty every time I eat a banana. Which I just did. I really want to be better about eating locally, but I don't want to give up bananas. I am working on this. It's a process.

Because I apparently cannot stop reading books about food, I know I am going to end up reading Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer. I am bracing myself for this one, though. I am easily influenced and know it's going to make me go through a dilemma about whether or not to go vegetarian. But I kind of like putting myself through such dilemmas sometimes. As someone who unapologetically loved his first two books, I know I'll like the way it's written.

This review makes me really want to read Craig Ferguson's memoir.

And now for a weekend update. It was a nice weekend. I went to the farmer's market and got lettuce and a loaf of whole wheat bread and organic potatoes and organic satsumas.

Class let out early so we could attend the book festival, which was fun, and what's not cool about seeing Ernest Gaines in person? I bought Printz winner Looking for Alaska and an anthology called How Beautiful the Ordinary: Twelve Stories of Identity, chosen because I liked the title and because I am very charmed by David Levithan. So far, I've only read his chapter, which begins the book, and it made me cry.

Following the book festival was high tea at my favorite cafe, where we were served four courses of awesome. It was a delight.

Back at home, the afternoon was one of open windows with the chilly, fresh air blowing in, the baking of white chocolate macadamia oatmeal cookies (which I ended up dreadfully overcooking, oh well!), Brandi's album on the stereo, and a visit with a friend. I also took the dogs out for a long walk in the late afternoon. They were hellions, but it was great to be outside in the sun and actually get some exercise, of which I have done exactly none for weeks.

It got down into the low 40s on Saturday night, which was kind of bananas. I slept in until 7 on Sunday morning when Zuko could be contained no longer, so I got up, released the hounds, and then went back to bed until 9. It was the first cold morning since right around the time I got my new bed and comforter, so snuggling in it in the cold felt so decadent and luxurious and heavenly. It is a cloud. I love it.

Lamenting the rock hardness of the cookies of the previous day, I evaluated the ingredients I had left on hand and made a giant batch of simple sugar cookies, which I have to tell you, were melt-in-your-mouth good. Note: if you stick to the wee teaspoon-sized balls, which I did, do NOT cook longer than 7 or 8 minutes. You will be sorry. Also, I creamed my butter and sugar with an electric mixer, which I never knew I supposed to do (oops). But it worked. They were perfect and tiny and very buttery and divine. I will never make store-bought sugar cookies again. Never!

Once I was done with my baking extravaganza, I pumped up my bike tires and went out for a ride for the first time since the last triathlon of the summer, also known as the last week of August. Wow. It was a little cool outside, but it was sunny and felt kind of magical to actually ride it again and be back among the exercisers. I totally felt like one of them all spring and summer, but then I left the group for about six weeks or so. It felt good to be back. One uber-cyclist in a cycling suit on a super whizzy fast bike and I came to a bridge at the same time and I said, "Sorry!" as I bumbled clumsily in front of him and he chirped, "Don't apologize, I'm the maniac out here!" And I said, "I'm kind of slow!" and he cheerleaded, "At least you're out here riding!" And that was that. He smiled at me later as we passed each other again while I was in the midst of yelling "ASSHOLE!" at a pushy car. Oh, drivers of cars. A little patience as we cross an intersection. Is all we bikers ask.

I attended a party for my friend who's selling jewelry, where I overindulged in cocktail meatballs. I don't even really like meat. But they are so good. Then it was book club, with Persepolis and yummy homemade bread and chili and nice people.

Tonight in the works is a dinner of new potatoes from the farmer's market roasted in a hot oven with olive oil and minced garlic and salt and pepper alongside some whole wheat angel hair with tomatoes and broccoli florets and chicken and purple onions. And I might need to eat three or four satsumas for dessert. And Every Little Step is on its way.

In the mood for swoony romance what with the colder weather and all, the only thing to do yeterday was see Bright Star. The actors who played Fanny Brawne & John Keats were very pretty and good, the overall look of the film was gorgeous, and even if it was all made up for all I know, it was utterly heartbreaking. There may have been noisy, copious weeping. I kept thinking back to when I visited the Keats-Shelley house Rome in 1998. Here's what I wrote in my journal that day at the age of 23: "All I have to say is that the Keats-Shelley Memorial museum was 100% amazing. Locks of Keats's hair, original pages of 'Lamia' and 'Ode on a Nightingale,' his last letters to his sister before he left for Italy which talked about how he wanted to fully recover -- and the room where he died. So young. So sad. Moving. Awesome." For years, I had framed postcards I bought there of his gravestone and of this image, sketched by his friend as Keats lay dying. I'm not sure what I did with them. Anyway, my thoughts on the movie are all wrapped up with how I felt visiting that place all those years ago. Overall, it wasn't a perfect movie, but it was very lovely and very romantic and very sad, if that sort of thing does it for you. (It does it for me.)

10 things

(1) I went to a yoga class at the unholy time of 5:45 a.m. After several days in a row of running, biking, or swimming, I needed a change. We warmed up with some breathing and eye exercises ... like look to the right, look to the left, look to the right, etc., and I thought, "This class is gonna be a breeze!" Wrong. So wrong. The teacher is a good friend of mine, almost like a sister, and I marveled at both her excellent teaching skills and her poses, many of which I could not even begin to complete. It's been a long time since I did yoga, sure, but I don't know that the day will ever come when I can actually do the simple poses of plank (have trouble straightening my back) and cobra (way too much lower back crunching) and upward dog (ditto) properly, and bow pose? I am so sure. Also, I fell over repeatedly in warrior three. I find that I hate any stretch or pose that arches the lower back in a crunching manner rather than rounding it in a lovely standing forward bend or child's pose kind of way. It just does not seem good for a lower back to be crunched in that way. Maybe I am missing something, but it always hurts and is monstrously unpleasant. I think my favorite pose of the whole class was bending over in cow face pose because I am a huge fan of anything that (a) rounds the back and (b) stretches and opens up the old hips, which I find notoriously hard to stretch effectively. (Other favorite hip poses? The pigeon, a.k.a. heaven, and the ridiculously but aptly named happy baby pose.) I hope to spend more time doing deep stretching and yoga in the coming weeks and months ... once I wrap up the next (and final, for a while, anyway) triathlon. I think my body really needs it.

(2) I watched 8 episodes of True Blood in two days. After watching the first four season one episodes a while back and never being able to rent the next discs because they are always checked out, I finally scored the last few discs and marathoned them. This show -- this show. It is so totally gross and ridiculous but so entertaining. I have to look away and fast forward sometimes through some of the really graphic stuff because I am a squeamish delicate flower, but overall, I enjoyed it so much and deem it perfect summer fare.

(3) I've been reading Shelf Discovery every night before bed and simultaneously loving every word and feeling deeply jealous that I didn't think to, with a little help from my friends, write this book myself! But no matter. I'm just glad it got written because it's hilarious and ultimately moving to read someone else's childhood impressions of Meg and Calvin and Charles Wallace and Claudia and Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and Vicky and Adam and Harriet and Sally J. Freedman and all of the others. It's just an awesome walk down memory lane. (Here's how you can buy it from your friendly neighborhood independent bookstore.)

(4) Speaking of independent bookstores, check out this great interview by my old friend Melissa. I am very inspired by seeing her so totally in her element and doing what she was obviously meant to do.

(5) And speaking of memory lane, I've been enjoying a few really nice John Hughes tributes, including one by Molly Ringwald in the NYT and a SUCH a lovely story by a woman who was pen pals with Hughes when she was young.

(6) Recently I bought two new prints for my walls. Where I will hang these I do not know, and they still sit in their mailing tubes. But I'm just glad they're in my house because I like them. I would sort of like to rebuild my living space from the ground up. What is stopping me? Nothing!

(7) I made this zucchini bread with a ton of zucchini from the farmers' market that I needed to use up, and it was delicious, even though I forgot to add the vanilla. (Found via Tastespotting, my very favorite place to hunt for recipes and look at beautiful food.)

(8) I am kind of still loving summer in general. Lunches and dinners with friends, getting up early to run with Zuko or exercise, the farmers' market, visits to the dog park (where someone pointed out of Daisy, "She's got issues," which I frankly found a bit snotty and rude), Sunday brunch and gelato in New Orleans, and a night of excellent community theater ("I knew every word of every song growing up," my mom said as we listened to the soundtrack to The King and I on the way home).

(9) This picture makes me really happy, as does the Chuck Comic-Con panel, which is definitely worth watching if you're a fan of the show and have 34 minutes to spare. They are 34 minutes of pure delight.

(10) And finally, I leave you with this. I never knew how much I missed Tim Canterbury until now. O Timmy! My Timmy!

Clumsy times three

On Monday, these things happened:

(1) While parked at the coffee shop on my way into work with my pie on the front seat, I noticed a river of blue goo pouring off the edge of the pie dish all over the seat. I opened the car door and lifted the pie over myself as carefully as possible so as to not drip all over my white skirt and hung my feet out the car while I tried to sop up the juice with a combination of print-outs of triathlon registrations and a plastic bag. My feet started itching and burning wildly and I looked down to see they were covered in fire ants from the parking lot. Fun! I screamed, kicked my flip flops off, and slapped the ants off my feet with one hand while trying to balance the dripping pie away from my skirt. It was a great start to the day.

(2) After dinner, I carefully prepared a dessert of plain yogurt with diced strawberries and bananas and a little bran cereal. I pulled the top off the bottle of agave nectar in order to drizzle a few drops onto my bowl of heaven, and about a 1/2 cup of agave nectar gushed into my bowl, onto the counter, down the cabinet, and onto the floor. This is syrup so sweet that only a few tiny drops can sweeten an entire bowl of food. Now my yogurt was swimming in it, and cleaning it up everywhere else was just a picnic! Good times.

(3) Later, I was hand washing dishes, as is the life of a woman without a dishwasher, and I stabbed myself in the thumb with the sharp point of my damn corn on the cob holder, and it spurted blood.

What next? What next, Monday?

Clearly there was nothing to do but lie prostrate and watch The Bachelorette while reading Taran Wanderer.

Misc. things I'm enjoying:

(1) Swimming in the morning. Wonderful, meditative, exhausting way to begin summer days.

(2) Re-reading the Chronicles of Prydain. So comforting and refreshing. I was set to read Blood Meridian for book club, which I'm sure is an excellent book, but more than one person told me I should NOT read it, and knowing just a little of how violent it is, I'm not sure I can stomach that in a month like July. Or ever. I don't enjoy violence, for the most part, apparently, unless Colin Farrell is involved, such as in In Bruges.

(3) Posts about So You Think You Can Dance at Low Resolution (such as this latest one on the state of the dance floor) and A List of Things Thrown Five Minutes Ago (such as its latest post which recaps where we stand now with our top ten). These people love the show like I do but write about it and analyze it better than I ever could. I really cannot overstate the degree to which this show brings joy to my summer.

(4) Bravo's reruns of season one of The West Wing. I had forgotten how much I once loved this show and how wonderful it was in the beginning. I am loving this chance to rediscover it.

(5) Seeing my little brother play.

That's it for now.

Easy like Sunday morning

It's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting on my couch with a towel on my head and my cat perched on the cushion behind my neck. I'm drinking a homemade iced coffee that I put in the freezer for a while to get slushy with an orange bendy straw. Both the air conditioner and the ceiling fan are blasting. It's 88 degrees, but it could easily be 10 degrees hotter in the next few hours. It's been an unbelievably hot week for June. No rain for days, and none in the forecast.

This morning I slept in until about 8 and got dressed for my bike ride. This involves putting on my new biking shorts (expensive but worth it), a quick dry shirt, my sneakers, and my helmet. I set off for my 13-miler and sweat my face off. One day I will work up the nerve to reach down and grab my water bottle and swig from it while riding. That day was not today, however. I had to pull over about halfway through and sit on a bench and guzzle some water and then set off again. It was mostly a pleasant ride despite swallowing a mouthful of gnats and taking out a small branch with my helmet. I tried to focus on my beautiful surroundings and not on how slow I truly am. I am hoping that getting some brackets for my pedals that I can slip my feet into will help me to move a little faster. But the truth is just that my bike is kind of heavy and slow. And so am I. But I am getting better, and for the most part, I really like it.

I am re-reading The Book Thief after a recent commenter reminded me how much I loved it. It is still really wonderful.

I am feeling really lucky today to be able to prepare and enjoy a meal with my family and to celebrate my dad. I am feeling for my friends who no longer have their dads and hoping today is not too hard for them. I am feeling grateful for my very fat cat who is now pressing herself against my side and arm just because she likes to be close. I got to play with a six-month-old baby last night while his mom tucked in the other kids and, to be frank, we fell in love. We rocked in a rocking chair, and we played a hilarious game of peekaboo with a throw pillow. In fact, he found mostly everything to be hilarious -- the dumber and more ridiculous the better. It is amazing how it literally only takes a few minutes alone with a little baby or kid for the first time to stage a rootin' tootin' love fest.

(Later...)

Today a very large meal was cooked for Father's Day. I made a vegetable pasta dish with whole wheat angel hair with garlic, purple onion, zucchini, yellow squash, teeny tiny tomatoes, red and green bell pepper, and fresh basil with grated romano cheese sprinkled on top. All but the garlic and purple onion were grown either in a neighbor's garden or at a local farm, which I felt great about. My mom and I peeled shrimp and cooked them with a little olive oil and Tony Chachere's, all they needed to be perfect. We heated up a loaf of whole wheat bread baked by a lady across the river, another farmer's market purchase. The crust was super hard and chewy and the inside was squishy soft and delish. I ate a piece (or two) (or three) with real butter. I made these for dessert (with sugar cookie instead of peanut butter cookie dough), which we squished into vanilla ice cream from a local dairy. My older brother's new fiancee brought salad and warm from the oven banana bread.

It is hours later and still I am so full I feel drowsy. My eyes are drooping and my belly is round. I ate more than one person should, but I ate very happily. Over and out.

Catching up & rambling

A few more words on Chuck: I finished season one and loved every second of it. I spent way too much money for a season pass for the second season on iTunes, but it's worth it to me. I'm two episodes in, and it continues to delight. One of the miracles this show has worked in my life is that it's actually made me like the actress who played the much hated Madison on Everwood. I never would have thought this to be possible, but Chuck is just magical that way.

Last weekend was a nice one. I spent Saturday morning at a little women's retreat led by my mom, and I was so proud. She did a wonderful job. She was funny, assured, inspiring, and wise.

Mother's Day was good. Morning mass followed by an afternoon gig of my brother's, where we ate boiled shrimp and had a merry time. After that, I went on a bike ride for the first time in at least 15 years. I borrowed my friend's bike and rode in her peaceful neighborhood with little to no traffic, which was a good plan. Only once did I end up messing up a turn and rolling inadvertently into someone's front yard. I'm still not entirely sure how to brake and turn, but I didn't fall down and rode for a solid 30 minutes, so I feel great about it!

(A few days later...) Ow. Ow, ow, ow. So cried my back for the next four days. I think leaning over the handlebars and clutching them in a death grip due to being someone nervous on the bike pulled some muscles in my back. It's finally feeling somewhat normal again after not exercising in several days. O Lord.

One night this week, I celebrated my dad's birthday with my parents. Fresh green beans with real butter, corn on the cob, whole wheat spaghetti, fresh pineapple, broccoli salad, and some kind of pounded meat cutlet-y thing. And limoncello! It was good to visit with them and celebrate the wonder that is my dad.

I've read the first section (CORN) of The Omnivore's Dilemma and a little bit of the next section (GRASS). It's a book club assignment, and I had to think long and hard about actually starting it because I feared it would make me more neurotic about food than I already am. I have to turn a blind eye to most of the things I put in my mouth because the freaked out germophobe in me can't tolerate to think about where any of it came from. I'm like, hello, little grape. Did a cow ever take a poop on you? (I know that makes no sense.) I'm not sure that's so healthy, especially when I've been trying to for the most part eat whole and natural foods this spring. That's really a movement towards eating more consciously for me, and I don't want to avoid a book that will shed light on where some of that food comes from. I have to say that the corn section has basically made me never want to think about ever touching any part of any animal fed with corn ever again. Even though last night I ate and enjoyed a giant ear of corn on the cob. Wha? It made me actually mad at corn. Like, how dare you, corn, for being so insidious and being in everything human beings eat and drink? I don't want to be mad at corn. I like corn. Especially when it's boiled with a bunch of crawfish. Which are born in ditches as far as I know. So that is obviously an acceptable grossosity to me. It's hard to decide what is acceptable and what is not.

It's a lot to process. I eat beef once in a blue moon. Hardly ever. Maybe three times a year. Including last night at my parents' house. And it was tasty, but it's just not my thing, unless it's my mom's famous roast. But I do eat dairy products and lots of them. And I eat a lot of chicken, and I eat a lot of eggs. I would really like to go cold-hard vegan, but I don't really know what that would solve for me. I don't want to start eating Boca burgers and fake-ass food like that. I know I could live without beef and chicken and possibly even shrimp though that would be hardest for me as I truly love shrimp. But I do not think I would do well without eggs and cheese.

I don't know. It's a lot to think about. I don't want to obsess about food, but I also want to. I want to know what I'm eating and really think about it and really savor what tastes good and is good for me. But I don't want drive myself crazy. I'd like there to be balance. I'm not sure how. As I was reading the corn section and contemplating the wrongness and badness of "processed" food and food pesticided and horomoned and chemicaled and antibioticed out the wazoo, I comforted myself by thinking, well, there's always Whole Foods. But then I got to the GRASS section. Which so far basically boils down to the fact that Whole Foods and everything sold under its roof is a big fat lie. And it galls me that I've never given much thought to trying to only eat produce that's in season and local hasn't been shipped from a million miles away. I want to be better about this, to do better.

I want to eat healthy things that don't harm my body or the earth. But what are those things? Seriously, what are we supposed to eat? I would really like to know.

(Still more days later ...) I can't seem to wrap this up! I bought a bike! My classmate was selling her gently used bike, a bike that looks like this. I have no idea if this is a good bike or a bad bike, but my sister and BFF tell me it is, and my classmate is nice and trustworthy, and it looks fine to me! My dad gave me his gently used helmet. I am ready to start really learning how to ride it even though I am kind of spastic and scared. This is not exactly a bike-friendly town, though some people are trying hard to make it more so.

Another weekend has gone by. So busy! Spent yesterday in French Quarter with my cousin, attending mass at the cathedral (banging gong drum in choir loft ... so crazy ... I loved it!), running through the rain to brunch at Muriel's, where we ate crawfish hash and crawfish crepes with goat cheese and drank mimosas and yum, and a couple of bars where we nursed family wounds and more mimosas and laughed and remembered. It was a drizzly but nice day. Early Saturday morning, I went biking, and it was very painful and I need some good padded biking shorts right away. Between the cars, bikers, and joggers (even at 7 a.m.) and the crippling nether region pain, I basically rode in constant fear of collision and death and permanent groin paralysis and only made it 3.6 miles. Biking is scary. But I have to learn, and I will!

I am very, very, very excited about Glee.

Meanwhile, some very sad things have happened to some of my friends, and I am thinking of them & love them very much.

34

The night before my birthday, I went out for Thai with my parents and brother. We had a nice visit over shrimp toast, nam sod, and various shrimp/chicken/vegetable entrees.

On my birthday morning, I was inexplicably wide awake at 4 a.m. I decided to roll over, flip on the bedside lamp, and open Harry: A History by Melissa Anelli, which (Melissa was right) is pretty fantastic. I spent a couple of hours with it before falling back asleep, only to be awakened at 8 by Zuko's staccato alarm bark. Oh well. I ate breakfast and headed out on a run. It was gray and very breezy out, the wind whipping the leaves (and me) all over the road. I got diverted by a train at one point, but overall, it was a fairly satisfying run.

After showering and all that jazz, I stopped for an iced coffee and headed to the farmer's market, where I bought some birthday gifts for friends. It started getting colder and colder outside, which was weird considering how warm it's been lately. I had a nice lunch with B. and headed to my massage appointment. It was my first time with a male massage therapist since Arturo in Costa Rica. I was a little nervous but got over it quickly. As he dug into upper back with great force, he noted that I can take more pressure than most. Then as he dug into my neck mightily, he said that some people have a tight spot here and there in their necks but that mine was tight all over. "Your neck ... is a rock," he said. "Yeah," I sighed. He worked on it for most of the hour, moving onto my hips at my request because they are always super tight, I think from running and squatting during the f-ing Jillian Michaels' DVD, and hard to stretch. He did all sorts of stretches, pushing my knee onto my chest and saying, "Wow, you are flexible. I mean -- wow. You are FLEXIBLE." I told him that was the only thing I scored well on during my gym fitness test a few years ago. Then he held my hip as he stretched it the opposite way across my body and sort of lay on it. This is hard to explain and sounds sort of obscene, but it was all very comfortable and professional until I screamed when he massaged the IT Band area of my hip with a little too much vim and vigor. Then he worked my upper back underneath my shoulder blades and so forth and it was basically an hour of complete heaven. It felt like a great gift to give myself on my birthday.

After my massage, I lay like goo on the couch and popped in my new Dr. Horrible DVD, a gift from my little brother. It was awesome, of course, as was the musical commentary, which just knocked my socks off. This whole enterprise is so delightful on so many levels to me. I bought myself the soundtrack and made a copy for him so we could continue to share the Dr. Horrible love. It was fun to check the mailbox and get some really nice cards. Overall, it was a lovely morning and afternoon.

The day shifted into evening, and I headed out for a girls' dinner. Stupid me did not think to make reservations, so our group of six faced a two-hour wait. Oops! So we sat outside on the patio, which was challenging due to the fact that a sudden Arctic blast was blowing through. Luckily there were heaters, and it gave me an excuse to wear my new school bus-colored coat all night long. We shared potstickers and pizza and fried rice and pad Thai and drank wine and gossiped and laughed and it felt really good to be surrounded by women I've known so long ... one I've known since kindergarten. They all brought me very wonderful and thoughtful gifts, which I didn't expect, and picked up my tab. It was all very special! I can't really describe it without lapsing into sentimentality so I'll stop there. One girlfriend and I headed out to watch my brother play for a little while but didn't last very long as apparently 34 means you have to be in bed by 11:00.

It got down into the thirties last night after a long string of days in the seventies, so that was a little bizarre. I woke up this morning and went to the grocery store, story of my life. Then I baked a ton of St. Patrick's Day cookies to freeze for my parade party. I've never frozen cookies before and hope they come out okay. I have to say that the green shamrock-shaped cookies are pretty cute even though some of them look more like amoebas than shamrocks. Then I decided to go out to World Market and look for some aqua curtains for my bedroom. I bought these and like them a lot. I also bought a new rug for the foot of my bed. My room, I have to say, is looking very different, and I am happy about it. I decided to go all white for my new bed (more on the new bed soon!), and I think it's all coming together.

Today I made this in my crock pot. I drained that m-fing tofu for like 36 hours and it still felt a bit moist. But I had better luck with the cornstarch and browning the tofu than last time; I think tofu just feels damp no matter how long you drain it! I used olive oil instead of butter and took my time getting it nice and brown, and it turned out perfectly delicious. I cooked it longer than the 3 hours instructed because I checked it at 3 hours and the carrots were still too hard for my liking. I also added a little more water than the recipe called for and when it tells you to add a little water and shake up the remnants of the sauce in the jar, I added 1/4 a teaspoon of cayenne pepper and some salt and shook that up with the liquid. I also added two cloves of chopped garlic and a pretty hefty chunk of chopped fresh ginger. Fascinating, I know! Anyway, I ate it over basmati rice, and it might be my favorite thing I've made in the crockpot thus far. Success!

Overall, it's been a very nice birthday weekend. Today is the beginning of a new month and a new year at a new age. I am determined to live well and work hard and, as Maria instructed Liesl, look for my life.

Monday Catch-Up

And now for more thrilling catch-up. I finished A Mercy on the plane, and I liked it very much. There was one particular part that made me well up with tears; it involved a character changing her name. I think this is a Biblical concept if I'm not mistaken, and it always moves me to contemplate it. I also finished The Reader, which was beautiful, gripping, and sad, and I can't wait to see the movie now.

Speaking of books, I've posted a few more reviews over at Kidliterate, Melissa's book review site. I'll hopefully be continuing to do so, probably focusing on graphic novels for now.

Okay, I guess that brings us to Saturday night ... it was crawfish etoufee, shrimp and corn soup, stuffed shrimp, seafood gumbo, cheese fries, and beer with old friends, followed by a girls' night out at a bar where we watched my little brother play. I had enough beers to screw up the courage to sing a duet with him, "Falling Slowly" from Once. Ridiculous but fun. It was great to hang out with my girlfriends and stay out late and cut loose for the first time in a long time. There was something about singing songs and sharing frozen sangria that took me back to the old days when all we ever did was act silly and stay up late and have fun. It was nice to realize that it's still possible! Seriously. I'd like to plan another girls night out soon with all the peeps who couldn't make it that night.

Sunday morning, I woke up to bid my houseguests adieu, and eventually I collapsed back into bed, tossing and turning and rousing in time to head to the dog parade with the same girlfriends and some kids. It was a nice afternoon, and we stopped on the way home for frozen yogurt. Sunday evening, I went to my first-ever book club meeting. I'm not sure how I made it to almost 34 without ever being in a book club, but there you go. We discussed A Mercy and drank red wine and ate homemade French bread and it was very relaxing.

It's now Monday and a new week. I'm cooking some whole grain quinoa (is quinoa supposed to be crunchy?) and defrosting some frozen curried vegetables I made in the crockpot last week. After a week of dismal and abysmal sleep, I hope to start fresh tonight and actually sleep more than a few hours. I feel this is important towards the overall positivity of the week ahead. I'm not sure what else to say, so I guess I'll post some pictures of parade dogs. There's nothing like a neon green labradoodle to sing that spring is coming.

Sunday

It was a beautiful morning to go on a run. Sunny and breezy and 65 degrees. I'm glad I went when I did; the clouds are gathering, and it looks like rain, which I think might foil my plan to take Zuko to the dog park.

On Friday night, my girlfriend and I went out for appetizers and wine and went to see Last Chance Harvey, which made us cry a lot. I just could not stop crying. I think it's because I love Emma Thompson so much and the moment her face even begins to wrinkle in sorrow I can't help but cry along. And all of the scenes related to Dustin Hoffman and his daughter sent me over the edge into serious fall apart land. It was cathartic! I'm glad we saw it.

Yesterday is a semi-blur. In the morning, I gave myself permission to be lazy, and I lay around and watched the previous night's episode of Battlestar Galactica, which was so fantastic I'm still not over it. Eventually I went to Target and spent too much money, as usual. Then I met up with a classmate for coffee and a visit about our projects. It was nice to be able to sit outside on the patio. I made this spinach and tofu recipe in the crockpot sans the tofu. I didn't drain the tofu enough, clearly, because when I tried to follow the instructions and dust it in cornstarch and then stir-fry it a little bit in a skillet to brown it, the cornstarch bonded to the water on the surface of the tofu instead of the tofu itself and slid off and ended up in strange congealed translucent bits swimming in a gelatinous goo that looked like I was stir-frying the wax we used with our childhood braces. Disaster. So I trashed the tofu and added carrots and almonds and it was pretty good. Not great, but edible. I mostly enjoyed the whole grain naan I bought at Target. Last night I stayed in and watched season two of Extras, which was wonderful if highly mortifying, particularly the Ian McKellen episode, the date gone awry with the bathroom ridiculousness, and the office antics involving the naked lady pen.

Which brings us to today. The run was pleasant. I hacked a giant lantana all the way to the ground (it will come back, it always does) and scratched myself up plenty in the process. I contemplated having a St. Patrick's parade party. I also thought back, randomly, to an old tape that a friend copied for me some 15 years ago at camp. All I remembered was that the guy's name was Raccoon and that he had a song about sitting around thinking about the things he likes to think about. A little searching online, and I found him. This is the song I really liked that summer. What can I say, we were in the mountains.

Now I'm drinking Godiva hot chocolate with soy milk even though it's not remotely cold outside and contemplating a nap. Last night was one of those nights when I was awake more than I was asleep, and it's finally hitting me. Luckily I had a good TV show ("Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Wizard: You shall not pass! Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian...") and a good book (I finished A Map of the Known World, which was beautiful and heartbreaking) All the pets are napping, and I don't know why I shouldn't follow their lead.

On this lazy afternoon, I'm thinking that some time soon I'd like to mull over the idea of giving myself permission to be lazy more often. I am lazy a lot, but I always feel guilty about it. I think I'd like to let that go in '09. I am trying to embrace the idea that a little laziness can be a good thing and not something to fret over. More on that later.

Catching up / Cry for help

I forgot to mention that I saw a really good rental recently. It's called The Edge of Heaven. I didn't know much about it going in, but I'm so glad I ended up watching it. It's hard to say too much about it without giving important things away, and I wouldn't recommending reading up on it before seeing it. Just know that it's about Turkey, Germany, a father, a son, a mother, a daughter, lovers, political activism, and other fascinating things. I highly recommend it, and I look forward to checking out another effort by Fatih Akin, the award-winning Head On.

My little brother and I took a road trip to see Slumdog Millionaire yesterday after deciding to go to it if it's not going to come to us. It was totally worth the drive and the time. I strenously avoided details on the film before seeing it because I knew it would be special, and I didn't want to know anything about it going in. That was wise. I was surprised by everything, and I had no idea I'd be so nervously on the edge of my seat the entire time. I don't think I relaxed or let my breath out for a single second. It was so exhilarating and beautiful. We loved it and wished we could stay to watch it all over again.

(The next week ...)

I've now seen Head On, supposedly a very big deal. It was definitely memorable and the performances were strong, but it didn't capture my heart the way The Edge of Heaven did. I was mostly annoyed and disturbed by its leading characters instead of in love with them and rooting for them like I was in the other film. There was a little too much blood and sex for me, ultimately.

Thanks to my friend Erin for linking to a great crockpot recipe site. Yesterday, I made the Moroccan lentil soup. The grocery store did not have garam masala, so I used an Indian spice blend, or vegetable broth, so I used chicken broth. Other than that, I stuck to the recipe, and it was DELICIOUS. It also made enough to feed a small army, so I fed some to B., some to my parents, and a lot to my freezer. I am excited to try out some more of this site's recipes for the rest of winter. 

I haven't really been able to get into River Secrets, my love for Shannon Hale's other Bayern books notwithstanding. Luckily, just I was feeling that gnawing feeling of wanting a good book, a galley arrived from trusty Melissa today called A Map of the Known World. (She reviewed it here.) I just read the first two chapters, and it is wonderful so far.

Why did no one ever hold me down and force me to watch Extras? I have just finished season one, and it is the first thing that has made me laugh out loud in ages. It is just what I needed this week, when feeling a bit gray and melancholy, just like the weather, and I can't wait to get season two. I watched Ricky Gervais on Inside the Actors Studio recently, and he said that Andy is the complete opposite of David Brent, which I don't really believe. I understand Andy is a lot more self-aware than David Brent and is often the one actually noticing other people's awfulness instead of everyone noting it about him, but he's really quite similar to David Brent in that sometimes he is so clueless and embarrassing to watch, especially when begging for a line. I mean, clearly he is not the tosser (am I using that British word correctly? no idea!) David Brent is, but he can still be an idiot. Augh! It's so good. I loved it. And it's great to see Charlotte from Ugly Betty as the dim but well-meaning Maggie. And as with The Office, I love watching the behind the scenes stuff because I cannot help but be charmed by the way that Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant genuinely seem to crack each other up to no end. Maybe it's all a put-on, but I like to believe it's a real friendship and affection in addition to a professional and creative collaboration. I don't want to think about this too much or it might lead me dangerously down the road toward Merchant/Gervais fan fiction or something. But I do like watching them make each other laugh, and it makes me think of how making each other laugh is so important in a friendship. Even when things are really shitty, my friends and I can still make each other laugh. This paragraph is getting lamer and lamer so I'll stop.

I have nothing else to say except a cry for help. I have to buy a new mattress set. I've never bought one before. My bed is a hand-me-down from my older brother that I've had for 15 years and that he had God knows how many years before that. It's heinous, I am sleeping worse than ever, and it's kind of making life suck. If you have a bed that you like a lot or love, can you please leave me a comment and tell me about it? Also please feel free to share any bed shopping tips you might have. Or feel free to tell me not to buy a certain type that you think is bad. I don't know why I am so paralyzed about doing this; I am a grown woman and should be able to go to a store and buy a friggin' mattress set. But I really like testimonials, and I like getting them from people I know (or sort of know) instead of crazy people on Internet review websites. I am not afraid to throw down some cash because I think this is an important investment that could literally and vastly improve my life. Thanks in advance for any guidance you can provide.

2 days into '09

Ah ... 2009. So far, so good. New Year's Eve was spent turning in early after turkey and sausage gumbo and spinach pie with B. at my parents' house. On day one of the new year, I slept in and then treated myself to a matinee of Milk, which I'd been wanting to see for months. It did not disappoint. My most powerful encounter with the story of Harvey Milk will always be catching the documentary The Times of Harvey Milk on TV by accident and learning the story for the first time, but this was an excellent movie and I'm very glad I saw it. It made me very sad, both the way it ended, of course, and thinking about how little things have changed despite how hard Harvey Milk and his colleagues fought. I mean, sure, a lot has changed, but clearly, as we saw so disgustingly this year, a lot also hasn't. I wish this movie were getting more press and were open on more screens because I think it's important. The cast was great ... Emile Hirsch particularly impressed me -- it was hard to recognize him as the same kid who played Alexander Supertramp. 

After going to see Milk, I went over to my parents' house to continue to feast on leftovers. My mom wrote thank you notes for wedding-related kindnesses while watched Enchanted. She, unsurprisingly, found it delightful. Later that night, we continued eating still more leftovers and watched Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day; both of my parents really liked it, as I knew they would. What is not to like? I've now seen that movie four times and could easily watch it again today. It's wonderful. Kymm Zuckert, I am not sure what you are waiting for! This is your kind of movie.

After packing in three movies in the course of one day and falling asleep to Sarah Vowell's story of the Puritans, this morning I got up relatively early and headed out for a run. After about a mile, I decided that the morning fog, while very cool looking, was a bit creepy. I argued with myself for a while about whether turning around due to basically zero visibility was neurotic or sensible, and I came down on the side of sensible, ran a mile back home, and turned on Jillian Michaels for the rest of the workout. Oh, how level one still pains me so! My arms basically burst into flames, but I soldiered through. 

I showered and headed to the coffee shop to meet my old friend Herpreet, with whom I had a nice two-hour visit out on the patio. It is always nice to see her and to catch up with someone you've known for a million years. Old friends are so important, and I need to never forget that.

Then I headed over to S.'s to help get ready for a gathering at her parents' house tonight and eat handfuls of her mother's amazing white chocolate peppermint candy. I have to say, when the holidays well and truly come to a close and all friends and relatives have finally returned to their homes far away and all of the leftovers are gone and I return to work and real life, I might have to cry a little bit. 

I hope to post some pictures soon ... now I must get ready to head back to S.'s house for the gumbo event, which leads up to the Party of the Century tomorrow night. 

Catching up

I guess it's time for an update on what has been going on ... I like to keep track of these things so I don't forget.

On Friday evening, I went running and then B. and I relaxed with Thai food and some of last week's shows. I laughed a lot when Pam said, "That's what she said, that's what she said, that's what she said." I continue to be amazed to think I once assessed the U.S. version of The Office as not very good. I must have been in a dark place in my life at the time because now I love it so much that I cannot imagine life without it.

On Saturday, the morning is ... a bit of a blur. I think I went to the library. Around lunch time, B. and I began our trek to the game, stopping for iced coffee on the way there. We decided it would be faster to walk to the stadium than to attempt going in car, and I think it was a great plan, especially since it was a gorgeous day. Walking past a long line of cars in dead standstill traffic is sort of satisfying; on the one hand, you feel for them, but on the other hand, you think, "Suckers!" We stopped at a few tailgating gatherings and headed into the stadium for what turned out to be a hella exciting game. I thought of Al L-H throughout and just reveled in the excitement of the experience -- record attendance, two very enthusiastic marching bands (theirs actually plays "Confrontation" from Les Mis, which is awesome), and insanely fired up fans on both sides. It was of course wonderful to hear the announcer proclaim that it was now Saturday night in a voice that boomed down as if from heaven and see the entire stadium explode in what was basically ecstasy times more than 90,000. Aside from bruising my finger with the giant ring of the man who repeatedly wanted to high-five me, I suffered no injuries from the crush of the crowd. B. and I were actually lining up with hundreds of others near an exit to head out as the other team started their field goal formation and I actually said, "But they could miss their field goal!" Not likely. But look what happened! It was so exciting. Dads were throwing little boys in the air, strangers were embracing, the whole beautiful thing. Of course we lost in the end, but it was still really fun and spectacular in a way to be in the stadium on such an evening.

On Sunday, I ran five miles and went to the library and checked out some more National Book Award finalists. I posted about Chains over at Kidliterate. The Spectacular Now by Tim Tharp was a decent read, but I found the protagonist fundamentally unlikeable, so it was hard for me to get into the book as a whole. I'm glad I read it, for the most part, but honestly it gave me some unpleasant high school flashbacks of liking the wrong boys, acting like an idiot as a result, throwing up at parties, and overall teenage foolishness. I can definitely imagine teens getting into the book because it's very realistic to both a hilarious and mortifying degree. I'm about 100 pages into The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, and I'm undecided as to how I feel about it right now. There is something about boarding school books that rubs me the wrong way, and I blame it entirely on my deep and abiding hatred of The Secret History (I know it's not a boarding school book, but that whole rich kids at school doing wicked things aura just makes me surly). Although, as a kid, I sure did love me some Canby Hall! As long as the kids in Disreputable History don't start doing truly vile things, I might end up really liking it.

Meanwhile, I've decided I really want to see Australia. I think it will be so bad that it's good, you know? I really hope it's the movie that shows the world just how awesome Hugh Jackman really is. If only it were a musical!

The Underneath

My friend Melissa and I have long shared our obsessive love for children's and YA lit, and I'm a big fan of Kidliterate, her site on such. When I wrote to her gushing about my love for a book I finished yesterday, I was excited to get the chance to post my thoughts there. I'm not a reviewer so it's not a review per se, it's just my reaction a few hours after finishing the book. I'm cross-posting it here, so here it is. I hope to post more at Kidliterate in the future because it's about one of my favorite subjects and run by one of my favorite people!

:::

In light of how much I adored past National Book Award winners True Believer and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian — they rank among the top YA novels I’ve ever read in my life — I decided to take immediate note of this year’s finalists and read all of them.

First up was The Underneath by Kathi Appelt, simply because it was the first one that arrived via interlibrary loan. I started reading it in bed last night and had to force myself to close the book and set it aside, because forty pages in (it’s an extremely fast read), I knew that if I went much farther I wouldn’t be able to stop until reaching the end, and I am a woman who needs her sleep!

On this lovely Sunday morning, I woke up, made coffee, crawled under a blanket, and lay on the couch in my pajamas for several hours finishing this book. And let me just say that it was wonderful. I was moved throughout and cried actual tears on several occasions.

It’s hard to explain what a treasure this book is without giving too much away. I could say that it’s about a dog, some cats, a snake, an alligator, trees, and birds, because it is about all of those things, but it is so much more. I guess if I had to pick one thing this book is about, I would have to say that it is about family. It is how the unlikeliest of creatures can form a family, it is about how families are torn apart, it is about how families betray each other, die for each other, leave each other, lose each other, and find each other.

Even though these ideas are brought to life primarily by animals and other life forms in a swampy forest, they are ultimately ideas about all of us — human beings, certainly, but also the earth we live on and the living things with which we share it.

I am having a really hard time explaining how beautiful this book is. I feel like even the slightest bit about the plot will spoil it too much. I guess I can say that I think you will love this book if you have ever loved a dog or a cat, ever walked through a forest, ever swum in a creek, ever been scared of the meanness of life and the certainty of death, ever lost someone you loved, or ever believed in magic.

When Melissa told me this book is being aimed at children in the 8-12 age range, I was very surprised for multiple reasons. This book is very scary. There are villains, both human and not, that positively exude evil in a very realistic and un-cartoonish way that would have given me nightmares as a child. This book is also very sad. Extremely traumatic events occur that I found almost unbearable to read. For these reasons, I’d like to see this book marketed toward an age group that’s a little older. It can obviously be enjoyed by adults, to which Melissa and I can attest, and I think high schoolers would be more emotionally and mentally equipped to grapple with not only the frightening and heartbreaking aspects but the overall ideas of the book, which are quite profound. Let me make clear that I usually veer in the completely opposite direction of wanting to take books out of children’s hands because they are scary or sad or hard to understand. But I do think that certain books are more appropriate for older readers than younger readers, and this is definitely one of them.

As noted above, in addition to being sometimes terrifying and often quite sad, this book is also very deep. The title refers to the area underneath a house’s porch, but certainly it can be taken a step beyond that — it also signifies a jar hidden underneath a tree and an alligator hidden underneath the currents of a bayou. Perhaps most of all, though, it signifies the depth of life that glimmers beyond our knowing consciousness, the ancient mysteries of the earth that still resonate beneath the surface, and stories hidden underneath the passage of time. How the author pulled all of this off with a tale about a hound dog and some cats is a testament to her obviously great (and previously unknown to me) talent.

After suffering severe reading burnout this fall, which has never really happened to me before but which I attribute to having read 60 graphic novels over the summer, which almost made my brain fall out, this is the first book I have picked up and gotten all the way through in several months. I am so glad this is the book that has brought me back to books and to reading. It utterly captured both my imagination and my heart. I hope you will also find a place for it in yours.

Monday update

Another weekend, another Monday.

On Friday evening, we went out for pad Thai and spring rolls and frozen yogurt. On Saturday, I have no idea what I did. Seriously. How can I forget so quickly? I stopped by an estate sale and browsed. I went to the bookstore and bought a textbook. I went to the dog park with Zuko, who might be dumb and a pain in the butt a lot of the time but is a great dog park dog. He doesn't bother anyone, he doesn't scare the nervous dogs, he doesn't participate in the big group scuffles, and he just runs around a pees on everything he passes. I visited with the fiancée of one of B.'s school friends. I like both of them a lot, I like their dogs, and I'd like to get to know them better. I met B. later that afternoon for a quick lemonade at the coffee shop.

I spent much of the rest of the afternoon shopping for and preparing this salad. Don't bother making this salad if you don't have a strong affinity for chopping. There is lots of chopping involved. I didn't make anywhere near the whole recipe and it still made about a million servings. I am already sort of sick of it, but we will be eating it for many days to come. The best things about this salad are (a) the dressing and (b) the fact that it's really pretty to look at. It tastes great, but it might not be balanced in the effort/enjoyment ratio (at least for me, but then I'm sort of lazy). If you can get someone to make it FOR you, that's the way to go. I followed the recipe pretty closely as far as ingredients except I didn't use nuts (B. doesn't like cashews and I forgot to get a substitute) or bean sprouts (they were rotting in their container at the store, gross) and I used whole wheat linguine. Overall: thumbs up but kind of a PITA to make.

On Sunday, it rained the entire day, and I spent much of the day lying around. I attempted to go running on the treadmill, but that didn't go well, so I took to the couch and watched hours upon hours of one of my all-time favorite TV shows, the first two seasons of which have been placed on YouTube in their entirety by various people who must have coordinated their efforts somehow. How happy this makes me I can't even really tell you. I am loath to post the links because I think the longer they are shrouded in secrecy the longer they will remain online before being pulled. Here's a hint: this show ran for four seasons. A lot of people loved it, but a lot of people hated it. It hasn't been released on DVD. It has seven core characters. It rhymes with "dirtysomething."

It's still so, so, so good. Now that I am actually the characters' ages instead of half that (as I was when it was on the air), I see it with whole new eyes, and I don't know that I ever saw myself as the Melissa or the Ellyn of the group even though that's who I am. In the pilot, Melissa is 31. 31! Stop, I can't even think about it. Sometimes I don't enjoy some of the fantasy stuff, but it turns out that I still adore the episode about the couple who used to live in Hope and Michael's house and the WWII scenes about their life. I first heard of "Stardust," of course, in Taking Care of Terrific when Hawk plays it during the secret midnight Swan Boat ride, but I never heard it until seeing this episode all those years ago. And it has remained one of my favorite songs in life ever since, especially when sung by Harry Connick, Jr. or Nat King Cole. Anyway. Just like I always have, I cried during this episode.

I also cried when Michael walked in, face crumpling when he saw that Melissa had brought the menorah. (Their fight during that episode = still awesome. Another awesome fight = Michael and Elliot in the office after they lose the business.) I cried when Melissa and Gary talked about how together, they brought up a couple of kids. I cried when Elliot sat at Ethan's bedside, post-rocket accident, apologizing. I cried when Nancy said, "It's just something about the way his mind works." As hard as I try, I still cannot like Susannah. It was great to watch the very beginning of the Miles Drentell saga, knowing now just how long it will last. I've cried so much just watching these episodes that I don't think I'm fully prepared for what comes next. Everyone remembers seasons three and four -- the cancer and the death and the major stuff, with "Second Look" in season four as the sort of emotional climax of the entire series. But seasons one and two are also really good. I don't know what to say except that I love this show and apparently always will. I am going to look back and find my 30-page paper on the evolution of Nancy Krieger Weston. I remain oddly proud of that paper.

Also this weekend: I finished Pilgrims by Elizabeth Gilbert, which I really liked. I liked every single story. I feel like people roll their eyes at Eat, Pray, Love now, but I loved that book, and I think she's a really good fiction writer. I also started Watchmen, a gift from B. As usual with this sort of graphic novel, I have no idea what's going on as I start it, but I'm hoping all will become clear.

In searching through files which contain my high school and college papers for that damn Nancy paper, I just found a "pre-test" I wrote for English III on August 20, 1991. The assignment was to write about a book we read over the summer. Mine was called "Meg's Brave Fight" and was all about the life-or-death decisions Meg Powers had to make in Ellen Emerson White's Long Live the Queen. A book I just re-read last week at age 33. I had no memory of writing this paper almost 17 years ago to the day, but reading it again makes me unspeakably happy. Being a packrat is not always a bad thing. And now I am awash in memories. I just spent the past few hours looking through old floppy discs -- is that what you call them? the little square ones? -- on my old desktop for papers saved during college on my parents' computer, and I found a ton of old papers, but not the Nancy one. I DID find the notebook in which I wrote pages and pages of notes while watching the Nancy-centric episodes which I analyzed in my paper. And an analysis for yet another English class on how James Joyce's "The Dead" was the inspiration for an episode of this show. Which it was. The professor wrote in her margin comments, "I remember that episode!" It's the tie that binds, apparently.

I spotted files in my filing cabinet with the following labels: First Apartment Mementos, Mail Received at Camp, Ally McBeal, River Phoenix, 20th Birthday Cards, Chicago Hope, and Homicide: Life on the Streets Drinking Game. It might be time to cull some of these files. GOOD LORD.

In other thoughts, I really enjoyed reading this columm, namely because its author is smart enough to know that Tiger Eyes is the best book Judy Blume ever wrote.

Misc. Thoughts

(1) I am sitting in my favorite coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon with my headphones in and an iced coffee. It is a good way to spend an afternoon.

(2) This morning while running three miles outside and sweating my face off, I started to push myself to continue with all sorts of irrational but inspirational thoughts. It is what I do; it is the only way I can keep from veering off to the side of the road and hurling myself face-first into someone's bed of caladiums. This morning my thoughts of fortitude were mainly focused on the women's Olympic marathoners, whose race B. and I caught part of over appetizers (pesto bread, hummus) and Blue Moons last night. When I was struggling to get my breathing into a normal rhythm and feeling like my facial capillaries were boiling beneath my skin not unlike molten lava, I thought about that runner who got the foot cramp in the middle of the race. And I said to myself, "Self, I'm sure that foot cramping marathoner would not be complaining about the opportunity to run at a snail's pace like you around these beautiful lakes so just get a grip on yourself and finish your measly three miles!" It helped, it truly did.

(3) It's been a nice weekend so far. On Friday evening, we got take-out and watched Smart People. I both liked and didn't like it, mostly veering on the side of like. My main complaint is that the romance between Dennis Quaid and Sarah Jessica Parker was soulless and unbelievable, but other than that, I liked the quirk of the characters and the overall film. It was nice to see Ellen Page in a pre-Juno role; she was excellent, as was the always reliable and hilarious Thomas Haden Church. Saturday morning, we woke up early; I went running wanted to stop at two miles but told myself, "If you can run 2 miles, you can run 3." So I did. I ate some leftover stir-fry for lunch, returned some graphic novels to the library, bought a visor to run in to help with the blinding summer glare, and took a long nap. After appetizers yesterday evening, B. and I headed to the wedding reception of a school friend, which was in a backyard and was beautifully laid back and relaxing ... as far as I'm concerned, backyard wedding receptions are the way to go ... had a very nice time except now kicking myself not to have applied bug spray now that I'm sporting about 25 new mosquito welts ... I should know better. I wish there were some kind of natural way to protect oneself against bug bites or something I could eat or drink that would make them think, "This blood is going to be foul, let's move along."

(4) I just finished reading the reissue of The President's Daughter. As I've written before, I have a long history with this series. I have my original copies from the mid-1980s. They are tattered, torn, and deeply beloved by me. The author came upon those entries and e-mailed me about five years ago, saying that she was writing a fourth book in the series, which has since come out. The books were reprinted several years back with truly odious covers (and if I'm not mistaken, the pages were basically xeroxed copies of the original pages), and the latest reissues have much better covers, are all-around first class in quality, and have been revised/updated by the author to add modern things like the Internet. And I'm thrilled that they're back in print and I hope a whole new generation of readers embraces them. Truly. And I am fine with certain updates to bring them into modern times. And I almost want to hold my tongue about this because I have loved these books for most of my life, and I love them still. But the little tweaks to the Preston stuff in the first book really bothered me. I don't like how when describing him, something like "and he's so handsome" was added, and I don't like how Meg talks about having a crush on him. These are very minor and short-lived little moments in the book, but they leapt out at me and made me squirm a little bit. It is clear when reading book four that now that Meg is an adult, a different kind of relationship with Preston is inching into the realm of being conceivable. That's not a spoiler; it doesn't happen in the book -- after all, she is still only 18 in book four -- but it starts to vaguely feel not altogether out of the realm of possibility. And I'm fine with that. Truly. I just do not believe the seeds needed to go back and retroactively be planted in book one when she is 15. Preston was already portrayed in books 1-3 as a wonderful, cool, hip guy who was their family's best friend -- in other words, we already know how important he is to Meg and what a rock he is for their family -- we just don't need the handsome, crush, etc. stuff that early on in the game, and I wish it would not have been added. (I always, always, always assumed Preston was gay, and learning that he is not really threw me for a loop, and so I'm starting all of these thoughts from a little bit of a discombobulated place anyway, for that reason.) I am almost frightened to see if more of these little hints about him are placed in the next two books. ANYWAY -- other than that, I loved reading the reissue, and I can't wait to start the second and third, because these books get better and better as they go along.

(5) Later ... I guess that is about it for now. B. made pesto and it's time to eat!

Weekend

It's been a busy weekend and a fun one. It is very strange to spend a weekend with B. when neither of us has any schoolwork to do. Holla!

Last night, we went to a happy hour with some of my school friends, and then visited for a while with some of his. We've been watching lots and lots of Mad Men and somehow it is never enough. This morning, I went on a two-mile run and to have iced coffee with my brother's ex-girlfriend, whom I love and adore. We visited on the patio with her dog, whom I also love and adore. It was very nice. B. and I went to lunch where I had a veggie sandwich, inspired by my coffee date who told me she's gone vegan, and then we went to Target, where I forgot about my new vegan plan and bought a half-pound of honey roasted turkey from the deli. Whoops! We ended up helping a stranger jump her dead battery because that is just what you do to help your fellow human beings even when you are all melting into the asphalt of the Target parking lot.

Tonight I went to the home of my old friend who is moving away to go to grad school for writing. Does anyone want to buy a REALLY CUTE house? If so, let me know and I can hook you up! She made amazing Indian food ... naan and spinach/potatoes and eggplant and chicken curry and there was also chicken mole and it was all so delicious that I started sweating. I will miss my friend but know we will keep in touch. I know she is destined for great things. She is one of the few people I know who is actually taking the chance to do what she knows she was born to do. Who does that? Nobody, it seems. It is a beautiful thing.

Anyway, veganism. My very healthy and fit friend / semi-sister-in-law insists that she gets lots of protein from protein-rich bread and pasta and beans and things of that nature but I'm not sure I could pull it off. But Lord knows I don't really get excited about meat and could do without it. I'm just not sure about the cheese part. And I'm trying really hard not to eat food that is not really food, and it seems like vegans rely a lot on frozen organic vegan burritos and Morningstar and Boca and I'm just not sure how I feel about those foods anymore. Conflicted!

I don't know what else to say. I'm so burned out from my 60-book summer that I can't bring myself to read anything. I started Black Swan Green but can't get into it despite the fact that B. tells me he knows I'd love it. Funny story (at least to me): At my friend's house tonight, a couple of people were talking about a horrible book that one of their book club members insisted they read and how everyone in the group hated it so much that they demanded that the group leader veto the book before they had to finish it and discuss it. I asked what the book was and it was The Brothers K! As in my beloved book. I said, "I give that book as a gift!" Then I thought for a second and said to my friend who was hosting the party and is moving away, "Wait, I think I gave that book to YOU!" And she laughed and said that I did. I understand that it's a tough start and takes a while to get into, and I tried to tell them that, but I didn't go into my usual hard-sell freak mode ... I told them I understand why some people wouldn't like it and that I respect their opinion because I really do. I didn't tell them that their lives will be better and their souls richer for reading it, even though I believe that. I am trying to tone down my maniacal evangelism when it comes to things, especially when it's something that someone has already read 80 pages of and loathes with his entire being.

More tomorrow.

Catching up

I guess it's been a while since I updated this here website. It's been a busy summer! In the past month or so, I've been immersed in schoolwork, at a conference for work, reunited with my boyfriend, and trying to live like a healthier human being. There is truly not much news to report. I will talk about miscellaneous things now in no special order.

I'm still watching So You Think You Can Dance. I watched most of season one of Mad Men in one sitting while waiting to pick B. up at the airport, and holy wow. It's so good. It's slooooooow and deliberate and just a fine program. I can see myself becoming obsessed with it; I sort of already am. I saw Mamma Mia! and liked it but did not love it. It was so over the top and cheesetastic, but I loved most of the singing and dancing numbers, Amanda Seyfried was luminous, Meryl Streep can do anything, and the dads were all quite good even though Pierce Brosnan has the worst singing voice every committed to screen. I even liked Sophie's boyfriend even though I loathed him as Willoughby in a recent Masterpiece Theater Sense and Sensibility. It was a sweet, fun summer movie but certainly not a great movie musical.

The Avett Brothers' new album, Gleam II, is out, and it is wonderful.

I am officially addicted to Turbo Jam: Punch, Kick, and Jam. I first learned about it from Linda and figured I'd give it a try because I was feeling so adrift when it came to my health. I was lost at first but now could do it in my sleep. Not that it's easy to do; it's just easy to follow once you know the moves, and I like that each move can be taken to more difficult levels the more you know what you're doing. I've also started trying Hip Hop Abs, but I fear it is way too dance-y for me (no rhythm), and it also makes my stomach hurt so badly that it makes me think I am going to throw up in a projectile manner mid-"Tilt, Tuck, and Tighten." I went to yoga with my dad recently, and I love yoga in theory, but I wonder what is wrong with my wrists that causes any pose that involves my lifting my body on them to make me feel like they are going to splinter into pieces. I am up to running two miles again but haven't tried to push past that point yet. Anyway, fitness. I've spent a lot of my summer trying to get back into the exercise routine, and while there have been no dramatic changes body-wise, it feels good to be doing something good for myself.

When I haven't been making time for exercise, I've been doing homework for my class. It's consumed much of my summer. I read sixty graphic novels and did a whole lot of work related to them and to graphic novel collections in general (annotating and reviewing the books, evaluating a collection, coming up with a collection development policy, coming up with a library program for them, writing a research paper, etc.). It's been exhausting and ridiculous. I need to sit down and make a top ten list of the best books I read this summer. I'm doing my research paper on Alison Bechdel based on my undying love for Fun Home, and I can't wait to get it turned in and put this class behind me. I'm glad I took it because of some of the excellent books it brought into my life but -- hate to be a negative nellie here -- overall, it was kind of a drag.

My four favorites I actually read before class started so I'm not including them in the list (The Complete Maus by Art Spiegelman, Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth by Chris Ware, and Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi). Here's the top ten in no particular order along with excerpts/snippets of the reviews I had to write for class this summer.

(1) The Tale of One Bad Rat by Bryan Talbot. This the tale of one young woman's quest to survive the wounds of being abused by her father as a child. Helen is both terrified and brave, both scarred and healing, and both enslaved by her past and striving to break free. The plot follows her from her days as a homeless young girl in a cold London winter after running away from home to her odyssey through England's Lake District, the home of her hero, Beatrix Potter, as she finds a new family and ultimately confronts and disentangles herself from her abusive father. The color illustrations are simply beautiful – they capture Helen's transformation wonderfully and depict the outside world with highly detailed attention, from the streets, buildings, and bridges of London to the spectacular countryside of the Lake District (which I visited four summers ago and still miss in my heart). The purpose of the book is to portray, through the life of one girl, the idea that abuse is survivable, that a person can overcome his or her darkest and deepest pain, and that people are stronger than they think they are. It is very effectively achieved, particularly in a scene in which Helen stands alone atop a hill overlooking Lake Derwentwater, crying and shaking her fists at the sky, proclaiming that her abuse was not her fault, and also in the scene in which she fearlessly stands up to her father.

(2) Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman. I did NOT understand this book at first and wanted to stab it with a knife or throw it into a fire. Then I started to understand what was going on and really dug it! The plot follows Dream as he escapes from his longtime prison cell and embarks on a quest to find the items that give him his power – his pouch, his helmet, and his ruby. Though initially hard to follow, the storyline clicks into place once Dream gets going on the different legs of his journey. Much of the artwork is grotesque and terrifying, and it does a good job of showing Dream's power as well as his humanity (as it were). The book has important things to say about fundamental ideas about life and death, like when Dream asks a demon who taunts him that dreams have no power in hell, "What power would hell have if those imprisoned here were not able to dream of heaven?" The idea that heaven and hell, dreams and nightmares, and life and death are inextricably intertwined is the predominant one in this novel.

(3) The Walking Dead: Volume One by Robert Kirkman. The plot follows Rick, a police officer, as he awakens from a coma to find the world around him irrevocably changed … it's human vs. zombie now, and he must find a way to survive against all odds. The realistic writing style aptly captures the excitement, the fear, the suspense, and the heartache. The excellent black and white pen and ink illustrations convey the terror and emotion of the story with intimate, intricate detail. This book reminds me of Carmac McCarthy's The Road in the way it portrays the desperation and desolation of man vs. the near-apocalypse. It could be used as an accompaniment to The Road in that they both focus on surviving with loved ones in a forever changed and terrifying world. This book is a unique and devastatingly moving twist on the traditional zombie genre with its focus on love, family, emotions, and the ties that bind – particularly touching is the scene when the characters sit around the campfire in the snow sharing what they used to do in their "past lives."

(4) The Rabbi's Cat by Joann Sfar. The cat as narrator is snarky, inquisitive, and wise, and his master, the rabbi, is insecure but likeable and grounded in his faith. The plot follows the cat through a temporary spell when he's able to speak after swallowing the family bird and as he accompanies his master through his daughter's marriage and to Paris, where they visit the new in-laws. The purpose of the book seems to be a spiritual exploration – what is a Jew, really, and what is a non-Jew? What traits do they share? How are they different? It's about coming to terms with one's faith or lack thereof or finding peace with some combination of faith and non-faith. It's also about coming to understand one's place in his or her family and in the world (human or feline). A beautiful and thought-provoking book.

(5) Heavy Liquid by Paul Pope. This is a futuristic look at crime and romance through the eyes of S., a former lawman who's turned to the dark side. S. is a dashing cross between Mick Jagger and Benicio del Toro who's a slave to heavy liquid, a chrome-like substance that melts into a dark milk that he pours into his ear for a high. The plot takes him on a lonely journey in the mid-22nd century as he embarks on a search for a lost love in order to fulfill an assignment for a powerful art dealer. This is a compelling and unusual story with haunting illustrations.

(6) Serenity: Those Left Behind by Joss Whedon & Brett Matthews. The diverse characters of this book are the motley crew aboard the Serenity – two soldiers, a pilot, a doctor, a mechanic, a preacher, a courtesan, and a possibly insane young woman – for their own reasons, all boiling down to a shared mission – to rob and steal in order to survive. The writing style is true to the origins of this mythology – the characters speak in a strange, convoluted syntax with a Western flavor that suits the singular atmosphere of this world perfectly. It's Whedon at his best, writing with a cinematic rhythm where all the beats, comedic and dramatic, hit in all the right places. The illustrations are dazzlingly beautiful, from the exploding light of Serenity's flight through space to the fraught emotions lined in the character's faces. The art does an amazing job of bringing this world previously created onscreen to life on the page, and seeing these iconic characters rendered so carefully and lovingly will thrill preexisting fans. The purpose of the book is to continue the story of this ragtag fleet for both fans of the TV show/movie (known as Browncoats) and to begin the story for comics fans previously unfamiliar with it – while familiarity deepens the reading experience, it's not necessary – it's funny, dramatic, complex, and exciting. Its intended audience is young adults, who will enjoy the adventure, the romantic undertones between several characters, the fights, and the whole space cowboy ideology. The many adult Browncoats will also adore this book.

(7) Paul Has a Summer Job by Paul Rabagliati. Paul, like Thoreau and countless others before him, chooses to lose the trappings of real life and go to the woods in order to find himself. He drops out of school and starts and quits a mindless job he hates before deciding on a whim to spend the summer in the woods as a camp counselor, where he evolves, to his initial surprise, into the Paul he really is deep down and the Paul he wants to be. The black and white pen and ink illustrations wonderfully capture the natural setting of the woods – the trees, the hills, the lake, the wildlife – and the personalities of Paul, his fellow counselors, and the young campers. The book's purpose is to take a look back at a defining moment in the history of Paul's life and how his summer as a camp counselor indelibly changed him, and it is achieved very effectively with heartfelt nostalgia and affection towards his old friends and experiences at camp. Readers who have spent a summer at camp, whether as a camper or counselor, will recognize themselves in these characters – the sacred, special, hilarious times at camp and the bonds formed between those who were there become frozen in one's memory and heart, and this book captures that sentiment beautifully. (Paul, sitting around a campfire, singing under the stars: "There you are, in the middle of nowhere, with a group of people you like, and suddenly, you lift off. Without noticing it, you're in a bubble. You become one with the world around you, and everything else just fades away.")

(8) One! Hundred! Demons! by Lynda Barry. THIS IS A WONDERFUL BOOK. This is the sort of book that makes a person want to sing from the mountaintops about the glories of autobiography and the lessons learned from one's own childhood and life. The plot is an episodic series of anecdotes about Barry from early childhood to adulthood. The purpose is to take a walk down memory lane by recreating Barry's experiences in a way that everyone can relate to on some level – we have had pain in our childhoods, we have felt out of place, we have loved and lost people and pets and beloved childhood blankets and stuffed animals, we have taken drugs and kissed people we shouldn't have, we have tried to create art that means something to us, and we have been insanely glued to the TV during the 2000 chad-related presidential election drama. All of us have done these things in whole or in part, and Barry has an amazing gift for tapping into the experiences that make us all human both collectively and individually. (As a chronic shame spiraler, this book was such a great read for me. It's a book all about shame spiraling and rising above. It is just awesome.)

(9) Kings in Disguise by James Vance. A young boy named Freddie struggles to survive the Great Depression and travels by railcar to Detroit in search of his father. A beautiful slice of America during one of its darkest times; showcases the inherent dignity of the human spirit -- even the poorest can be kings at heart. Sounds cheesy; is not.

(10) Runaways: Volume One by Brian K. Vaughan. This is a story about teen superheroes. The plot follows the members of the group, who are initially only friends because their parents are, as they discover their parents' nefarious ways and instantly band together in a newfound brotherhood/sisterhood … there are hints of romance as well as deception, as one of the teens might still be on the parents' side. The writing style is very modern and hip and peppered with allusions to real-life pop culture references – "You okay? You're acting all Keanu," "Okay, this is starting to get a little Eyes Wide Shut," "Wow, it's like a whole season of Antiques Roadshow in here," "Get out! That is so C.S.I.," and "You've been watching too many WB shows, bro," are just a few examples of these references that make the reader feel like these characters and their adventures really exist in the same world that the reader inhabits. The illustrations are true-to-life and do a wonderful job of conveying the wardrobes, hairstyles, accessories, etc. of the characters. The writing makes these teens sound like real teens; the art makes them look like real teens.

I guess I should say a little more about my all-time favorites.

Jimmy Corrigan. For the inexperienced graphic novel reader, starting this book is like leaping off the high diving board before learning to swim. The plot moves through time without clear transitions; generations and histories fold in and out of each other, and the reader must go with the flow rather than fight the current so that initial confusion dissipates, scales are shaken from the reader's eyes, and all becomes clear. The book's purpose is to explore wounds that fathers inflict on sons and the resulting scars carried for a lifetime and down into the next generation -- it's not only about fathers and sons, though – it is about loneliness and abandonment, the death of the spirit, and the salvation found in the tiniest moment's kindness.

Maus. The plot of this book weaves in and out of time as Vladek shares with his son Art his story of life before, during, and after the Holocaust. People are drawn as anthropomorphized animals (Jews as mice, Germans as cats, and Poles as pigs) who behave like human beings at their best and worst. Spiegelman set out to tell a Holocaust story but was also dealing with his heritage and working through the horrors and heroism of his parents' experience. Calling Maus "effective" is the understatement of the century. It is a book that cries out to be shared because of the lessons it teaches and the unique way it both breaks and uplifts the reader's heart. Its unforgettable power and singular place in both literary history and world history make it an essential read for all of humanity, if you're asking me.

Persepolis. I feel like most people are familiar with this book so I'm not going to say anything about it. It's really good, and you should read it. The End.

Fun Home. The plot primarily traces Bechdel's relationship with her father and how who he was shaped her into being who she is (and is not). It's sardonically funny and poetic, packing hard punches and eliciting gasps, sighs, chills, laughter, and tears from the reader – "Dad and I watched the sunset. It was beautiful. My father once came to blows with a female dinner guest about whether a particularly patch of embroidery was fuchsia or magenta. But the infinite gradations of color in a fine sunset – from salmon to canary to midnight blue – left him speechless." The art is black, white, and pale greenish gray, a color scheme that seems appropriate for the evoking of memory, and it incorporates realistic depictions of characters with pieces of memory, such as photographs and childhood diary entries. The book's purpose is to present Bechdel's upbringing through the lens of how she saw herself and her father in her childhood and perhaps for her to come to grips with his life and death. I've read three graphic novels so far in my lifetime that I consider masterpieces. Maus stands alone at the top of that list, but this (and Jimmy Corrigan) come closely behind it. This is not simply a great graphic work – it is a great work, period. It is a staggering achievement, and I will never forget it. Without question, it is an essential purchase for every public library on planet earth.

And ... I guess that's it for now.

Catching up

How can it already be Thursday? Flashing back ... I enjoyed my weekend. On Friday night, I watched the amazing mid-season finale of Battlestar Galactica. I woke up early on Saturday morning, went to the library, where let's face it I am going practically every day these days, and headed to the gym. I planned to walk briskly on the treadmill in my first visit there in eons, but after a five-minute warm-up I decided to try to run for a couple of minutes. And I ran for a little over a mile! It killed me, but I just kept going and told myself to suck it up. Then I walked some more. It was a great work-out, and I felt so proud of myself to know that I am still capable of running (slowly) and might even possibly be able to build up to several miles again. It was the best feeling I've had in a long time.

Then I went to the produce market and stocked up on butternut squash, acorn squash, little red potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, broccoli, brussel sprouts, onions, garlic, oranges, apples, bananas, green beans, whole almonds, and probably some other stuff that I'm forgetting! I know I need to eat more protein, and I'm going to work on that. I spent the next seven hours or so working on school work either at the coffee shop or at home, and then I headed to a different coffee shop for a game of Scrabble with a girlfriend. I tried to steam some green beans for dinner, but I let it go too long, the water all boiled away, and the bottom of the pan turned into a bubbly black mess. The green beans clearly did not taste very good. Oh, well.

On Sunday morning, it was time for brunch with the family. My brothers, parents, and I all loaded into one car and headed about 20 miles down river to the restaurant where B. and I ate a few weekends ago. We had a nice visit if you count all crying at a letter my dad wrote and read aloud about being a father as a nice visit, which I definitely do. (Of course my sister was very missed.) After brunch, I headed back to the gym to do the weight machines. When I logged in, the screen flashed ALERT! CAUTION! to warn me that I hadn't logged in for more than a year and a half. Nice. I did one set of 10 reps on each machine and it took every ounce of determination and strength in my body to make that happen. My muscles were quivering and my teeth were clenched and I still feel like I've been beaten about the arms and legs with a baseball bat. But I'm going to try to keep at it.

The rest of this week is blur of work and homework ... I've started referring to my graphic novels class in my head as The Class that Ate Summer '08. It's an unholy amount of work, and I'm just trying to keep up. Favorite new reads: The Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman (a zombie story with heart) and Astonishing X-Men by Joss Whedon (just because it's Joss) and Runaways by Brian Vaughan and Amelia Rules! The Whole World's Gone Crazy by Jimmy Gownley -- it was just really sweet and funny. I actually got up at six in the morning yesterday to Turbo Jam, which was unheard of, and I felt pretty great about it. I still don't have all the moves, but I think I'm getting a little better. I am slightly uncomfortable every time the teacher says, "Do you feel that? I know you feel that," but I laugh every time she instructs to "Make that W!" (with your arms) "...because you're a WINNER!" She is so upbeat it is unreal. But I like her, mostly. I am waiting to get the weighted gloves in the mail, so we'll see how that goes! I find that sometimes in bed at night I still hear echoes of the Turbo Jam music, like I used to do with the Super Mario Bros. 3 music as a kid, sort of like the way the bed rocks after you've spent the day on a boat. Last night I was lulled to sleep by the beat of "bump and grind, bump-bump and grind."

Last night I made a stir fry for dinner -- in olive oil, I cooked up red, green, and yellow bell peppers, tofu, almonds, broccoli, and carrots and ate it over a little whole wheat pasta. Yum! Overall, I am really trying to embrace this whole healthy routine and find that I am not even craving junk food because I am not nearly killing myself taking almost 400 stairs every morning just to squander that fitness on a goddamn Reese's peanut butter cup, you know?

I guess that's about it for now. I can't get my camera to turn on, and I miss taking pictures. It might be time for a new little pocket camera or time to buy a DSLR. I can't decide. So I just take blurry pictures with the iPhone and call it a day.

Meanwhile, I continue to love So You Think You Can Dance beyond reason and cannot understand why everyone in America doesn't start watching this show.

Fun Home

Boy howdy, but I've read some good books lately. First there was The Story of Forgetting, which I've already mentioned. And I just finished Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. Which I have to sincerely thank Leenie for recommending in a comments thread. It was -- wow. I don't even know where to start. It might be the best memoir I've ever read.

The way that Bechdel writes (and draws) the story of her childhood and the story of her family knocked my socks off. I felt my heart tightening the entire time with a sense of identification, not because my family or my life are anything like hers in any specific sense, but because she's that great kind of a writer that makes you feel that connection -- that intangible something that makes human beings feel connected to each other no matter how different they are. It gave me that feeling of I Am Nothing Like You, But I Am Just Like You, and How Did You Know How I Feel? And in addition to that nagging, longing feeling of identification and yes, yes, I understand this, the drawing and the words and how it all tied together between past and present and James Joyce and Colette and and Oscar Wilde -- it was just so damn masterful, heartbreaking, funny, and beautiful. See? Kind of hard to explain. But I loved it, and when I tried to start telling B. over sundried tomato pizza and pints of Blue Moon tonight how much I loved it, my eyes got teary and I couldn't find the words. Thank you again, Leenie.

The only other thing I have to say is that my Riggins shirt came in and I was a little excited about it.

Of late

Of late:

1.) It was five years ago or so when I first became obsessed with the song "Better Things," and I thought I'd since found every cover out there. But I just discovered a new one! It's by the Bouncing Souls. And it is awesome.

2.) I was watching the behind the scenes features of Enchanted, and I learned that some of the older folks dancing in the "That's How You Know" number are old-school Disney movie dancers. They did an interview with one of the guys, and it turns out he was one of the chimney sweepers in Mary Poppins. Then they showed him as the chimney sweeper. And it warmed my heart more than I can even say.

3.) I just finished The Story of Forgetting by Stefan Merrill Block, and it was really good. Here's what it made me think about: memory in general and memories specifically, mothers and children, fathers and children, love and loss, life and death. What I want to look back on my life and remember when it's time for me to die. Heavy stuff, but good stuff. Things that are important to think about. On top of that, it's just a really good story. Impressive & highly recommended.

4.) Stefan Merrill Block is the roommate and best friend of my friend Annegrrl, whom I first met in the summer of 2000 and like to romp around lovingly with when visiting New York. And EXCUSE ME, but they are in today's New York MF-ing Times. I started screaming and jumping around the living room and called her immediately, which might not have been a sane reaction, but I couldn't help it. She seems to be handling this much more calmly than I am. She is too cool for school. Love that girl.

5.) B. and I watched Lars and the Real Girl last night, which I've been waiting and waiting to see. Basically, it confirmed for me that there is nothing Ryan Gosling cannot do. (Read a great review here that really captures the feeling of the film.) Somehow this movie about a real doll ended up a sweet-spirited fable about what it means to be a nice person and help to heal the inner wounds of our fellow human beings, no matter how bizarrely manifested those wounds may be. I'm not sure how this film pulled that off, but it did. I thought it was brilliantly done, and it made me laugh and broke my heart a little bit.

6.) It's a beautiful day. The windows are open. The cats are sitting in the windowsills. I wish I were at Earth Day, but I'm writing a paper. But that's okay. My brother and I are going to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall later, and I can't wait.

Getting graphic

For a few months last year, I really loved going to the CLASS. It was called the CLASS in my mind because regular lowercased letters did not do justice to it. I loved the teacher, I loved the crowd, I loved the volume, I just loved it. Even though it was really hard and hurt a lot, I loved it. Looking back, I don't even know why I stopped going. I wish I hadn't. Anyway. Bygones.

So the other night a few girlfriends (one CLASS veteran, one newbie) and I decided to go back to CLASS. We knew it was a new teacher and were sort of sad about that in advance, but we had no idea that the CLASS would turn out to be the class. Instead of using the whole gym with 12 stations of 10-12 people apiece, only half the gym was used, with only 7 stations, with only 4 folks max per station. Where did all the people go? I guess they left when the teacher did.

The new teacher was perfectly fine in that he was superfit and pushed the group hard and all, but he did not tell randomly yell out, "LOVE YOURSELF!" or give us sweaty high fives when it looked like we might fall over and collapse. He just did not inspire the passion or the self-love that the other teacher did. He also wanted us to do lunges in a giant circle around the 1/2-gym with no alternative exercise, which I think is ridiculous. Part of what is awesome about the concept of this CLASS is that if you can't do what someone else is doing, you can always modify whatever equipment you're using (mat, bike, jump rope, bosu ball, whatever that heavy basketball thing is, those stretchy ropes, the heavy bars, I don't know the names of anything) to suit your own fitness level. I could not do all those lunges without my knees feeling like they were going to explode, so I would just go get water. Which kind of broke the spell and took me out of the moment. Anyway, it was very disappointing.

I did some Googling and found that the old teacher has started his own gym! Good for him, but it's kind of far away. Not so far that I might not try to go some time, though, just because that is how great of a teacher he is. OH, CLASS.

Meanwhile, because I am a nerd, I've decided to try to read some graphic novels in advance of the course I'm thinking of taking this summer. Let me preface this by saying that I've only ever read Persepolis and its sequel and the two Maus books and Autobiography of My Dead Brother, so I'm not exactly an expert of the genre.

First up was Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth because (a) it's one of the required books and (b) B. said it's awesome. And I have to tell you, that upon starting this book, I hated it. I hated it loudly. "This book is terrible!" I complained. B. told me to stick with it. But I had no idea what was going on, who was who, and when things were taking place, and what was real and what was imagined. Fed up, I went online to read a little about it. First, I saw that it has won multiple awards. Second, I read this, which said, in part, "Some pieces of art, literature and music survive into the decades and centuries to come. Among the bits of 20th-century knowledge that may make the leap are two collections of cartoons. One is Art Spiegelman's 'Maus,' a breathtakingly engaging and nuanced cartoon document of the Holocaust. Chris Ware's 'Jimmy Corrigan' is the other." Now, like I said, I haven't read many graphic novels, but the Maus books are beautiful, powerful, devastating, incredible works of art that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. So for someone to put Jimmy Corrigan in the same category made me think that maybe I needed to give this book a real chance.

And I'm very glad I did. Once I gathered from a few reviews that the book skipped around between generations and time periods and characters, I was able to understand who was who and when was when. I stopped and read the author's note in the back cover about his relationship with is father, or lack thereof I should say, and it added a whole level of sadness to the whole book as I read it. I stopped being frustrated and confused and realized I was reading something special, and I finished the book last night and plan to go back and re-read the first half. It's such a painful book, but it's so beautifully done. So, thumbs up. Difficult, kind of, but very good. It occurs to me now that both of these stories -- Maus and Jimmy Corrigan -- are about fathers and sons. Interesting. I had to get the latter via interlibrary loan because neither the public library nor the university library has it. Which is quite frankly bizarre considering that even though I'm new at this, I kind of don't see how a proper graphic novel collection is complete without it.

Today I tackled another of the required books, my first Manga. And based on how much I liked it, I hope it's my last. Oh My Goddess! Wrong Number. What? Why? No. It was not interesting, it was not compelling, and frankly it was sort of a spin on the whole male fantasy of a subservient female who, due to a magic spell, literally cannot leave his side and does things to save him, protect him, please him, and barf. I suppose it's possible that the (male) author was being ironic, but it doesn't really come across that way. Not that the male character really LIKES being waited on and tended to because gee whiz, she's such a trouble maker (see: Jeannie, Samantha Stevens, etc.) and she's so exasperating when trying to please him! But he is definitely sexually attracted to her and wants to sleep with her. And overall, I just found the whole thing annoying and gross. Maybe I just don't know enough about Manga to get what it's all about. But it was certainly no Jimmy Corrigan. And now I need to figure out what to read next.

What are your favorite graphic novels?

Misc.

Recently, B. and I were in my car, riding along behind a van with a bumper sticker on it that said, "I'd rather be in Puerto Vallarta." I said, "That guy'd rather be in Puerto Vallarta." B. said, "Where is Puerto Vallarta?" And said he thought it was near Baja or something.

I thought silently to myself, "They used to go to Puerto Vallarta on The Love Boat a lot." A beat later, B. said, "They used to go to Puerto Vallarta on The Love Boat a lot."

Battlestar Galactica: The Phenomenon is one of the more enjoyable things I've watched lately. I happened to flip to it and was so pleasantly surprised to see very random celebrities talking about their love of the show -- really their obsession with it. S. Epatha Merkerson? Check. Jesse L. Martin? Check. Brad Paisley? (??) Check. The guy from Anthrax? Check. Joss Whedon? Of course and check. And these aren't just casual fans -- these are people who truly know the show and love the show. And it was all edited together very brilliantly. FANTASTIC.

This guy takes beautiful photographs.

What else? Friday night: crawfish boil with B.'s school peeps. Last night: art show & ice cream. Today: a one-year-old's birthday party.

I'm thinking of taking a graphic novels course. It's a seven-week course, and in addition to other assignments like a paper and a presentation and an evaluation of a collection, it requires the reading of 10 books per week for a total of 70 books. Is this insane? 70 books in seven weeks? Can someone please tell me if this is even humanly possible? I checked out a few of the required books (the professor picks 10, we pick the other 60) yesterday -- the only ones the library had -- The Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnses by Neil Gaiman, The Originals by Dave Gibbons, Out from Boneville by Chris Ware, and Oh My Goddess (volume one) by Kosuke Fujishima. Where in this town are the students supposed to round up 70 graphic novels apiece? I'd like to think libraries but I don't really see that as feasible, and I don't really want to buy all those books. Still -- I see it as kind of a sick and sadistic challenge, and I'll probably try to do it.

Update

Ah, sweet blessed hay fever. The prickly eyes, the nose on fire, what a joy!

Update, update, update. On Friday night, I tried to overcome some of my hermit tendencies by attending a backyard happy hour. I drank 2 beers, and it was pleasant. I had to dash off for a semi-fancy pants party that was basically at a mansion because apparently lawyers make lots and lots of money. It was fun except for getting bitten by mosquitoes, although they did not ravage me as ferociously as usual. On Saturday, I took a mid-term first thing in the morning and fled my fun-filled neighborhood, exploding with green beer and beads, for the office, which was more than a little depressing. But those are the breaks! When I got off of work, I went to my friend’s house and was very entertained by her daughter singing the entire score of Annie while standing on top of her slide. Unfortunately this occurred in the backyard, which I think sent my hay fever over the deep end to depths from which I have yet to recover. B. and I met them later that night for Mexican food, where I ate a crawfish and onion quesadilla and drank a raspberry margarita so potent that I basically ended up in my friend’s lap telling her how much I loved her.

On Sunday, I went to the outlet mall with my mother, which is always fun. As usual, we listened to showtunes en route. She steered me directly to Kasper, where surprisingly a lot of really cute stuff was on sale. I cannot even tell you how many work clothes I was able to rake in for $250. The most I paid for a single item was $25 for suit blazers. Skirts – like, really fancy skirts that go with nice suits – were anywhere from $5 to $15. It was a beautiful thing! I will now feel like much less of a slob when it comes time to dress up at work. It was nice to spend some QT with her.

That evening, B. and I defrosted some vaguely disgusting lentil/brown rice concoction I made a few weeks ago and cooked some fresh asparagus and watched The Darjeeling Limited, which I thought was a total delight. And I finished re-reading Deerskin, which remains awesome. This is still my favorite part:

"Don't be too hard on yourself," said the Moonwoman, reading her mind, or the black and white shadows on her own face. "It is a much more straightforward thing to be a dog, and a dog's love, once given, is not reconsidered; it just is, like sunlight or mountains. It is for human beings to see the shadows beyond the light, and the light behind the shadows. It is, perhaps, why dogs have people, and people have dogs. But, my dear, my poor child, don't you understand that healing carries its own responsibilities? ... But you have not accepted your own gift to yourself, your gift of your own life. Ash is looking forward to running through meadows again; can you not give yourself leave to run through meadows too?"

I can’t believe Easter is this coming weekend and that I am both working and going bowling on Good Friday. I remember how we were never allowed to watch TV on Good Friday but our grandmother was allowed to watch The Young and the Restless and Jeopardy and it seemed so unfair.

Working a lot this week. Trying to accept the gift of my own life. I probably won't get the chance to run through any damn meadows, but I am looking forward to breathing in some fresh air this weekend.

Updatin'

Taking a moment to take a moment. I want to write down what's been going on lately or I will forget.

On Friday evening, B. and I tried a new restaurant in the crazy new living / shopping / dining compound that feels like something out of a cartoon. I had two strawberry lagers and crunchy rolls and edamame and miso soup because that is what makes me happy no matter what kind of sushi restaurant I'm in, and he had some kind of pasta with pesto and chicken and andouille sausage. Honestly, the avocado eggrolls with the honey cilantro dipping sauce might have been the best part. Also, it was freakishly cold that night.

I was a good student all day Saturday and headed out that night for an engagement supper for my co-worker's son. It is strange to go to weddings and wedding-related events for people when you don't really know them but know their parents. I've always felt very firmly that weddings should be about the couple's friends and not the parents', but I know that's not the way it is in real life sometimes. I love my co-worker a lot, so I went, and it was at a VERY FANCY HOUSE that felt like something out of a very classy episode of Cribs and I definitely enjoyed the wine, fried zucchini, pasta, salad, and bread pudding with bourbon sauce and visiting with co-workers/friends.

Sunday is a blur ... Sunday, Sunday. Oh yeah! I had a late morning coffee with my old friend Herpreet, and we had a great visit. She gave me a 33rd birthday gift that made me cry into my hazelnut latte right there on the patio. Sometimes it is very strange to think that I have now known people for longer than I was alive when I met them, and that applies not only to elementary school friends now but high school friends. Life is going by really quickly but I steel myself against panicking about it on a daily basis.

As for entertainment, I am loving Book of a Thousand Days by Shannon Hale, which is no surprise considering that I also loved The Goose Girl and Enna Burning. I have The Darjeeling Limited and Romance and Cigarettes from Netflix, but there's no telling when they'll actually be watched.

Work is hard, I might fail one of my midterms, and my house is DIRTY. But azaleas are blooming everywhere around me, and somehow that makes it all okay.

Update

The first thing I would like to say is that I have finished Rob's book. My friend Rob wrote a really, really good book. In case you've been holding out because you think you've already read his blog and it's just his blog on paper between two covers, you could not be more wrong. I couldn't put it down. Obviously I've been following Schuyler's story since she was in utero in Rob's blog, but the story in the book goes far deeper than that. It's beautiful, and it's just a fine achievement.

All I have to say about the Oscars is that I am sad that Hal Holbrook lost and so thrilled that Once won best song that I basically haven't stopped crying yet.

Their performance:



Their speeches.

(For more on the Oscars, go read Kymm's great-as-ever recap.)

I took charge of two giant and dead bushes, a lantana and a plumbago, in my front yard because the garden experts at the farmer's market told me to. "Just cut them all the way back to the ground!" they said, waving their hands dismissively in the face of my skepticism. "They'll grow back!" So that's what I did. And I scratched my arms up and there's now a giant pile of dead sticks on my curb.

I'd really been missing my friend Grace's semi-regular updates -- luckily she recently posted a link to where she's been writing lately. As usual, I am in love with every word she utters.

This weekend, B. and I went to Sunday brunch in New Orleans, where we hadn't been together since last fall, which is weird and wrong. It was fabulous, and it was great to meet his old friend who was in town for a wedding. We treated ourselves to mimosas and sazeracs and creole eggs benedict and seafood gumbo and really soft bread, and between the food, the drinks, the sunshine, and the jazz trio playing "A Kiss to Build a Dream On," it almost felt for a moment like neither of us is in school or working too many hours or doing anything else but relaxing like we used to spend every weekend blissfully doing.

Meanwhile, I turn 33 in two days, but that's too weird to contemplate this early in the morning.

Update

I worked 70 hours last week, something I hope not to repeat any time soon, though I might. That's nowhere near the number of hours some of my rockstar warrior colleagues worked, so I won't complain.

Here are some things that have made me smile recently:

Standing around the island in my friend's kitchen with her, her husband, her mom, her sister, and her four-year-old daughter as we adults started randomly singing "Dumb Dog" from Annie (her husband making the tinkly doo-doo-doo-doo background notes quite impressively) and the little girl just sat there looking at us like we were all nuts. I started laughing as we wrapped it up, and she said, "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" not unlike this kid, which just made me laugh harder. Then she said to me, "Why do you sing so weird?" and I just had to shrug.

Watching The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, which I found entirely hilarious and strangely riveting.

Going out for a nice dinner with B.

Seeing my mom's azaleas in bloom.

Hearing about how my dad cannot tolerate the small cups of coffee in Rome so, on a recent visit, brought several large to-go coffee cups from his favorite coffee shop here at home and took one with him every time he ordered coffee. He ordered a café Americano, an espresso, and a cappuccino and poured them all together into his large Styrofoam cup. At first he got weird looks from the locals, but then, he said, they began to envy his giant cup of coffee deliciousness as he strolled out with his cup. When they sat in the audience before the Pope, he aimed his camera at the man but not before placing his coffee cup on the railing. Coffee cup in the foreground, Pope in the background.

Hearing the theme music begin in the trailer for the new Indiana Jones movie. My sister says she does not remember the movies well; I do, especially the second and third - I think I spent a lot of time watching them at a friend's house. I am super pumped about this one.

Spending yesterday in its entirety with my sister on a warm and sunny Sunday. We went to see Definitely, Maybe, which was very sweet and cute, ate soup and salads outside on a nearby restaurant's patio, got coffee, walked to an estate sale, went to the bookstore and posed dorkily with Rob's book, drove around listening to showtunes, had heart-to-heart conversations, and went to the pottery painting place. It was very nice. Then we went to my parents' house for a dinner of shrimp & corn soup. Glorious!

Laughter & tears

Every once in a while we are lucky enough to make friends with someone who loves the same kind of books that we do and who sends those books bursting through the mail and into our hearts. Melissa is one of those friends for me, and her latest gift to me is a galley of My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins, and Fenway Park by Steve Kluger.

I feel like the author somehow saw into my mind and put everything into this book that would make it mean a whole lot to me. Like musical theater in all of its awesomeness and insanity and private musical theater jokes that make you feel like you're sharing a giggly secret with the characters who love musicals like you do. And deep and intense friendships between teens that remind me of my friendships at that time, several of which I'm lucky enough to still have. And the love of a really neat little kid. And not only Mary Poppins as a major plot point but the understanding of how important a movie it is and how important Julie Andrews is to humankind. And brothers who aren't related by blood but who are still brothers, just like my nieces aren't my nieces by blood but are still my nieces.

Last night my friend (who's been my friend since we were Annie's age) and I took her four-year-old daughter who is my non-blood-relation-niece to see Annie. It was the national touring company, and it was so fantastically top-notch in every respect. The cast, the production value, everything. It was so wonderful that even though it didn't end until 11:00 at night, this child fought with all of her inner strength to stay awake until the end even though her head and limbs were literally collapsing into themselves. I have known every note of every song of Annie since I was a little girl -- my sister and I wore out the Broadway cast album before the movie came out in 1982, and I remember my mom telling us sadly that it wasn't getting good reviews and we were like, so? Come on! We loved it anyway. My point is that it's not like Annie is anything new to me, but there was something about seeing a big professional splashing performance of it with my friend who's loved it for just as long as I have, if not longer, with her little girl sitting between us in a theater full of little girls that made me weep openly throughout the entire show. I don't know when Annie suddenly became the most poignant thing I've ever seen, but I couldn't help it. The moment when Annie came down the big winding staircase with her hair curled, in that red dress -- it was almost too much to bear. It made my heart explode with joy and my eyeballs explode with tears. It was such an iconic musical theater image and such a beautiful moment. And even though they were all singing about getting a New Deal for Christmas with all kinds of happiness and I was sitting there thinking about how world war was about to break out and was hearing Alejandra from My Most Excellent Year in my head telling me that FDR authorized the Japanese internment camps, I still loved it! It was awesome.

And then today, all afternoon, after a morning of revelry at a parade in the sun with B. on the most beautiful sunny day of 2008 so far, I got to lie on the couch finishing this wonderful book, and I cried and laughed out loud at the same time, and I was like, man. Sometimes I get so despondent for no reason with the weight of a crushing sadness and feel like the world is going to come to an end any day now, but weekends like this remind me that I am living the dream.

Stuff & nonsense

In case anyone was wondering, True Believer by Virginia Euwer Wolff was all I hoped it would be and more. It deserved the National Book Award that it won. I cried while finishing it in bed, lying on my side, until there was a pool of tears on my pillow. I mean, I don’t really know what to say other than that. It was beautiful, and I will now wait with bated breath for the final installation of this trilogy that I did not even know was a trilogy until last week. I have to know what happens to LaVaughn and Jolly.

Let’s see … I feel like this was a pretty excellent weekend despite the fact that the sun did not show its face until Sunday afternoon and Friday was one of the foulest days in history, weather-wise. We avoided the cold and rain Friday night by ordering Italian take-out and watching The Lookout, which was pretty good. On Saturday evening, we had dinner with B.’s friend from school and her fiancée. I drank wine and ate veggies with couscous and a giant plate of cheese fries, my first truly decadent gorging in a while. I’ve been pretty much overdosing on fresh fruits and vegetables from the produce market on a daily basis. I’m sure I need more protein but I can’t help it. I just want to eat satsumas and roasted sweet potatoes all day long.

On Sunday, I slept in and eventually got over myself and hit the road to exercise after a weeklong hiatus. It was GREAT. The sun was out. It was cold but not unbearable by any means. It was a wonderful day to cruise around the lakes. The opening piano notes and then the fiddle of the swelling opening notes of the Everwood theme filled my ears as I rounded a corner and was greeted by dozens of big white pelicans and life was beautiful. I even ran an extra five-minute leg at the end when I wasn’t required to. It was Brandi Carlile’s “The Story.” It just made me start running. Have I mentioned that I love her? Because I do. The fact that it’s January is going to mean going to the gym for some of these workouts even though I truly loathe it. But I have to do it. I felt so good when I was done; I have to overcome my laziness and remember that to feel that way again I have to actually do it again.

I read Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers. I have to say that I liked Ellen Emerson White’s Echo Company books a lot better (and I’m psyched to be getting the last two through interlibrary loan because not single library in this entire state carries them and they cost $1,000,000 used, practically). I listened to Boy Meets Boy, which is a cute book, but I think I am just fundamentally annoyed by audio books in general and would have enjoyed reading it more on paper. I'm in the middle of Maus II, which is good to kind of an unbelievable degree. Sometimes I have to stop and sit there and blink and just take it in.

Eastern Promises caused me to hide my eyes too many times for me to be able to recommend it.

Don't forget to watch Eli Stone tomorrow night! I guess that's it for now.

Make Lemonade

The bookcases in my room are mostly stocked with children's and young adult books I've read a million times. Paul Zindel, Lois Lowry, Jean Little, Judy Blume, Madeleine L'Engle, and so forth. Mixed in with the multiples by those authors are a few singles. One I hadn't picked up in years is Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff.

I couldn't sleep last night and could not get into the new book I was reading, so I pulled this one off the shelf and read for more than an hour past my bedtime. I just took a long bath and finished it and cried my eyeballs out. It is a beautiful and powerful little book, and I loved it a decade ago, and I love it still.

I first read this book in a multicultural adolescent literature class my first summer of graduate school. It was taught by the professor whose other class in adolescent literature I'd taken with my sister as an undergrad. That class had three sets of sisters in it, weirdly. My sister and I discovered a long lost cousin in that class as well. I could go on and on about how special that class was to me, but I won't right now. I'll just say that the fact that the same professor headed up the graduate program I entered promptly upon graduating from college was pretty much the reason I did it. I loved her. She taught me so much about teaching and about books. I was never the teacher I think she wanted me to be or half the teacher she was, but I still cherish all that she taught me, and it's books like this one that I'm so grateful to her for sharing with me.

OKAY, I JUST LOOKED THIS BOOK UP ON AMAZON IN ORDER TO LINK TO IT IN THIS ENTRY, AND I SEE THAT IT IS PART OF A TRILOGY. OH MY SWEET LORD.

And excuse me, but the second book won the freaking fracking National Book Award? And was a Printz Honor Book? Oh Jesus Pete, where have I been? Now I am crying with happiness! I do not see a third book, so I'm not sure why they're calling it a trilogy. Maybe the third book is still unwritten.

I just ordered True Believer. I am so happy. I love everyone and everything.

Day three

It's 6:59 in the morning. I managed to get out of bed, but I have now relocated to the couch and am having trouble forcing myself off of it. 25 degrees is too cold to face. I am pretending I don't have to be at work in an hour.

So, it's the beginning of the third day of the new year. 2008 was rung in quietly but happily. A matinee of Juno with Skittles and popcorn, then an afternoon of crock pot cooking and No Man's Land (excellent, thanks, Kymm) and Superbad (dumb but funny) and a bottle of red wine. I was asleep when the clock struck twelve, but I'm fine with that.

On New Year's Day, we watched yet another movie, The Bourne Ultimatum, and I jotted it down, hoping to actually stick to keeping my movie and book lists for 2008.

Last night in the tub, I finished What Gets Into Us by Moira Crone, which was very good, and then I tackled How Sassy Changed My Life. It really took me back to the days of Sassy. I have very vivid memories of lying around on my friend's bed reading it. I think she was the one who first discovered it; I'm not sure how. But I know we loved it from the start, and it meant so much to us. Reading this book was a nice way of learning that it meant the same thing to lots of other people. I also remember quite clearly getting the issue run by the new staff and being like, "What are you and what have you done to my Sassy?" It was kind of crushing, like the end of an era. This book was also enlightening relative to the boycott of the magazine and how it tied its hands when it came to sexual topics. I had no idea that ever happened. I was just happily reading it in my friend's bedroom and spinning my little REM record that came in one issue. I wonder if I still have that record somewhere? That I still have so many issues is one positive aspect of being a lifelong packrat. I don't see ever parting with them, honestly.

I am vowing to embrace the joys of this new year and focus less on the bummers. I really want to stop waking up in the middle of the night and using that time to fret, fret, fret the dark hours away. I want to be healthy and kind and energetic and creative and loving and have plenty of fun.

I guess I need to face the music and get up off the couch. I'll end this with a few pictures -- flowers by me, dogs by B.

Movies, thanks, etc.

Here's what I really wanted to be good: August Rush. Here's how good it was: not very. It was great to get the afternoon off and head to the movies with my little brother and eat Milk Duds (sort of good, sort of gross, as usual) and drink a frozen coke, but the movie was not so great. Keri Russell was luminous and radiant and gorgeous and wonderful as usual, and everyone else was good. Except for Robin Williams, who was awful. AWFUL. His performance: awful. His character: awful. The whole storyline involving him: awful.

With a bag of white chocolate peppermint Hershey's Kisses in hand, clearly there is only one thing to do tonight. And that is watch Hairspray. So I'm starting it, right, and the world's longest trailer is showing for The Golden Compass. I swear it's been on for like fifteen minutes now. And don't get me wrong -- it looks fabulous. And WOW, is Daniel Craig a perfect Lord Asrael or what? But it is also showing the entire movie. Perhaps they accidentally put an advance screener in the DVD case instead of Hairspray? I'm not sure. But I'm getting pretty fired up. I have very poor retention of books I haven't read a million times, even if I loved them, so I can't comment on whether this movie is faithful to the book that I loved with my whole heart. But holy mackerel, it sure looks awesome. (P.S. My mom's been getting lots of e-mails from religious groups saying that this movie is horrible and anti-God. She asked me if the book is anti-God, and I just said, "Um .... I don't really remember. Mostly it's just about a girl and a polar bear.")

I'm not sure how to explain the His Dark Materials trilogy to her when I don't completely understand it myself. Especially book three. And I'm sort of sad that there is religious objection to the movie, though I guess it doesn't surprise me. BUT, I can't imagine an anti-God movie being made that's being marketed to children at Christmas? Really? I just highly doubt that. I doubt that the film is remotely anti-God. I guess I'll just have to see it and see. It's mighty beautiful to look at according to this hour-long trailer I'm watching, that's for sure.

And now a Weepies song is playing in a JC Penney's commercial! ("All that I Want.") What the heck? Did they say, "Advertising agency music people: come and listen to our songs and put them in Christmas ads!" It is very mystifying.

B. is studying tonight. I am thankful that three Thanksgivings ago we had not met except over e-mail and that three turkeys later we are still together.

I am thankful for my brothers, both of whom I saw today, and for my sister, who'll be home soon, and for my parents, who are the two nicest people on earth. I'm thankful for my friends, near and far. I'm thankful for my animals and for my job and even school, which has driven me somewhat out of my gourd this semester. I'm thankful for the amazing little girls in my life whom I love like they are my own blood nieces. I am thankful for wonderful books (like The Incredibly True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie in case I haven't mentioned it which I know that I have because it is WONDERFUL) and wonderful movies and Mindy Kaling's blog.

I am lucky.

Things

1.) I can't decide if I liked The United States of Leland or not. Parts were really good; parts felt tacked-on and pointless. Good: Gosling, Cheadle. The rest: sort of unnecessary? Charlotte's Web ended up being really good and made me cry so hard at the end that Daisy became flustered and squealy and pawed me and pawed me in concern. And Miss Potter was a sweet and lovely if someone boring in parts little movie. My favorite part was when Ewan McGregor sang, no shock there.

2.) I just heard "Stars," one of my favorite songs by The Weepies or anyone, on an Old Navy commercial. I am not sure how I feel about this.

3.) I am positive about this: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie is a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful book. I just finished it and want to turn back to page one and start over. It made me laugh out loud and also hurt and filled my heart. The cartoons are brilliant. LOVED IT. If you need a book to give someone for Christmas, you should probably go ahead and give this one. Or The Book Thief. But The Book Thief is so devastatingly beautiful that I don't think you can give it to the faint of heart. My heart is still in pieces after reading that book, but in the best possible way.

4.) I am suddenly now seeing my sister on December 1 instead of several weeks later as originally planned and am close to freaking out about it. I already bought two six-packs of Christmas Reese's trees for us to break open in celebration in the airport parking lot.

And the Oscar goes to Hal Holbrook

Life has been going on.

I re-read Tiger Eyes (again). I read The Palace Thief, which had four really good and also really depressing stories in it. I was supposed to be studying at the library last night, but instead I wandered to a room full of children’s and young adult literature and scanned the shelves of my favorite writers. I came to Jean Little and let out a little squawk when I saw the spine of a book named Kate. Kate? KATE? Kate has her own book? I could not believe it. It is a sequel to my beloved Look Through My Window. I promptly e-mailed Lisa to inform her of this discovery. So instead of studying last night, I read the first half of the book. And it is so wonderful to be with Kate and Emily and Jean, James, John, and Anne again, only from Kate’s perspective this time instead of Emily’s. And I just finished The Road Home, which I liked very much. I’m not sure how I called myself an Ellen Emerson White fan for twenty years or so without ever reading this book. I thought a little about the character of Max in Across the Universe when I was reading it. And about China Beach. I guess I am lucky that all I know of war is what I see on TV or movies or read in books.

I saw not all but most of The War on PBS.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the latest Andy Samberg video. It’s one thing to make fun of GWB. But this very scary guy is basically our enemy at this point and we might end up going to war with him. Maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about The War, but it just seemed like a very modern and patriotic thing to do – to be able to be so crass and rude to this dictator and we have the freedoms that allow us to do that. I think I have dictators on the brain.

The War was harrowing and heartbreaking and sometimes very gross. But I think it was pretty great. I didn’t catch every night of it, but what I did see was good. Tom Hanks narrated newspaper articles written by a Minnesota reporter named Al McIntosh. I don’t know if it’s that the writings were really good or Tom Hanks just did a great job reading them, but every time he started talking, I immediately started boo-hooing. It reminded me of that part of Field of Dreams when Terrence Mann goes to hear about Doc Graham and the old newspaper lady reads his obituary and it turns out that she wrote it … Tom Hanks read that kind of writing by this Al McIntosh guy and it was just too much for me. It was kind of an overall weepfest, especially when old grandpas’ voices started quivering when they were talking about their experiences. A little American girl & her family were held among American and British “POWs” (they weren’t actually POWs, they were just normal people who were living in the Philippines when it got taken over by the Japanese) for several years in a shanty-town sort of POW camp there, and parts of her diary were read by a little girl narrator … I never knew about that … it just shows how widespread and truly world-wrecking the war was. It’s all very upsetting. It’s hard to explain. It blows my mind how many hundreds of thousands/millions of civilians got bombed to smithereens by the Allies both in Europe & the Pacific (not even counting Hiroshima & Nagasaki) and we were supposed to be “the good guys.” It’s a little much to take. I started thinking about The Book Thief. It was kind of a masterpiece, though, I think, and a staggering achievement. But I’m glad it’s over, because my eyes were starting to get bloodshot. I also think I need to start watching more sitcoms.

You can listen here to Tom Hanks as Al McIntosh. I still think about the people interviewed. Every time Sam Hynes would open his mouth, I would think, that is the most articulate man I have ever heard speak. I told B. that he talks like a writer. Well, duh. Turns out he’s not only a writer but professor of literature emeritus at Princeton. And because I am a total ignoramus and had no idea who he was, after watching him speak and share his experience night after night after night and being totally charmed by him, when the narrator said that Daniel Inouye got his Medal of Honor fifty years later as a sixth-term United States Senator, I burst into tears. I burst into tears throughout the entire thing.

Not to mention when Norah Jones sang as the credits rolled.

It’s been a while since I started this entry. I finished Kate, and I am with Lisa – it’s no Look Through My Window. Now I’m re-reading The Pigman, just because.

I went to see Into the Wild this weekend. I’ve never read the book, but my sister has, and I remember that she was very affected by it and she told me a lot about it. I don’t feel like I can really make a judgment about the guy; I didn’t know him and I don’t know why he did what he did or if he was just on a suicide mission or what. I don’t feel like it’s my place to decide whether the way he lived and died was right or wrong. All I can say is that it was a powerful and ultimately devastating film, and I’m glad I saw it. If Hal Holbrook does not win the Oscar for best supporting actor, I’ll think there is something very wrong in the world. A lot of things in this film moved me – the landscapes, the amazing nature photography, Emile Hirsch’s performance overall, Catherine Keener – but Hal Holbrook is who made me cry and cry and cry, and I was just blown away by him. HAL HOLBROOK, I LOVE YOU.

Update!

So life has been busy. I'm not even sure all that has happened since my last post. I read Celebrity Detox because I love Rosie. I've been doing lots of homework and studying and spending lots of hours in the library, which incidentally is a good way to confront germophobia because what is more germy than a library book? I don't know. I thought my only new show was going to be Dirty Sexy Money, but then I went and watched Pushing Daisies, and it won me over in all of about two seconds. Which leaves my old favorites: How I Met Your Mother, which has thus far this season not thrilled me one bit, Brothers and Sisters, which is still excellent though I wish Rob Lowe would cease being orange, and, of course, Friday Night Lights.

As I mentioned before, my brother and I worked ourselves into quite a froth about the direction the show seems to be taking, and I won't say any more about it because my sister is in South America and not watching it yet, but two episodes in, I have come to terms with it and have accepted it and am moving on because I am not going to let one plotline ruin the joy that this show has brought me since the first second it aired. B., who caught up with season one on DVD, thank God, pointed me to this article in The New Yorker, and it's all true. (Warning: Huge spoiler about the end of season one in that article.) Connie Britton was so good in this week's episode that I was laughing and crying at the same time and I am asking you, when watching a TV show that you love, what is better than that?

This week I have many things to accomplish: two midterms, a history presentation, a research assignment, and about six billion pages to read. But I am not thinking about that right now.

B. and I decided to take twenty-four hours to escape from school, the pets, the house, the everything. We headed to the big city, stayed at The Columns, and just spent some beautiful hours walking around the French Quarter and Jackson Square and the river while the sun went down on pretty much the most beautiful day we've had so far in 2007. We had sazeracs on the Columns patio, and we had sazeracs in the courtyard of Lafitte's. We stopped at the Clover Grill and split a grilled cheese sandwich and tater tots at the counter. We walked down to the river and watched a beautiful man playing the saxophone at sunset. We ate a feta cheese, roasted red pepper, red onion, and BACON pizza at Angeli. The next morning, we ate a Columns breakfast and went to Magazine Street to shop at Scriptura, and I lost my wallet somewhere, and that was the only bad thing that happened during the entire 24-hour period of bliss of no studying, no library, no barking, and no worries.

(Some photos from the getaway are in this set.)

Noted and cherished

I haven't been able to sit down and write about Madeleine L'Engle's death because every time I think about it I start crying. I tried to tell my mom about it on the phone the other night and I could barely get the words out. It is bizarre. But I really can't think of another artist who has touched me more deeply or for longer. I read my favorite books of hers over and over, and they are always both familiar and new. I just re-read Many Waters recently, and I've been itching to re-read A Ring of Endless Light, but the pages are literally falling out and it's not an easy thing to do, practically speaking.

I don't remember when I first started reading her. I know my friend read her first. I remember trying to read A Wrinkle in Time in grade school because a boy in my class was reading it and I did not have the faintest clue what was going on and I put it down. It was so far over my head at that point. This was maybe like third or fourth grade if my memory of what classroom I remember reading him in serves me. Anyway, I can only guess that I first read it in 7th or 8th grade? Friends who were there, do you have any memory of this? I know I was deeply entrenched in the Murry books in early high school. And then came A Ring of Endless Light, which I could not possibly love more and which fully made me believe that if I called to the dolphins in the Gulf when we were on summer vacation, and even as a grown-up staring at any big blue sea, they would come. I chose A Swiftly Tilting Planet in an adolescent literature class as the book to present that I thought everyone should read. For my master's project, I gave my subject the pseudonym Meg. I called her school Murry Middle School. I gave the girl A Ring of Endless Light when it was all over because she helped me so much with my paper, and I wanted to help her in return by giving her Vicky Austin.

I don't even really know what to say. These books have moved me, shaped me, in many ways raised me. The characters are almost like real people to me. And Glimpses of Grace has provided solace to me more times than I can even count. I consider her one of the great writers and great women of our time. I am so deeply sad that she will never write anything again. But I am so immensely grateful that through her writing she will live on. Kids will be picking up A Wrinkle in Time forever. It will probably end up on the banned books list over and over again. I think it's so ridiculous for that book to be challenged by religious groups when Madeleine L'Engle, much like Anne Lamott in my mind, is one of the most inspiring Christians ever to walk on the earth. It is such a blatant case of people jumping to ban something because it has witches in it without possibly having read it. Ridiculous. I can't even get started on this topic because it makes me so damn mad. Madeleine L'Engle was so tough, though. She was so funny and sarcastic and brilliant and strong. I read once that an astronaut carried A Wrinkle in Time into space during a mission because it was reading the book as a child that sparked her interest in astrophysics before women were allowed to enter the space program. Is that not the most awesome thing you have ever heard? (In trying to look up the astronaut's name, I just came across this. I can't wait to listen to it.)

I love A Wrinkle in Time mostly because of the way Meg loves Charles Wallace, the treasure of her heart, so fiercely that she loves him back into being himself. I love A Wind in the Door mostly because of what Proginoskes does in the end and also because reading it made me think for the first time about how everyone and everything are connected and because thinking about them being inside the farandolae inside the mitochondria was largely why I ended up really enjoying high school biology. I love A Swiftly Tilting Planet - maybe my favorite of the three - because of the awesome mythology of Charles Wallace moving through history within other people. I love the names in that book, I love the rune, I love the story of Calvin's mom, I love the unicorn, I love the changing of the might-have-beens, I love the whole damn thing. I memorized the rune as a kid and it's still stuck in my brain the way things you memorize as a kid are. I love Many Waters because Sandy and Dennys were finally given something to do other than grow vegetables. I love A Ring of Endless Light so much that I can't even put it into words. I love Vicky's relationship with her grandfather. I love Adam Eddington. I love Basil and Norberta and Njord. And I've read so many of her other novels but I love those the best. Some of my favorite copies of her books that I've collected include A Wrinkle in Time in both hardcover and paperback with this cover and an ancient copy of And Both Were Young. I have whole shelves of her books, fiction and nonfiction, and I love them.

I loved her. She opened whole worlds and universes for me. She made my imagination come alive. I am having trouble articulating what her books mean to me, what she has always meant to me. So I will let Vicky Austin say it for me.

The earth will never be the same again.
Rock, water, tree, iron share this grief
As distant stars participate in pain.
A candle snuffed, a falling star or leaf,
A dolphin death, O this particular loss
Is Heaven-mourned; for if no angel cried,
If this small one was tossed away as dross,
The very galaxies then would have lied.
How shall we sing our love's song now
In this strange land where all are born to die?
Each tree and leaf and star show how
The universe is part of this one cry,
That every life is noted and cherished,
And nothing loved is ever lost or perished.

Light

(This entry talks a little about The Road. I don’t consider what I say to be mega-spoilery – it’s nothing you wouldn’t gather quickly when starting the book or read in reviews, probably – but if you haven’t read it and are super spoiler-averse, you might want to skip it.)

There’s been a lot of crying these days. It seems to come and go. I cried at the end of The Road and The Lives of Others. I’ve cried during every episode we’ve watched so far of Friday Night Lights on DVD. I cried during multiple viewings of Paul Potts (thanks, Sally, for that wonderful link). I cried last night before going to sleep while trying to explain to B. how I want to try to spread light in the world.

I know that sounds stupid. But I’ve been thinking about The Road. Mostly about how the man and the boy could not ever stop to help anyone else. They couldn’t share food they needed to live. They might be attacked by the person asking for help. They had to be selfish to stay alive. Helping others meant hurting and possibly killing themselves.

I pass people asking for money at a certain stoplight I pass twice a day. They hold tattered cardboard signs that say they’re hungry and that they need money for food. Their clothes are torn and filthy. They are thin, and their skin shows the sign of exposure and sun. And they stand right outside my car window holding the signs while I sit at the red light and I just look away. And I don’t know why I do that. In the past, like years ago, I would sometimes drive straight to McDonald’s and buy a supersized meal deal and bring it to the person. I thought somehow that would help them more than a dollar. But sooner or later I just stopped giving anything at all. Maybe because seeing them day after day after day has desensitized me altogether. I don’t know what the right thing to do is. But yesterday something dawned on me and that is that it certainly does not hurt me to give one of these men or women a dollar. It does not mean I will go without. It would not endanger my own life like it would have the man’s or the boy’s in The Road. And maybe it would really help that person. I wonder if it is really up to me to decide what they need the money for. Do they want it to buy drugs or alcohol or cigarettes? Do they want it to buy lunch? An Icee? Shoes? How the hell am I to know, and who am I to judge them?

I want to be a more giving person.

Since January, I have held in my heart the story of a woman who was killed pre-dawn just outside her own home. I keep returning to the website set up in her honor – to see if her killer has been caught, to look at pictures of her and her husband and their baby and their pot-bellied pig. I never met them or saw them in real life, and I hope it is not intrusive that I have gone to the site and peeked in on the remembrances of her and tributes to her. I am so moved by the outpouring of love that has been shown on that website for her and her family. And the recurring theme, it seems, is that everyone saw her as a burst of light in the world. And I hope it does not seem like I am trivializing a stranger’s life or trying to boil her life down into some kind of simplistic nutshell. But what I take from reading about her and learning about her in whatever limited way something like a website can portray is that she was the sort of person I would like to be. Someone who welcomes people who need welcoming, feeds people who need to be fed, rebuilds communities that needs to be rebuilt, creates what needs to be created, loves life with all of her being.

The other day after work it was thundering and cloudy and suddenly not swelteringly hot, so I plopped down on my back patio after getting home from work and just felt the thunder roll in and called for my dog. Unbeknownst to me, B. was standing in the open doorway behind me taking photos. I have the luxury of sitting in my backyard calling for my dog with my nice boyfriend waiting inside after coming home from my job that pays me enough money to live comfortably. I feel like I should appreciate that more and be more of a force for good and light in the world. I don’t know how. But I know I want to try. In small ways or big ways, doesn’t it just matter that we try?

Not Laboring on Labor Day

Right now I'm sitting at the coffee shop with Herpreet. She's working on her laptop, and I'm working on mine. I'm not sure what she's listening to. I'm listening to Grease 2. It's not a bad way to spend part of a Labor Day afternoon.

My boyfriend is a deep thinker and has been having especially deep thoughts lately in the wake of his plunge into academia. Last week, I was only sort of awake when he started to intelligently explain Barack Obama's appearance on The Daily Show, and I actually interrupted him to say, "Yeah, that's sort of like Danny Tidwell on So You Think You Can Dance." Showing how nice he is, he nodded as if that were a totally apt and legit comparison.

I've found myself more than once recently talking about Wil Wheaton. "Well, Wil Wheaton says..." and he finally asked me, "Who is Wil Wheaton?" And I walked into my bedroom and walked out with the framed showcard I bought off of eBay with a framed picture. It's a piece of one of those big cardboard displays in the movie theater, the image of John Cusack and Wil Wheaton sitting on a bed in one of the flashbacks in Stand By Me. I pointed to him, "That's Wil Wheaton. Now he has a blog." And I really do enjoy it. It's weird sometimes to realize that the little boy who played Gordie LaChance, one of the characters that pretty much consumed my entire psyche throughout the entirety of sixth grade and who grew up to be a writer, is now a grown man and a writer. But he's a good writer and seems like a genuinely nice person, and there's something that feels right to me, in a corny way, about that.

Speaking of blogs, there have been two blogs I've been keeping up with this year that have moved me down to the depths of my being. This one chronicles a family's battle with lymphoma. Even though I don't know these people at all, I followed it so closely, hoping and praying for a good outcome and healing beyond the heartbreak they suffered. To read about them coming back into the light has been nothing short of inspiring. The writing on this site is some of the best I've ever encountered on the web. This one also has incredibly beautiful writing and tells the story of the birth of two babies and the survival of only one. It is hard to know how to describe these blogs because they involve struggles and heartbreaks of a degree I've never experienced and can't even imagine and I don't want to come off like a dork talking about how beautiful they are and how much they've moved me. I just am grateful to have been able to read them, really, and to have witnessed from a million miles away the beauty and the strength they have been able to express. I don't even know.

I watched The Pianist recently for the first time. It certainly was harrowing. Worth watching for this scene alone. {Warning: Huge spoiler in that link.}

Meanwhile, I have finally started The Road. I haven't gotten far, but I know I want to keep going. I just finished Daniel Isn't Talking by Marti Leimbach, which I thought was pretty excellent.

This week I've been spending a lot of time with my sister, which has been great. She came to exercise class with me and marveled at my ability to roll around in other people's sweat. She was proud of me. "It's definitely good germophobic therapy," I said. Class continues to be hard but fun. Sometimes I'm so tired during the cooldown that I almost fall over during the stretches. The other night a panting man saw me about to keel over and then right myself and he nodded in agreement. "Talk about spent," he said. I nodded back. Spent indeed. My sister and I went to Piccadilly for lunch, site of many childhood family meals. I ordered a side of orange macaroni and cheese and a side of orange baby carrots for my lunch and decided to drink some orange Fanta with my meal. The three went well together. It is impossible to quantify how much Piccadilly macaroni and cheese we consumed as kids. Back when they had the really delicious red punch, not the Hi-C fruit punch. Good times.

We had a party with all of her lifelong friends the other night before sending her off to South America, and we ate jambalaya and shrimp and brownies and it felt good to be in my parents' house with all of those old friends and their babies. So many babies! Wow.

Yesterday my boyfriend and I went to New Orleans together for the first time since he's moved here. We ate at our favorite brunch place -- he got debris and poached eggs and I got a bacon, arugula, tomato, and egg sandwich on focaccia. Later, we stopped for gelato (strawberry and chocolate hazelnut). Because it's so long, we've been watching The Lives of Others in installments. I thought the first 15 minutes or so were sort of boring, but now I'm hooked.

What else? I'm liking my classes so far. The material is alternatingly mindnumblingly boring and very interesting. I guess all of grad school might like that, no matter what you're studying.

Jessamyn and Grace have been schooling me a little bit on the ways of the Canon Digital Rebel. I borrowed B.'s and tried to do a little shooting with it. My main goal was to be able to shoot at my sister's party indoors without using the pop-up flash that comes with the camera. It was not a completely successful mission, but I learned a bit about apertures, shutter speed, and ISO and just knowing a little tiny bit makes me want to know a lot more. Mostly I just want to be as good a photographer as those two ladies even though that will likely not happen in this lifetime. Here are a few shots that I like even though they're nothing sensationally arty.

Needles & Nicola

I’m getting a little sick of the needles, to tell you the truth. One arm got stuck with a tetanus shot and one with a meningitis vaccine, and OW. They both hurt like they were hit with a billy club. I can barely lift either of them. I think it’s getting a little better, but I am a side sleeper, and I haven’t been able to sleep on my side for the past two nights, and that makes me unhappy indeed. And this morning I got a TB skin test, which wasn’t too bad but also not what I’d call a delight.

I reread I Capture the Castle recently, and it was as wonderful as ever. I lifted my boycott of the movie and actually bought it since neither Netflix nor my local video store carries it. I was really skeptical of Romola Garai as Cassandra after realizing she was the lead in Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights, but then I found out that she played the friend in Vanity Fair and I remembered liking that performance, so I gave it a go. I was really interested in seeing Bill Nighy as Mortmain, and that was what cinched the deal when it came to my viewing of the movie. Here are some random thoughts: Marc Blucas has no charisma. He never has, and I doubt he ever will. I could not stand him on Buffy, and he was certainly not as dashing and semi-devilish as I always pictured Neil to be. But he was okay. Not terrible. Handsome, but blandly. Not exactly a nuanced performance. As for Henry Thomas as Simon – in the book it’s pointed out that since Neil is from California and Simon is from the East Coast, they speak differently – and Henry Thomas does definitely sort of speak in a very refined and proper way. It’s kind of annoying, I have to say. I really, REALLY loved him in Legends of the Fall (it’s true) and God knows he was a genius in ET – seriously (watch his ET audition here – it’s sort of devastating) – but he did not do a whole lot for me as Simon. I remember being confused in the book as to why Rose and Cassandra were so horrified by his beard – I always thought, what is the big deal about having a beard? But in the movie, it is clear why they were horrified. As I told mo pie already, it is a heinous, hideous goatee. Maybe it turns out that I just kind of hate the character of Simon and think he is unworthy of either Cassandra or Rose. Topaz was not like I pictured her, but the actress was good so I got over it. Rose Byrne was actually excellent as Rose and cried and emoted very well, but I was pretty distracted by her wig. Cassandra was very well played by Garai. Bill Nighy as Mortmain – well. I’m just not sure. I guess I liked him. I think Stephen is supposed to be blond. The book says that he sometimes has a daft look about him, so I pictured him sort of as a Chris Klein type. He’s got brown hair in the movie, and the actor playing him does a nice job.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the movie. So I sat down to watch the commentary, and that made me like it more. It made it clear that the film was very lovingly adapted, cast, and made by people who were definitely aware of the magic of the book and how deeply it is loved. So – I am going to give it a thumbs up. No movie based on this book could ever truly do it justice, but this one is a respectable effort. The castle and the scenery alone make it worth watching, I think.

Meanwhile, The Best of Youth is a good six-hour Italian movie if ever there was one, but my boyfriend’s hard drive died while we were watching it on an airplane so part of me will never forgive Matteo and Nicola for that. The computer place said his data=irretrievable so they replaced the hard drive. We still might try Drivesavers or something per Amanda Page’s suggestion because I refuse to give up hope yet. Meanwhile, he can’t get his iPod to sync up or whatever you call it now that the new hard drive is in. His iBook is from 2005 (or something) and the newer versions of iTunes are screwing it up. Like, his relatively new shuffle needs one of the newer versions of iTunes, but only older versions are simpatico with his operating system? I feel like I am speaking a foreign language so I might not be using the right words. I am not exactly sure what the problem is. Has anyone ever dealt with this before?

Meanwhile, my new favorite bookcase:

Mix Tapes

Sometimes when someone has a crush on you, he'll make you a mix tape to give you a clue.

I'm in the middle of reading Love Is a Mix Tape by Rob Sheffield. I can't remember who first recommended it, but whoever you are, thank you. I love it.

I love it so much so that I stopped at the drugstore this morning and bought myself a walkman so I'll have some way to play the old mix tapes I dug out from three full shoeboxes on the top of my closet last night. Mix tapes by me, mix tapes by others. For some idiotic reason that escapes me and makes me want to go back in time and kick my own ass, many moves ago, I decided to trash all the cases with their carefully numbered side A and side B songlists and just keep the tapes. Many of whose labels have worn off, so I'm not even sure what a lot of them are. I remember many by the color of the sticker or the look of the tape even when the writing is long gone. I knew them all so well.

Sadly, I forgot to buy batteries. Walkmen take batteries. Oh yeah. So I picked some up on the way home from work, and here I lie on the couch. The first tape I have chosen was the mix Shelley made me when we graduated from high school. Side B was cued up and ready to go, so I started with that. I've made it through the first four songs so far:

1.) Give It Away by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

2.) These Are Days by 10,000 Maniacs.

3.) There Will Never Be Another Tonight by Bryan Adams. (AWESOME)

4.) The "Lloyd, Lloyd, All Null and Void" clip from Say Anything. (Scroll to about 2:35 in this clip to hear it.)

It is so wonderful to revisit these songs that I am laughing and crying at the same time. I haven't had a tape player in my car since the fall of 1999 or a working tape player in my house since God knows when, so I haven't heard these tapes in so long. Some of them date back to 1987-88. I labeled them with things like "Eliz.'s Fave Songs 88: DON'T ERASE!" with the bright blue fountain pen I got for Christmas. I cannot wait to find out what is on that one in particular.

In the shoebox was the first tape I ever bought: Madonna. The first Madonna. I was with Shelley and her dad when I bought that one, I think. Circa 1983. How is that even possible? How did I know about Madonna when I was 8 years old? I almost tossed it last night, but I noticed there is scotch tape over the little squares, tape I must have placed there in order to tape over Madonna. What's on that tape now? I have no clue. But I will find out soon.

5.) "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls. The cornerstone of hundreds of break-up tapes. Thousands. Millions.

6.) Variations on the Kanon by Pachelbel by George Winston. Probably the hardest song I ever taught myself on the piano. I wore out this song trying to learn it, not realizing it wasn't the actual proper "Pachelbel's Canon in D." What is up with spelling it with a "K"? No idea.

I have mix tapes from my older brother and my sister. My little brother: born too late for mix tapes. I have mix tapes from my friend A., who always alternated songs by male and female artists, who always titled the tape with a line from one of the songs, who always typed her labels on the typewriter because her handwriting was so atrocious. I have mix tapes from my old friend J., which we exchanged like letters.

I wonder how many batteries playing all of these tapes is going to use up.

7.) Part of Me, Part of You by Glenn Frey. (From the Thelma and Louise soundtrack.) Whatever time may take away, it cannot change the way we feel today. Very big sentiment with the graduating sector as I recall.

8.) Love Theme from St. Elmo's Fire (For Just a Moment) -- But you and I will never really end, we'll never love again like we did then. I think graduation must have made us cry a lot.

9.) You've Got a Friend by James Taylor. But of course.

10.) Pray for Me by Michael W. Smith. One of our songs from camp. I still think this is a very beautiful song, I have to say. It caused many hiccups and sobs at camp's end, that's for sure. Painted on our tapestry, we see the way it has to be, weaving through the laughter and the tears. But love will be tie that binds us to the time we leave behind us, memories will be our souvenirs. And I know that through it all the hardest part of love it letting go, but there's a greater love that holds us. That is pretty right there. Damn. End of side B.

And on to side A.

1.) Baby Got Back by Sir Mixx a Lot. Lovely.

2.) Broken Arrow by Rod Stewart. Junior year of high school, I bought this tape for Maryelizabeth because she expressly asked for it. She, Shelley, and Josh sat on my parents' couch as we exchanged gifts, and she opened this and said, "Rod STEWART? What was I on when I told you I wanted this?" Pan right to Josh. (I was videotaping.) He said disdainfully, "Who else is gonna give you a broken arrow? Who's gonna bring you a bottle of rain? What?!" And flipped his hair, full of hatred for Rod Stewart and possibly all of us. And we laughed about that for the next few, I don't know, years. And that is why this song is on this tape.

3.) Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams. Two songs by Bryan Adams! Wow. We were young and restless, I guess, and needed to unwind.

4.) Circle by Edie Brickell. This song is very depressing. (Sha la la la la la la la la.)

5.) Beat on the Brat by the Ramones. Oh yeah, oh yeah, uh oh. I am not sure why we loved this song so much; I still love it.

6.) Southland in the Springtime by the Indigo Girls. Still love this one, too. (Part of the song.)

7.) Cheeseburger in Paradise by Jimmy Buffett. Not sure what this is about; I think it was related to a spring break we took to Destin junior year when our friend's mom called us hussies and said when we gave our room number to the parasailing guy that we might as well have given him our panty sizes. I remember listening to this song on the way to that trip.

8.) Strongest Weakness by Wynonna. I'm not sure why this was on this graduation mix. I think we might have liked this as a break-up song. Shelley, do you have any memories of this?

9.) Born to Be My Baby by Bon Jovi. I think this song got put on here because I LOVED it. I always thought it was a very underrated Bon Jovi song, and I think I used to proclaim that a lot. All I can really say about it at this point is "light a candle, blow the world away / table for two on a TV tray." (Video.)

10.) Out of the Blue by Debbie Gibson. Wow! This one surprised me. I didn't remember this being on here at all. But I am very glad it is. This entire album was very big with us in seventh grade. I could not help myself and just sang it very loudly, and it scared Marley, and she propelled herself off the couch in flight, scratching my foot along the way. Damn you, Debbie Gibson. (P.S. Still love this song, as it turns out.) (Video.)

11.) Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants. I don't know how this song entered our life, but thank God it did. (Video.)

12.) Romeo and Juliet by the Indigo Girls. Loved it then, love it now. I associate this song with daiquiries and cigarettes and singing loudly in cars -- many, many cars.

It was very traumatic when Maryelizabeth and I sent Shelley off to college. We spent the night together at Maryelizabeth's house the night before and sent her off in her Saturn. Maryelizabeth left later. We are still friends, through it all, now. We are scheduled for a three-way call tomorrow night. We are lucky.

I wonder if people still have the mix tapes I made for them.

EEW dot com

Alert! Ellen Emerson White's offical site is now up and running, and it looks great.

It features the cover art of the new book for those who've been wondering about that.

And for those who missed it, there was some activity in the comments featuring EEW herself as well as some information about Long May She Reign.

Frogs and falling chocolate

Life is going on. I stayed home on Friday night and did a week's worth of chores in one night and watched Dragonfly upon my parents' recommendation. I will not pass the same recommendation on to you. We usually have fairly similar taste in movies, but this one is just bad.

I woke up early on Saturday morning, stopped for a frozen coffee, and headed north to see my boyfriend. We ate pasta with walnut pesto for lunch and went to the grocery store to stock up on food for our canoe trip later that night. We spent part of the afternoon watching The Good German, which had cool lighting and a neat style but was mostly a bore. That said, Cate Blanchett remains unbelievably stunning and amazing to watch. This movie looked like a series of very beautiful black and white postcards, but the story never grabbed me.

We had a good time canoeing though this trip was somewhat less exciting than the last. I really enjoyed eating our sandwiches in our boat as the sun set. My favorite parts of this trip were the two frogs who hopped on board, Fritz and Ferdinand, the latter of whom spent much of the ride perched on my boyfriend's knee. And it was cool to only be guided by starlight since there was no moon.

We had an excellent brunch Sunday morning ... a mimosa, great Nicaraguan coffee served in a French press, soup with pesto and orzo, grits with veal grillades, and warm bread pudding with sugared pecans and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. It was pretty much ecstasy on a table. And seeing a little about how they do things there make me like it even more in retrospect.

I would like to randomly point out that I predicted before Rosie even joined The View that things between Rosie and Elisabeth would end badly. I remain somewhat obsessed with how suddenly things spiraled into such ugliness at the end, and I stupidly keep watching the show because of guests hosts like Kathy Griffin, whom I love. Damn you, The View.

I stopped at Maryelizabeth's house on my way home yesterday and hung out for a while. Her baby is a ball of cute with black hair and blue eyes, just like her three-year-old was. I actually strapped the two-month-old in the baby carrier and toted her around the grocery store on my chest, which was amusing. I have to say, it's pretty astounding to see my friend with these two little girls, juggling them and wrangling them like a champion. I am sure it's not easy, and I give her props for remaining upright. Meanwhile, our mutual best friend Shelley is moving to Hawaii in six days to take up residence with her fiance, Bachelor Andy and Tessa, and the cast of Lost. Holy shit!

Between watching The Good German and reading the amazing The Book Thief, I've been consumed with all things German lately. I recorded American Experience: The Berlin Airlift, and it was pretty fascinating. I'd never even heard of it. The entire time I was reading The Book Thief, it occurred to me that I never really gave much thought to the ordinary German people during World War II. As for the characters in the book on Himmel Street, they were just poor people trying to survive and eat and who truly lived in fear of not joining and following "the party." They weren't evil, murderous people who wanted to annihilate Jews and take over the world even though they were "Heil, Hitler"-ing with the best of them. Disclaimer: I am going to sound very simpleminded and like an elementary school child when trying to explain this: it made me wonder if somewhere in my mind, not really consciously, but if somewhere in my mind, I grew up villainizing a whole country of people, imagining them all as wicked and evil, because of what their leader did. I honestly don't really think I ever thought about anyone in Germany at that time except for Hitler and the Nazi party officials and the SS. But what about the people who were just trying to live, keep their jobs, afford bread, and not freeze to death, and whom we bombed to rubble? And my boyfriend pointed out that much of the world probably thinks the same way about us. Not that George W. Bush is Hitler or that what he's done is like what Hitler did, but he's certainly no peach and we've just sat back and let him continue doing and saying one stupid-assed thing after another.

Anyway, my point is that the show about the Berlin Airlift just drove home a lot of the thoughts I had while reading that book. The people in Berlin were starving and their city was crushed and divided, and they needed help. And so for whatever reason -- out of the goodness of Truman's heart or because he wanted to be reelected -- whatever the reason, this huge operation was undertaken to feed them. And the kids on the show talked about how the sound of American and British planes overhead was once the terror of their lives -- just like in The Book Thief -- and now all of a sudden they had to wrap their minds around the fact that when they heard these planes, they did not have to fear for their lives and hide in the basement until the all clear because it was now a friendly sound and chocolate bars would fall from the sky. Can you even imagine? And the American and British pilots talk about how they didn't have warm feelings towards the Germans because they were the enemy, after all, right? But when they landed with the food, they saw that they were just normal people, some of whom even ended up being mechanics on their planes so the project could keep going and succeed. They were like, hello, we were just blowing each other up a few months ago, now let's work together and make this work.

It's just a lot to think about. I saw photos of these kids and I thought about Leisel and Rudy in the book and it was like fiction and reality were colliding in my mind and heart. And the show talked a lot about the splitting of the city into the four quadrants and now all of a sudden Russia became the enemy and look, half a century of fear or more death and horror started and a wall was built and what the hell? It makes my head hurt and spin a little and wish I had taken a lot more history classes. I mean, my God, I think I took something like 8 or 9 of them in college, but not really from this period. And I kick myself for that. And now I have put truly an inordinate number of World War II documentaries into my Netflix queue. And I really, really, really want to go to Berlin.

Strawberry love

I spent the weekend out of town at my sister's law school graduation. It was a whirlwindy but very fun weekend. It involved eating both local and national chain pizza and sushi. And watching The Office and laughing as my brother declared he'd rather die of tetanus than hang out in the emergency room. (He cut his foot by kicking the corner of a low-lying heater in her apartment.) And going to the student health center instead for his shot and killing time in the waiting room discussing the presidential candidates, abortion politics, the Rosie vs. Elisabeth feud, and the ins and outs of Lost. And going to a big family reception with an amazing buffet spread and greeting and meeting my sister's friends and professors. And eating gelato and Italian ice. And it was, for the most part, a very merry time. (We missed having my older brother there; his stand-by ticket plan didn't work out.) My sister looked radiantly lovely, and we were all very proud of her.

(Speaking of Rosie, I love what Nora Ephron wrote about her leaving the show.)

And we saw Waitress, which I loved and adored, and whose song I cannot get out of my head to save my life. ("Gonna be a pie from heaven above, gonna be filled with strawberry love.") It was so simple and funny and sweet. I think I loved it more than they did, because when I announced that I thought Keri Russell deserved an Oscar nomination, my sister looked at me like I was nuts. I loved watching Adrienne Shelly talk about how the movie is a love letter to her daughter, though that makes me unspeakably sad.

I also read two books during two very long days of travel. What Is the What was quite good and intense, and I'm very glad I saw Lost Boys of Sudan before reading it because I think it really informed and enriched my reading experience. I read it on the way there and would not shut up about it while my sister and I spent a while waiting for her car to be washed to the point where she drove us to the bookstore afterwards and bought it for her human rights professor.

On the way home, I read The Book Thief. I hadn't cried so hard while reading a book since my last airplane emotional breakdown, which was coincidentally also on the way home from visiting my sister. This was a very similar weeping extravaganza. I blew my nose into napkin after napkin from Au Bon Pain, and the woman next to me in the Chanel sunglasses kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye and shifting away from me uncomfortably. But I could not help it. I was so moved that what started as quiet tears running down my face dissolved into hiccups and blurred vision and whimpering and a runny nose, and it went on for page after page after page. I put my head in my hands when I finished it and kept on crying, partly because it was so beautiful and partly because I was so sad that it was over and I was leaving Leisel and her dreams and Papa and his accordion and Rudy with hair like lemons and Max with hair like feathers and Rosa and her curses behind.

I made the mistake of reading a few less than raving reviews of the book when I got home. I decided to ignore them and write the reviewers off as insane. I think I'm going to stop reading reviews of any book or movie I love because there's just no damn point. If they're positive, great. But if they're even remotely negative, I get irrationally protective and defensive and then secretly wonder if I'm crazy to have loved it. In this case, I know I am not. Sure, I can see why some of the aspects of the book would be annoying to some, but they worked for me. I loved the story and the characters so much that I don't care that the author employed some unusual and possibly gimmicky methods. It moved me utterly and profoundly, and I will love it forever.

Now I'm home and settling back into real life. My brother sat behind Lance Bass at Les Miserables last night. And here are some pictures.

(a little excited about her Friday Night Lights shirt)


(making his best Jim Halpert face)


(pretty building)

(posing for one too many pictures before heading to the reception)


(giant piles of sushi at the reception buffet)

(the graduate and me)

Jam-packed

This was a pretty jam-packed weekend, I cannot lie.

On Friday evening, my friend and I went out to an art hop, each having a cocktail and walking through various shops and galleries. We met her husband for dinner and each had a raspberry margarita, which I hadn't had in ages and which was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. My crawfish burrito wasn't bad, either.

The next morning, I got up early and dropped off a bunch of giveaway stuff to a local charity, got a frozen coffee, stopped at the spa to buy my mom a pedicure gift card, and got my hair cut. That afternoon, I babysat for my friend's three-year-old and six-week-old, which was fairly uneventful except for the three-year-old's hiding under a blanket during the prologue of Beauty and the Beast and announcing loudly, "I DO NOT LIKE THIS MOVIE." She later explained that the part that sent her over the edge was when the Beast scratches the picture of him as the prince with his claws. We then watched part of Toy Story 2, The Velveteen Rabbit, and Lady and the Tramp. The newborn was pretty sedate and chilled out except during her diaper change, when she screamed so loudly I thought the windows might shatter. She immediately went into a blissful swing-induced nap after that.

That evening, I took my mom out for a Mother's Day dinner. We had a nice and fairly intense talk. Somehow we got onto the subject of how one of my deepest sources of anxiety and grief is thinking that my parents are worried about me, worried about their kids, and I felt compelled to assure her that no matter what happens to us, we will all be okay. We have each other, and we have them, and they made us strong. She said that was the best Mother's Day gift she could ask for. She shared how it is easy for parents to become obsessed with their kids' choices and become convinced that what they wanted for their own lives and what they need to be happy is also with their kids will need, but that she has learned gradually that what they need is not necessarily what we need and that they have no control over their children's choices. Like I said, it was intense. But good, ultimately, I think. Our waitress, I swear to God, was on speed and that was kind of nerve-wracking, but our food was excellent.

On Mother's Day morning, we ended up going to three different restaurants for lunch because wait times were so insane. My dad said, "Why don't we just drive up to New York and have lunch with your sister? It'd be faster." (My sister moved to New York yesterday; wow.) We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and I gave him some of these coasters, which he really liked. We settled in for a Greek and Lebanese feast, where my dad amusingly ordered a cheeseburger on whole wheat pita bread.

After lunch, my mom suggested that I come over to watch The Heart of the Game with her and I said sure. It was just as good the second time around, and she loved it. During the movie, we passed back and forth my dad's giant plastic bubblegum tub that he filled with chocolates for the class he teaches in wrappers in the school colors, which was enjoyable.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching Music and Lyrics ... it was pretty dumb, but it had its cute moments, and I actually liked the music a lot. Seeing Jason Street as Hugh Grant's partner in the Wham-like 80s group was admittedly hilarious. (You can watch the video here.)

The bulk of the rest of the weekend was spent reading Ellen Emerson White's new book, Long May She Reign (the galley). All 708 pages of it, thanks to Melissa and her connections. I will save my "review"-like comments for when the actual book comes out in October, but I will say now that I never thought that I would see these characters in a new book, and the mere fact that one was written is thrilling. It was great to see Meg and the rest of the Powers family again, and Preston and Beth. I could say a lot more about it, but like I said, I think I should wait until the finished version is released.

Last night my boyfriend arrived safe and sound from his backpacking trip in the Smokies. He did not see any shooting stars, but he saw fireflies. Also, bears.

I wish I could tell you the story of my little brother in Vegas, but I don't think I can. Suffice it to say that it left my entire family in an ecstatic frenzy of text messaging, phone calls riddled with guffaws and screams, and hysteria.

My friend, the author

Today I was lucky enough to attend a local book signing by my friend, Toni McGee Causey. Toni and I first met in early 2001. We went to see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I was impressed by her then, and I'm even more impressed by her now. I'll never forget the e-mail that Toni sent to me on my 26th birthday.

For more information on her new novel, go here. It was great to see the crowd at the book signing event and visit a little with Toni's super swell husband, Carl. Toni looked over the moon, and deservingly so. I am so happy for my lovely and talented friend.

Enjoying

This lovely entry by Chiara.

The return of Elizabeth of Abeyance.

Mark Erelli. Especially his cover of Shawn Colvin's "I Don't Know Why" (which made me cry the first time I heard it and which you can hear here) and Deb Talan's "Comfort."

Counting the days until the release of Waitress. Felicity Porter and Captain Tightpants sharing the screen? It's too good to be true. I must be very emotional these days, because this review made me cry, too.

This poem as posted by Grace.

The fact that Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White is now listed at Amazon. (Thanks to Tiffany for letting me know.)

That Toni's book is now out for all the world to enjoy. I can't wait to read it.

Edited to add: this wonderful clip, which goes out to my sister.

Catching Up

I feel like I have to catch up now or I never will.

When we left off ... I went to my crazy exercise class twice last week and headed to see my boyfriend on Thursday afternoon since we were off on Friday. We had a nice dinner ... I had a salad with grapefruit slices in it and penne pasta in meat sauce. I hardly ever eat beef so it was a strange experience but also satisfying. We had some sort of scrumptious fruit and angel food cake concoction for dessert.

On Friday morning, he had a doctor's appointment so I went to La Madeleine and read Grace Eventually for a while and then walked up and down the street car line talking to Shelley. We stopped for pastries, and then later we split yam and chicken soup and the barbeque shrimp po-boy for lunch, and he headed to band practice.

I amused myself by enjoying some gelato and reading my book. Then I headed to City Park, where I sat on a bridge and read even more. While I was sitting out there, I knew that deep down my mom was probably distressed that I did not attend Good Friday services of some kind, but I felt more connected to whatever higher power there might be by sitting outside with an Anne Lamott book on a bridge in the sunshine than I would have sitting in a somber service on a beautiful day. I wished I could tell my mother that. And that she would understand.

We reunited and played a game of Scrabble in which he scored almost 500 points. We got Chinese take-out for dinner, and he headed to his gig. My little brother arrived and we headed to the Quarter together and had a great time at the gig. My boyfriend is definitely a fine rocker.

We turned in as early as possible and got up early for the race. I decided not to run, and I'm glad I did, because it was really stupidly cold. My boyfriend ran very well, making it into the top 350 of more than 15,000 runners. We had brunch ... I enjoyed my shrimp and cheese omelet, and he had strawberry waffles.

We got him home, which involved me following him on his motorcycle and having panic attacks, and eventually I headed home also. Thankfully I borrowed his CD of The Partly Cloudy Patriot to make the drive fly by. I am so in love with Sarah Vowell.

On Easter Sunday, I went to mass with my little brother. There were lots and lots of little babies and kids, and we weren't too thrilled with the musical selections. I really do like singing the songs at church, except for when they suck. Who picks a bunch of minor chord songs for Easter Sunday? Idiots, that's who.

My boyfriend drove in and we met up at my parents' house for lunch. My mom made crawfish etouffee, corn, spinach pie, fruit salad, honey baked turkey, and cabbage crunch salad, and my boyfriend supplied the homemade bread. It was a great lunch to be certain.

Last night I finished Grace Eventually in the tub. Thanks again to Grace for the gift. There is really nothing I can say about Anne Lamott but that reading her fills me with happiness and hope. I feel like I can see inside her heart and like she can see inside mine. She makes me want to write better, to think better, to behave better.

As my mom and I washed dishes yesterday, I told her about my thoughts on the bridge, and how I felt connected to a higher power much more meaningfully by reading Anne Lamott at City Park than I would have doing stations of the cross, and she said that she wishes I would say "God" instead of "higher power" because she doesn't like that expression. I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath and said, "Mom, I just wanted to share that with you." And she thanked me for sharing it with her. It frustrated me because I knew it meant a lot to her for me to tell her that, and that she probably wished she would not have corrected my choice of words in my sharing, and it frustrated me that she couldn't just accept without criticizing what I said because I only told her that because I thought it would please her. I guess criticizing is the wrong word, because she said it lovingly.

Ugh.

Anyway, work is very challenging right now, and all I want to do is turn on my Sarah Vowell audio book and for Anne Lamott to come over and teach my mother that she doesn't have to love George W. Bush to love Jesus. And to keep trying to use hot rollers to unsuccessfully force my hair to look like Tami Taylor's. And to eat Reese's eggs until peanut butter starts running through my veins.

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.

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.

Meet you in the light

Okay. Weekend update. Life update.

On Friday evening, my boyfriend and I dined with friends and ate our weight in bread and pasta. It was a fun time.

We woke up on Saturday morning and did some errands ... went to the car repair shop, dropped off the lawnmower to be fixed, and other such thrills. We met up with a friend of his and his son after their early morning race and had coffee and giant muffins. Later, we went out to lunch and prepared for our long runs. He ran 12 miles, and I ran 11. I'm not going to lie to you. My sister told me that by miles 11, 12, 13 in a half-marathon, it just starts to hurt. And I've never made it past 11, but she is right. My feet and hips were just hurting and hurting hard. It was nice again to see my boyfriend running along the route at warp speed and to have him drive around to find me once he was done and showered and I was still plugging along to offer me some water and encouragement. Musical high points were Keane's "Bend and Break" and "Holiday" by Green Day. So thanks to Grace and Shelley for those great songs.

While trudging along near the end, I became plagued by doubts that I'll ever be able to run the half-marathon, but I guess I won't know until I try. It's a weird thing. I personally think that running this many miles at one time is kind of inhuman and insane, and I am not going to do it anymore once I've done the half-marathon. I want to keep running, but I am going to definitely stick with more reasonable regular runs of 3-4-5 miles. Once I get to 8 or 9, it's so painful and I get so delirious, but I really want to do the race. I'll be in the back of the pack, probably alongside the walkers, but I really want to try.

I also hope to diversify my exercise and do things other than running, like going to yoga and pilates and some of the wild cross-training classes with a hundred people in them that I see going on at the gym sometimes when everyone is working themselves into a frothy craze jump roping, riding stationery bikes, running suicides, and doing God knows what all at the same time. I want to stick with running, but I don't want it to be the only activity in my life anymore.

We collapsed eventually after our runs and decided to go see Volver because it would take little to no energy. I went into a feeding frenzy at the movie and ate popcorn with a giant box of Reese's Pieces dumped into it. I liked the movie more than he did; Penelope Cruz certainly was fantastic in it, as was everyone else. It was my first Almodovar movie, and I enjoyed it very much.

On Sunday morning, I attempted to make the cinnamon sour cream walnut coffee cake from Amy Sedaris' book, and it was fairly disastrous. I started making it when I was barely awake, and though it looked cooked on the top after 35 minutes at 325 degrees, when I turned the bundt pan over, it fell out in a big pile of goo instead of a lovely heart shape. UGH. I was so mad at Amy Sedaris! I cried, so upset was I. Then I re-read the recipe and saw that I'd misread it -- it was supposed to be 55 minutes at 350 degrees. So I cranked up the oven, picked up the blob of goo with my hands, threw it back in the pan, and baked it until it looked cooked. Some bites were salvageable; some tasted vaguely burned. Maybe I'll try it again someday, because I think it's probably really good when not totally effed up. I'm sorry for cursing you when it was all my fault, Amy Sedaris.

After that, I headed to a luncheon for my friend who's about to have her second baby. We ate shrimp and corn soup, chicken salad, mini-quiches, fresh fruit, strawberry cake, and various other delectable treats. We had a nice time. I am still full from what I ate this weekend. On Sunday night, I lay around like a sloth. It was the only thing I could do. The cats piled on top of me in commiserate slothitude and we watched the Grammy Awards and Brothers and Sisters.

While glad that they won so many awards, I was bummed that the Dixie Chicks could not be bothered to pull together in some kind of unified effort to present an articulate, organized acceptance speech. I know they had to give 5, but even for the first one, they were so totally not making it happen. Their performance was amazing. I mean it. Even though I've seen them perform that song over and over, they always look so totally into it and like they're singing it for the first time. Why could you not be so powerful in your acceptance speeches, Dixie Chicks? You would have come off a lot better as a whole. Seriously. You looked like kick-ass songwriters, musicians, and performers during the song, but you just were kind of clownin' during the speeches and clearly I am probably more bothered by this than I should be. (As for Brothers and Sisters, I think Rob Lowe and Calista Flockhart are very good actors who handle their witty repartee very well dialogue-wise but there needs to be more repartee and less kissing. It is wholly un-chemistry-producing and not believable. That said, I maintain that this show gets better every week and I am so excited to see Emily VanCamp join the cast in next week's episode that it's bonkers.)

Last night I watched This Film Is Not Yet Rated, which I definitely recommend.

The best news I have is that Mary Chapin Carpenter has a new album coming out on March 6, and Anne Lamott has a new book coming out on March 20. I cannot wait, I cannot wait, I cannot wait.

Catching Up Some More

I am feeling like I don't have much to say right now so I'm just going to start writing and see what comes out.

On Friday, I worked a half-day so I could spend the afternoon with my sister. We went shopping and drove around town listening to Mary Poppins and Avenue Q. It was great to spend some time together on a sunny day.

That evening, my boyfriend arrived and we went out for dinner and ice cream. We watched Battlestar, of course. We went out for breakfast on Saturday morning and to the library and then to the book festival, which was nice. We went to a panel with three cool authors, and I got to meet M.A. Harper. She saw the book in my hand and asked, "Where did you get THIS?" because it was her first novel and wasn't for sale at the festival and I told her I've had it forever and that it's one of my favorites and that it made me feel proud to be a Southern girl when I wasn't feeling very proud of that and she said it made her feel that way, too. Then a woman sitting nearby pointed out the dedication and said, "That's me! I'm her sister." It was nice. We ate crawfish pies and a pulled pork sandwich and a pink lemonade sno-cone. Later that afternoon, we played Scrabble and watched a little Moonlighting on DVD. He left, and I went to hang out with my sister. We ate some leftover pizza and she got organized for her trip home.

Early the next morning, I drove her to the airport and went grocery shopping and then I finished up the one-hour running program by going on my one-hour run. I cannot lie. It was eternal. It felt infinitely longer than the 54-minute run of last weekend. I came in at a little under 5 miles, which is how far I estimated I'd go, which was fine. I keep telling myself that it's about endurance, not speed. My legs are still a little sore, but I'm ready to run 3 miles tomorrow. I think.

After running, I stopped at the coffee shop for a granita and headed to the outlet mall where I spent an insane amount of money on new winter clothes like magenta cords and an abundance of sweaters and a very cute tan corduroy jacket with faux sheepskin. Then came the project of reorganizing my closet and bagging up clothes to give away in order to make room for the new ones. I mowed the grass when I got home and then basically collapsed for the duration. I woke up at 3 in the morning and read a lot of Gilead, lent to me by Shelley. It started off pretty slowly, but it suddenly became wonderful in the middle of the night, and I can't wait to read more. I love the moment when a book suddenly turns from something sort of dull to something beautiful and you think, "This could be really good. This could even be great."

I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty. I love Ugly Betty.

A lot.

I'm thinking of looking into doing a sleep study. Does anyone have any experience with one or know anything about them?

This is a boring-assed entry if ever I read one. Thank God Friday Night Lights is on tonight. Really.

Wanted: Snow Day

Time for a weekend report. I spent Friday night with an old friend attending the engagement party of another old friend. It's bizarre sometimes to see your old friends being all grown up with people you don't even know, people who weren't a part of your growing up together. But he seems happy, so we're happy for him. We went to the coffee shop after and split a slice of banana bread. I watched Battlestar Galactica immediately upon returning home. It continues to be very good.

On Saturday, I got up at the crack of dawn and headed to the construction site for Habitat. We hauled, measured, cut, and installed vinyl siding for a little over seven hours. It was hard but productive work. I have a whopping bruise on my knee from banging it on a ladder. I'm not sure whether or not there's a correct way to carry a ladder, but if so, I'm sure I don't know what it is. After that, I headed to the big city, where we ate paella here and gelato here. It only recently reopened after the hurricane and thank goodness. We rented X-Men 3, which put me to sleep fairly promptly as most movies viewed at night do. On Sunday morning, we went out for brunch here and had pecan pancakes with sweet potato butter and cane syrup. Only I skipped the cane syrup because I don't like cane syrup. Never have, never will. After that, it was time for Scrabble and the Saints. (Woo!) I somehow scored 338 in Scrabble, which is bizarre for me.

In other news, I've been reading An Abundance of Katherines from book goddess Colleen, and it's quite enjoyable so far.

Last night I had a date with myself and went to Target and then to see Half Nelson. It was so nose-numbingly cold in the theater that I had trouble unclenching the entire time, which is always a bummer, and if you're a movie-dozer-offer like I am, you might want to see this during the day because it's pretty long and pretty slow. It's totally worth seeing because Ryan Gosling gives a pretty incredible performance, and the little girl is excellent, too. It's strangely dark and depressing and also sort of uplifting at the same time. It made me feel somewhat like breaking out into hives, as most movies featuring teaching do. But still. Recommended. But for the daytime.

It might be kind of sad to admit how excited I am to use my new detergent.

I'm going running after work even though for some reason all I want to do is lie on the couch and slurp up the salty, greasy goodness of ramen noodles and watch Veronica Mars. It's a scorching, blazing 90 degrees outside today after a surreal, dark, and windy day yesterday. Weather is weird. I want fall, real fall. Or a snow day. That'd be nice.

Makes whole the ruined

Jetty wave
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

A weekend away to a beautiful place is good for the soul. (Although I will never understand why the airport security guy took away my tiny, less-than-three-ounce bottle of hand sanitizer and told me that if I'd had it in a clear ziploc bag in my purse instead of just loose in my purse then I would have been able to keep it.)

I posted recently that I've been enjoying Julia Sweeney's writings about atheism, skepticism, and letting go of God. Her words and ideas have really resonated with me. I read what she writes, and I think, totally. I totally agree with that. Science! Intellectualism! Facts! Of course.

I just finished Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which is a book not about letting go of God but about seeking God, and it totally resonated with me, too. I loved every page. It moved me the way that Anne Lamott moves me, the way that the Weepies move me. I think I'll read it over and over, and I think it could even possibly change my life a little bit.

So I'm not sure what to make of that.

I marked this passage (along with about two dozen others in the book) because it sounds like Elizabeth Gilbert loves her sister like I love my sister:

My sister's faith is in learning. Her sacred text is the Oxford English Dictionary. As she bows her head in study, fingers speeding across the pages, she is with her God. I see my sister in prayer again later that same day when she drops to her knees in the middle of the Roman Forum, clears away some litter off the face of the soil (as though erasing a blackboard), then takes up a small stone and draws for me in the dirt a blueprint of a classic Romanesque basilica. She points from her drawing to the ruin before her, leading me to understand (even visually challenged me can understand!) what that building once must have looked like eighteen centuries earlier. She sketches with her finger in the empty air the missing arches, the nave, the windows long gone. Like Harold with his Purple Crayon, she fills in the absent cosmos with her imagination and makes whole the ruined.

My sister has made whole my ruins for as long as she has been alive. I hope to be able to do the same for her, again and again and forever.

Caulking Chaos

I watched Six Degrees last week; I won't watch it again. I found it irritating even though I really like Jay Hernandez, Hope Davis, and especially Campbell Scott. Brothers and Sisters didn't do it for me at all, so I'm also scratching that one off the list.

It's strange how little TV I'm watching this season. Studio 60 (I liked it A LOT), Veronica Mars when it starts, Gray's Anatomy, The Office, and Battlestar Galactica when it starts. Oh, and I'm still recording and watching The View every day just because Rosie makes me happy. I've found that watching really good TV makes me much less tolerant of TV that falls short of my judgment of what's excellent. You know? After barreling through the second half of season two of Battlestar, I'm thinking about it so much that last night I dreamt that Lee Adama got onstage drunk and sang "Shiksa Goddess" from The Last Five Years. It's penetrated my psyche in that deep and bizarre a way. (Don't read the rest of this paragraph if you don't want to be spoiled.) There were a few episodes in this batch that I thought were downright lame (especially the one about Apollo and the hooker) (and I wasn't crazy about the one about Scar) (and don't even get me started on my intense dislike of the Apollo / Dualla "relationship"), but there were parts that knocked my socks off. I lay on the couch and wept during the scene described here. Tears dripped off my face onto the throw pillow. It was just one of the finest things I've ever seen. I LOVE THIS SHOW. And I cannot wait for October 6.

I had a lot on my plate this weekend. My boyfriend worked each day, so I vowed to be productive. Friday night, I cleaned my house and went grocery shopping. On Saturday morning, I took my filthy dogs to the vet for a bath, went shopping for do-it-myself supplies, went on my "long" run for the week (38 minutes around the neighborhood), picked up the dogs, and prepared dinner. He arrived, and we went to the coffee shop and had muffins, coffee, a walnut rugelach, and some frozen lemonade and played a game of Scrabble during which he almost broke 400 points and I broke 300, so it was a good game. That night, we ate this pasta and this salad, and YUM. (Note: I made the pasta sauces in advance as suggested; I only used one tablespoon of chile paste in the pasta instead of two and it was still very spicy; I used orange juice concentrate instead of Grand Marnier because a bottle of it costs $35; the salad dressing is extremely thick, but do not be frightened; and I toasted the almonds first because I think that brings out their flavor much more. Both were great recipes, I thought.) We went out to a show that night where there were lots of young manorexic boys with beards and tight t-shirts and ate vanilla ice cream with strawberries and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.

On Sunday, I re-caulked my bathtub. Which was my do-it-myself project to end all do-it-myself projects. My old caulk was nothing short of disgusting, and I figured, how hard could it be? I'll tell you how hard it was. It was very freaking hard. The old caulk was misery to scrape off despite using a gel that is erroneously labeled as a caulk "remover" (HA!), my weird carpal tunnely knuckle that had been doing so much better turned the size and color of a plum, and I probably did permanent damage to both the tile and the tub by scraping like a complete out of control lunatic. Once I scraped off all I could scrape (the caulk between the tub and the floor was particularly un-scrape-able because it was all mixed in with the cement grout of the ceramic floor tile -- horrible), I sprayed everything with Tilex, let that set for a while, and scrubbed everything with a toothbrush until I felt like all of my fingers were going to become dislocated. I let that dry for a few hours with a fan and then set forth with the caulking gun, thinking that nothing could be more difficult than the preparation. Right? Wrong. So very wrong.

I wanted only a very small hole in the top of the caulk tube, but I had to keep cutting it bigger and bigger in order to reach the top of the canister so it could be pierced with a nail. Even when using a really long nail, I had to go down so far that my hole, instead of being pencil-sized, was more like dime-sized. Yeah. It was so big that the caulk was flowing out of the tube when I wasn't even squeezing the gun, so I had to hold it between my legs upright and wipe it with a paper towel constantly or it would spew forth like a tube of toothpaste that was being stepped on. So much caulk gooped out when I was dispensing it around the tub that smoothing the line was just ... unholy. Nightmarish. I'm not even sure that I made good seals. I got silicone caulk all over myself, all over the tiles, all over the bathtub. I even got it on my glasses. And I forgot to fill the tub with water, which supposedly you're supposed to do, until I was almost finished. So I just filled it then and hoped for the best. In short, I've decided that time is more valuable than money and that I would have rather paid someone $1,000 to do this job and do it right, and then I could have spent my Sunday sitting at the coffee shop with my new book from the beautiful Grace that I already love instead of undertaking this monstrous project. Do-It-Myself -- I'm over it. Never again. Never again.

I finished All the King's Men, and it's exquisite. (No spoilers to follow.) It's wordy and sometimes rambly and takes a long time to get where it's going, but when it gets there, whoa. It's fantastic. It's strange because once I got really into it, I stopped thinking about how it's based on my state and true history and just got into it as a mighty fine book. This book is as much about ideas as it is about action, and I liked the ideas a lot. Jack Burden can be very annoying, and sometimes you just want to tell him to shut up and get to the point already, but the way he, as a narrator, contemplates life and goodness and sin and the past and the future is sublime. I highly recommend this book. It didn't win the Pulitzer Prize for nothing. (Read what the ever-wise mo pie thought about it here.) (Also spoiler-free.) I haven't seen the movie yet; the reviews have not been promising. Fred Willard, who was Roeper's guest reviewer this week, gave it two thumbs up, though! And if it's okay by Ron Albertson, it's probably okay by me.

(Here's a link to the article in The New Yorker profiling David Milch and featuring quite a bit about his relationship with Robert Penn Warren. In it, Milch says, "Mr. Warren spread out pretty much all the literary artifacts of American culture for me to study, as part of my working for him on that history of American literature. And in that I found the refraction, the perspective that I needed, to give me access to play the cards that I'd been dealt." Fascinating! Fascinating.)

As for running, I've come to my senses and have decided to forego training for a marathon and train for a half-marathon instead, along with a few friends. It still seems like an impossible distance for me right now, but it seems less impossible than a marathon would be. As my sister said wisely, half-marathon training doesn't take over your whole life like marathon training does, and the distance is a great achievement while still being short enough that it does not make you feel like dying when you are doing it. And I'm all for that. So ... I'm going to finish up one-hour-runner (I'm starting week 6 now) and then figure out when I should start officially training for the half-marathon. Woo! My mom, as she did when I told her I was training for a 5K, sort of laughed disbelievingly, like she was humoring me, like, "...okay. Good luck with that." Not in a mean way, just in an "I'm so sure, I'll believe it when I see it, for I know you, my lazy child," sort of a way. But I will show her! I will. I will show everyone. Most of all me.

A Book List

Look Through My Window
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

1. A book that changed your life.

B Is for Betsy, the first book I remember checking out from the library. And Madeleine Lengle's whole Murry family quartet certainly blew my mind when I was younger and made me see the universe in a whole new way.

2. A book you've read more than once.

Look Through My Window by Jean Little. This was one of my favorite books when I was a little girl, and I love it completely still. My cover is tattered and torn, as you can see in the photo above.

3. A book you'd want on a desert island.

Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott. It's a book about overcoming struggles and not always knowing the answers, which I suspect are concepts I'd embrace if stranded on a desert island, and it would make me laugh.

4. A book that made you giddy.

When I read Bridget Jones's Diary in my friend's attic in Florence, Italy, in the spring of 1998, it made me guffaw in a way that few books had before or have since. I laughed until I cried; I profoundly identified. Judge me if you must.

5. A book you wish had been written.

For forever and a day, I wished that Ellen Emerson White would write a new book about the Meg, the president's daughter, and the rest of the Powers family. This was my number one wish book. And now she has! It's called Long May She Reign. And it's coming out next year. We've even corresponded a bit about it. So I consider this wish fulfilled in a big-time way. Book miracles do happen, people.

6. A book that wracked you with sobs.

The Brothers K by David James Duncan. I cried during both readings of this book, but most memorably on an airplane when finishing it last year. As reported before, I soaked cocktail napkin after cocktail napkin with my tears. I cried loudly enough that those sitting around me noticed and shot me concerned and possibly annoyed glances. I could not hold them in, the sobs. My sister's had trouble getting through this book. Her complaint is that "nothing happens." I keep telling her to keep going, keep going, because I want her to feel how I feel in the last two-thirds of the book when rescues are being staged, loves are being reunited, and people are saying goodbye. I want her to feel that heart-combusting feeling of grief and joy and anguish and hope. Like this part (I'm trying to put it in white font so you have to scroll over it to see the text so I don't spoil anything for those who haven't read it):

I refuse to resort to Uppercase here. But you hear me. And I feel you. I mean you, the who or whatever you are, being or nonbeing, that somehow comes to us and somehow consoles us. I don't know your name. I don't understand you. I don't know how to address you. I don't like people who think they do. But it's you alone, I begin to feel, who sends me this woman's love and our baby, and this new hope and stupid gratitude, even as my father goes down and my stupid brother lies broken. So:
O thing that consoles.
How clumsily I thank you.

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold also left me a sobbing mess. I remember finishing it on my couch during the summer of 2002 and burying my face in the cushions and wailing somewhat inconsolably.

This is the paragraph that did me in (scroll over the text to read it):

These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections -- sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent -- that happened after I was gone. And I began to see things in a way that let me hold the world without me in it. The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable point in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.

God, that killed me.

I've certainly wept or had tears fill my eyes and slide down my face while reading countless other books, but those are the two from recent years that I recall actually made me sob.

When I was young, I bawled like a baby in one of the old green velvet chairs at my parents' house (the ones we were NOT allowed to eat or drink while sitting in upon pain of death but where I spent most of my time reading, which might explain why I was such a skinny child) when finishing The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton for the first time. And don't even get me started on my childhood reaction to the end of Wilson Rawls' Where the Red Fern Grows. I can still recite the saddest line from memory, and it still makes me feel like falling to pieces.

7. A book you wish had never been written.

This is a tough one. Apparently I was not fond of Bergdorf Blondes.

8. A book you are currently reading.

I just started How to Kill a Rock Star by Tiffanie Debartolo, author of God-Shaped Hole, which, since this is partly a discussion of books that make us cry, I finished in the bathtub. (While crying.)

9. A book you've been meaning to read.

Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert. More than one person has asked me if I've read it or recommended it to me, so I'm taking it as a sign that I need to read it soon.

10. Tag 10.

I'm not really a tagger, but if you make your own list like this, post the link in the comments, because I'd love to read it.

(From Doppelganger.)