Striking a balance

I spend a lot of time thinking about productivity and laziness. I wonder how much of each a life should contain. When I'm being lazy, I feel guilty about not being productive. When I'm being productive, I feel a sense of accomplishment and non-guilt for non-laziness, but it's not always a ton of fun or something that I feel gives life meaning. I find that I spend a lot of time feeling my way through this ... what I "want" to make time for vs. what I "should" make time for, and so forth.

This past weekend struck a nice balance between productivity and laziness. I want to keep a record of it, so I'll remember it the next time I find myself struggling with this. (I realize that even contemplating this is a luxury.)

Saturday morning dawned before dawn, as my mornings do these days, thanks to Zuko, who apparently can no longer sleep through the night. I was at the gym when its doors opened and set off on a swim, my first in nearly two weeks. It was difficult after such a long break from the pool, but it was nice to feel myself getting back into the rhythm of laps while a class full of people who must be training for something splashed rapidly through their drills all around me. Before going home and showering, I rushed to the farmers' market, dripping all the way. Lo! There were still eggs, so I bought two dozen, along with a basket of assorted peppers and some peaches from the very nice peach man for my mom, who loves them passionately.

My front bed had become overgrown and messy, so I spent several hours pulling weeds, hacking away at my witchhazel and lantana and ferns, and using the electric trimmer to try and get things under control. I hauled a giant pile of leaves and branches and weeds to the curb, got bitten by many mosquitoes, got scratched and covered in yard filth, and felt very satisfied in the end to have shed some blood & sweat working in my yard. My dogs had become messy themselves, so I bathed both of them, which is always a wet and wrestly experience that involves tremendous clean-up once it's all said and done. I love a clean dog, though, so it was worth it. My neighbor invited me to lunch, saying she needed a "big beer," so we went out for tomato basil soup with grilled cheese on focaccia (her) and a veggie burger with fries (me). We both had big beers.

The post-lunch afternoon brought me over to my little brother's apartment, where I planned to watch a couple of episodes of season two of True Blood ... I ended up staying for seven. We ate cheetos and baked Reese's Pieces cookies and mashed them still warm into caramel turtle ice cream. We laughed, we covered our eyes, we screamed; all of the best parts of watching this crazy show. He took a nap and came out hours later rubbing his eyes and laughing, "You're still here??" Finally I peeled myself off the couch and headed home for bed, drunk on sugar and vampires and the flaming hotness of Eric Northman. ("He's been named the hottest man in Sweden like 5 times!" my brother informed me.)

Sunday morning began in a very decadent way, as Zuko let me sleep until 6:30! It was magical. I went on a 14-mile bike ride, which was gorgeous, mostly because it was 65 degrees outside, which is downright freezing for August. Heaven! I spent the rest of the morning dusting, vacuuming, and tidying my house. If I could hire someone to do a chore for me, any chore, I would hire someone to vacuum my living room furniture. Or to shave my pets permanently bald. I love them, but their fur ... gah. Pet people, you know what I'm saying. (A dream of mine is to invest in some living room furniture off of which pet hair can be easily swept. Does such furniture exist?) This all took a very long time, but I blasted the Dr. Horrible soundtrack and then an angsty love mix by mo pie and lit a bunch of candles and everything smelled lovely and clean! I did three loads of laundry and overall got a lot of household drudgery taken care of. It won't last long, but it still felt great.

Later that afternoon, I headed back over to my brother's. We ate cheese pizza and drank Coke. Actual real Coke, which I hadn't had in years. Coke just doesn't really do it for me (thankfully), but it sure is good with cheese pizza. Wow! We watched the final 2 episodes of season two in order to be caught up for this week's new episode. There was more laughing, yelling, eye covering, and general ridiculousness. Seriously ... so much laughing. Good times.

I headed home and decided to bake some more cookies, this time from scratch. These were a bit messy (when melted chocolate is involved, along with an electric mixer, I inevitably end up with chocolate splattered from ceiling to floor, and I knocked over and spilled an entire new bottle of vanilla extract on the floor ... yay), but so, so good. I didn't bother toasting the walnuts or using sea salt and had to improvise on the double boiler issue. And I just used spoons to dole out the dough, so mine aren't perfect and cute and round like these. But they still taste mighty fine. And the recipe made a ton of cookies. And smashing Skor bars with a hammer is a great stress reducer.

Thus, to conclude, I spent a lot of time this weekend doing things I "needed" to do -- housecleaning, dog bathing, yard work, and exercising. But I also spent a lot of time doing things that were in no way "productive" -- eating junk food, watching the trashiest TV show known to man, etc. But I loved doing those things with my brother, so I definitely think it was time well spent. There are things missing from my life that I want to carve out time for: yoga, for one, because I need to both stretch and meditate more in a big way, and some kind of service to the greater good of humankind, for another. I will get to those soon, I hope.

Sometimes it's 2004 and the Garden State soundtrack is all the rage, and you are 29 and see the movie and you love it, along with a lot of other people, until everyone decides to hate it, and you listen to Frou Frou's "Let Go" a thousand times. And suddenly it's five years later, exactly, and you're 34 and you haven't listened to the song in a really long time and it reappears in your life on a mix from a good friend and it sounds somehow totally different and the same. And you fall in love with this song about letting go all over again, and you think about what you want to let go and what you want to keep, and it's like a little piece of your heart you forgot about is still there after all.

What I am coming to see this year in a new way is that our lives really are what we make of them. Most of us are lucky to be able to create the lives we want. Our lives are all different and our days are all filled with different things and different obligations and things to tend to -- jobs, classes, kids, pets, relatives, friends -- but for the most part, we can build a day like we want to, with certain hours carved out for this, and others carved out for that. It is kind of a beautiful thing when you really stop and think about it, being the architect of a day. I have really liked the days I have built for myself lately. I just want to recognize this and take a deep breath and have a moment of gratitude about it. So that is what I am doing. And now I am going to eat a cookie.

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.

Randomosity

Today's entry will be a string of random thoughts.

It turns out that I have some complex feelings about Michael Jackson. At first when he died, I was immediately annoyed that everything was super positive about him with nary a mention of the fact that he was bananas and possibly did some unspeakable things to small children. But then I started watching clips and remembering. Remembering how much I once loved him, the posters on my bedroom walls, my lapel pin with his face on it, how he predated any other celebrity crush I ever had in later years, the way I adored him before my age even hit the double digits, the whole thing. It's hard for me to articulate my feelings about this so I'll leave it to Linda & Sars, who both said it better than I could.

Apologies to those who have already heard me rant about this: I do not think Chace Crawford is a good enough actor to play Ren McCormack in the Footloose remake, and I wish Zac Efron were going to play him as originally planned. Because I actually think Zac Efron is very talented! Shut up. I also think that Julianne Hough in the Lori Singer role (Ariel) is an abomination. She's supposed to be dark and damaged, and I highly doubt that Hough has that in her. Lori Singer was hardcore. It sort of bothered me when I was very young that she was not your typical teen beauty type like Cindi Mancini in Can't Buy Me Love, but as I've grown up, I realize that she was pretty much perfect for this role. Like, if my dad were super strict and my life were that legitimately dreary and hard, maybe I wouldn't eat either. (Not trying to diss her skinniness, I'm just saying.) Footloose is not all feel-good dancey dancey lighthearted goodness by any stretch. I mean, Ariel's brother died. The reverend is genuinely conflicted. There are some long and sort of boring for children scenes dealing with this, particularly the one set in church and the talks between the reverend and his wife. Bricks are thrown through windows. Books are burned. Ariel's boyfriend beats her up. I'm saying, it's got some heaviness interspersed between chicken races on tractors and Ren teaching Willard how to dance. And the director of the remake directed High School Musical. The more I think about the remake the more annoyed I get, frankly.

I've now made these two weekends in a row. I first made them several summers ago for B.'s birthday, and I've been thinking of them ever since. These past two batches, I've had some trouble dislodging them from the muffin pan without breaking the edges, so they look kind of ugly, but they still taste great. (I use sugar cookie dough instead of peanut butter cookie dough because they are already plenty peanut buttery.)

This was a weekend of nonstop chick-flickery. First: He's Just Not That Into You. Despite my enjoyment of Justin Long in anything he does, this is just not a very good movie. For many reasons. I lack the energy today to get as worked up about this movie as I'd like to, so let me just tell you that I don't recommend it. Second: Confessions of a Shopaholic. I rented this movie solely because of Isla Fisher and Hugh Dancy, and it did not disappoint. I find them both infinitely charming, and this movie is totally cute and entertaining. Third: Marley and Me. Bawled my eyes out at the end, not just cried quiet civilized tears but bawled. I can't say it was a great movie, but Marley sure was cute and reminded me so much of Zuko, that stupid, wild, destructive maniac of a dog I can't help but love.

Went on a 13-mile bike ride this morning. Yesterday I rode to a bike store to get my bike outfitted with new pedals and pedal brackets (baskets? not sure what they're called) -- things to put my feet into. Not clips or anything that would require me to actually fasten my feet in or buy expensive new shoes, but just something to slip my normal sneakers into so I can pedal more efficiently. Other than actually getting both feet inside these without tipping over -- it took me several tries -- I liked this newfangled way of riding and do think it helped me go a little faster.

Today's ride also marked a milestone I've been working up to -- reaching down to grab my water bottle while pedaling. I have never braved this feat because it's really far down, practically below the seat, and takes a really long reach to grab it, which means pedaling one-handed and reaching down and grabbing it and this just seemed too herculean a task to achieve. But today I reached down and touched the bottle a few times without actually grabbing it (tip from Jessie) to practice the reach down. It got to the point that sweat was pouring from my forehead down my nose to my upper lip into my actual mouth and I was so thirsty I started tasting what can only be described as lung juice in the back of my throat and this disgusting sensation propelled me to reach down and grab the tip of the bottle between my knuckles. Triumph! I swigged with abandon and thought I'd just hold the bottle the rest of the ride and drink out of it at my leisure. But then I remembered I needed my hand for, you know, braking. So I had to reach down and return it to its holder. Which was scary in and of itself but I did it. Then I repeated the whole process twice more over the course of the ride. I am very glad I now know how to do this because it's going to be a long, hot summer and I can't ride without drinking water, hello.

The ride was fairly delightful once I got this new routine down. Nature highlight: gorgeous, delicate egret slowly walking across the water. Nature lowpoint: seeing how low the lakes are due to basically zero rainfall in weeks. Musical high points: the harmonies in Cages or Wings and the theme to The Greatest American Hero and hearing The Weepies sing about how you can't steal happiness.

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

Before it gets away from me, I want to get a little down about a wonderful weekend. I've already posted about the concerts, which were both amazing, but I want to record what else went on. It was a rare weekend when the whole family was in town -- my sister and her husband (they live out of state) and my brother and his new girlfriend (they travel a lot). My sister had the inspired idea to rent out a private karaoke room at a Thai restaurant in an early celebration of my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. We thought about inviting other people, but in the end, it was just us, and we had what can only be called a blast. There was dancing, there was drinking, there was so much eating, and there was plenty of singing. One of my favorite parts was watching my mother watch my brothers sing together. Their harmonies were admittedly beautiful but she was just blown away. Many pictures were taken, some of which I will eventually get around to posting. We also went to one of my brother's gigs, had boiled crawfish, had beignets and cafe au lait, and just had a merry time. I loved having everyone here. Just sitting around eating my mom's crawfish etouffee or lying around on the bed with my sister and brother-in-law were delightful. It was a really wonderful weekend and one I will not soon forget.

Randomness: The Great Performances special In the Heights: Chasing Broadway Dreams is excellent, even if you are not familiar with the show. Definitely worth checking out.

Meanwhile. I am still watching season two of Chuck and loving it a lot and am thrilled it has been renewed. I am reading The Wednesday Wars, finally, and loving it.

I got from Netflix the DVD of the Rent: Live on Broadway special that my brother and I went to see last fall. The special features are indeed quite special. I highly recommend both the live stage show itself as well all of the featurettes, which are VERY WONDERFUL. Seeing Jonathan Larson's parents and sister, all kinds of backstage goodness, the longtime crew members, the closing cast, the original cast (except Adam Pascal -- where were you, Adam Pascal? What could have been more important than this?). Everyone crying and laughing and singing and embracing and remembering, forget about it, it was too much, the tears poured like rain. Rent, I thought I was all cried out over you. But I was wrong.

Once again I have found myself engaging in last minute triathlon registration ridiculousness. A few days ago, I signed up for one that is tomorrow. The distances aren't terribly long, so I think I'll be okay, though I am a bit apprehensive about the biking part since the farthest I've ever gone in my life was seven miles. I'm just going to take it slow, try not to fall off or crash, and try to enjoy myself. I'm viewing it as a chance to road trip with a friend and as good practice for the one in August. I know myself, and I know my anxiety over that one will be greatly lessened over the summer by having this one under my belt.

This morning I went to the farmer's market and came away with fresh eggs, cucumbers, strawberries, bell peppers, yellow squash, and carrots. I feel really good about this. The dogs also approve.

Awful run, weird dinner, great show

I've fallen off the fitness wagon this week in a big way. Really the past few weeks. No huge shock -- it happens. Tonight I embarked on my first run in nearly three weeks and boy did it suck. I can't remember a worse run in my life. I honestly can't. I blame three weeks of slacking off, the heinous humidity, the not so healthy eating I've been doing this week, and the weird pain in my diaphragm area that made me feel like I couldn't catch my breath. Awesome! 2 miles, man. It was just terrible. But I willed myself not to quit, and I feel good about that.

I just whipped up a very bizarre dinner with canned pinto beans, slivered almonds, frozen peas, garam masala, sesame oil, kamut/quinoa pasta, and feta cheese. Yeah, those things don't sound like they go together to me either. But they were basically all I had to choose from so I just threw caution to the wind and went for it. It was not great but wasn't altogether disgusting, either.

It's a big day, America. It's the season premiere of So You Think You Can Dance, which brought me tremendous joy last summer. I just love this show. This article really says it all. I think people have a lot of misconceptions about this show if they've never seen it. It's so, so good. Great host, great stories, great dancing. Don't let Mary's screaming scare you off. Don't let some of the outrageous audition nonsense give you the wrong idea. Once the top 20 is picked, it becomes a serious and glorious competition. Love! And ... it's starting right now. And the first audition is giving me chills. This show is just phenomenally good, I swear.

I guess that's all I have to say tonight.

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.

Randomosity

(1) I now own my favorite comfy summer sandal in three colors (black, chocolate, and tan), which is possibly excessive. But wearing these sandals basically feels like not wearing shoes at all. I love them. (A note on sizing: I normally wear an 8.5, but the size 8 in these fits perfectly. I have a narrow foot, so your mileage may vary.) I am not the type of person who can wear sassy summer sandals every day of the week. My feet just cannot handle it. These sandles are awesomely comfortable, and I think everyone should buy a pair. So let it be written, so let it be done.

(2) I've never known much about the Buckleys; maybe I've been living under a rock, but they've never really been on my radar. I remember seeing Christopher Buckley last year on The Daily Show and thinking he was funny, and I remember the brouhaha surrounding his endorsement of Obama. But that's about it. The Buckleys might all be a bunch of a-holes for all I know. I read this story today by Christopher Buckley today. It's definitely tinged with a certain snootocity that might just come with being a Buckley, but I got the sense that a lot of love and care went into writing it. It moved me. Like, a LOT.

(3) Elissa, yes! It's okay. Not writing about it around here. But it's okay.

(4) Big fan of tonight's dinner!

That there is a whole wheat English muffin topped with (probably very unhealthy, but whatever) jarred pizza sauce along with broccoli, fresh rosemary, celery, onion, garlic, green bell pepper, yellow squash, chicken breast with lots of cayenne pepper, and a little grated mozzarella cheese. I sauteed all the toppings (except for the cheese, obviously) in a skillet in olive oil before baking the teeny pizzas because the last time I attempted to make pizza without cooking the veggies first they stayed rock hard. This way worked like a charm. Yum!

(5) Not that this is in any way original, but my Adam Lambert obsession began weeks ago and is still going strong. I decided from the first time I saw him on American Idol that he is made to star on Broadway as Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar. A little YouTube scouring, and voila! A preview of what is clearly his destiny. I also quite frankly enjoy Adam Lambert in a face full of make-up with a bare midriff. How did we live before YouTube? I'll never know. My sister is staunchly in the Kris camp, and he is definitely adorable and talented, but there is something about this seasoned, make-up wearing, boy kissing musical theater guy making it big on the national stage that really appeals to me.

(6) I am on the hunt for a healthy bread I can make sandwiches with pretty much every day of the week for lunch. I am willing to buy it at Whole Foods/Paycheck if necessary. I just do not know what to look for when it comes to sandwich bread. It all seems to have dozens of ingredients. Does anyone know of a healthy or semi-healthy loaf of bread I can buy?

Swimming, eating, remembering

My first sweet treat since Lent started was a long time coming. I waited until the Thursday after Easter, when I could return to my favorite cafe and enjoy one of their magnificent pastries. I chose a cappuccino and an almond croissant. It was truly heaven in my mouth, and I ate every little bit carefully and slowly and deliberately. I told myself, "Self, see? See what a treat this is? It's so wonderful, and it was worth the wait."

Then the weekend rolled around, along with a limo ride with some friends for a birthday to one of the best restaurants in existence. And lots of wine. And this:

That is a damn fine plate of food in a sauce made with a damn lot of butter. But I didn't care. It was awesome. And I ate it with grilled shrimp over a fried grits cake and crab cakes and shrimp in a bread bowl and more wine. And then some starbursts and tootsie rolls from a candy bowl. And a good time was had by all, and I'd run three miles that morning, and I still felt perfectly in balance on Sunday, if a bit hungover.

Then this happened:

Oops! A friend and I went to see an art exhibit downtown and wandered over to Earth Day, where it seemed the only right things to eat were strawberry snowballs and a giant plate of greasy Chinese food that cost $13. We split this, yes. But still. Not exactly the healthiest lunch on the block. But who cares? It was a festival, and it was fun to park myself on a curb with a stack of napkins and an old friend I hadn't seen forever and eat that hot mess together. And I went on a long walk when I got home. Then I went to my parents' house after going to mass with them and ate tons of my mom's perfect tuna salad and about two pounds of shelled pecans. I'm not sure what possessed me to eat all I did this weekend. Maybe I was just hungry.

(Mass was good if a little strange. Lots of youth group type kids apparently go to this mass, which is swell, and I like the modern music a lot, and the musicians are fantastic, but I need at least one 80s-style Glory and Praise hymn per mass. That's something I had an epiphany about at this service. I like the young, hip tunes, but throw in a "Here I Am, Lord" or "Sing a New Song" every now and then, please, and it would be perfect. My little brother recently announced that "We Are Called" should become the standard recessional hymn for every mass because nothing can top it. I think he might have a point. OMG: the composer of "We Are Called" has a Myspace page. And none of those versions sounds very good, I'm afraid. Anyway, I didn't realize he also wrote "You Are Mine," which is another favorite of mine. Random Catholic music tangent: one of my co-workers and I got a little punchy from stress last week and started singing the first lines of Catholic songs we grew up with. It is very strange to think we grew up on opposite ends of the state but grew up singing the same songs in church. "Sing to the Mountains," "Lord of the Dance," "City of God," the list goes on and on.)

My very tenacious friend who might as well go ahead and become my life coach persuaded me to do the swimming leg of a triathlon for a mutual friend who only wants to do the biking and running leg. Fine. I think this event is months off, so why not? My friend said, "Let's go swimming tomorrow night!" Which was tonight. So I said, "Sure! Why not!" I bought some goggles and a swim cap at lunch and we went to a place where I thought we had permission to swim, but we totally didn't. My friend acted like we did, though, so in we went. I hadn't swum actual laps in an actual pool since 2003. We swam 8 lengths in the 50-meter pool and called it a day. I got tuckered out doing freestyle about half-way through (tuckered out = felt I might have heart attack) so I started alternating between that and breast stroke. I seriously could do the latter, I think, for hours at a time. It is so soothing. I threw in one length of backstroke just for good measure. Turns out the triathlon is actually, like, next weekend. Awesome! We'll see how that goes. I'm glad this is an event that can be split into legs, because I think it will be fun to participate, but I don't think I could ride a bike on a road if I couldn't even ride a bike in my friend's class in Hawaii for more than approximately thirty seconds.

I just have to say that I do love swimming. It is strange to think that my brother and sister and I swam every summer, all summer long, every single morning for practice plus meets on Saturdays. I don't remember much about those summers except that I think we'd end up just staying at the pool all day. It's not like this was a super-elite swim team or anything. There were all skill levels, and it was just fun. We all wore red swimsuits. The meets were awesome because we would eat jello straight from the box "for energy." I think my sister and I both did it from ages, like, four or five to twelve, every summer. That boggles my mind! (The little kids and the big kids had separate practices, obviously.) I was never the fastest swimmer, but I did always come out second in breaststroke. Even though it was my best stroke, there was one girl I could never, ever beat.

One time the coach at practice made me swim a lap of butterfly all by myself, making the other kids stand by the pool and watch, because she said my stroke was perfect. I remember that she basically barked at the older kids, "Look at this kid! If she can do it like this, why can't you?!" I was one hundred percent mortified but also one hundred percent proud. I was never a child who was known for athletic prowess, so to have something like that happen to me was astonishing and I have never forgotten it. I remember swimming the butterfly across the pool at that moment and thinking that all of those high school boys were watching me and was it possible the coach was making fun of me or punishing me in some way? But I don't think she would do that. Other major swim team memories: practicing swimming the entire length of the pool without taking a breath, throwing the coach in the pool after the meets, and always, always going to Godfather's pizza after the meets with wet hair.

Anyway, so swimming laps brings back mostly happy childhood memories. I know that cardio with impact is important for joint and bone strength, but I think swimming has to be awesome for you, too. I will try to incorporate it more into my life even if breaking the swim place law made me kind of nervous today. I am just not the criminal type.

Tonight after swimming I made an awesome dinner. Onion, bell pepper, garlic, yellow squash, and celery with fresh rosemary and cayenne pepper mixed with chicken breast and slivered almonds cooked in olive oil and quinoa with a little grated mozzarella cheese on top. It made me feel more in control of myself and was delicious.

I would literally give my right arm for a disc of In Treatment to watch right now. Only three weeks left! I love it so much. Must wait for Netflix, though. This is a busy week of dinner and lunch with friends and a date with Ira Glass. Life is good.

Easter weekend

Good Friday was not a holiday this year, as I worked all day. After work, I headed to see my friend M's new house, which is beautiful. It is always fun to see her and her girls. I love being able to watch them grow up.

On Saturday morning, I worked on homework for three solid hours in my jammies. Then I went on a three-mile jog, which was pleasant if a bit hot. I headed into the office for the afternoon, which was not the thrill of my life.

That evening was more homework plus hours upon hours of In Treatment, which is so good I can hardly believe it. I cannot stop thinking about that show. I hold my breath for entire episodes at a time. Gabriel Byrne is so good. I thought nothing could ever surpass the way I love him in the proposition scene in Camelot, but he is just blowing me away in this role. (I still cannot watch that without crying, but I never cry as hard as I did when it first aired last May, as I started to literally project it onto the upcoming presidential election -- having thoughts like, "This is the time of Obama, when we shall reach for the stars! This is the time of Obama, when violence is not strength, and compassion is not weakness! WE ARE CIVILIZED! Resolved!" Anyway.)

And Dianne Wiest ... forget about it. She astounds. (Can I just say that I have loved her since Footloose and how amazed I remain by the fact that for some mysterious reason her parents lived two doors down from my BFF growing up, in this very town? And that my BFF met her and asked her what it was like to work in The Lost Boys with the Coreys? I am not making this up.) Anyway, this show is awesome. An evening with my stir-fried chicken and veggies over rice noodles and this show was actually a mighty fine Saturday night in my book. Topping it off with Zac Efron on SNL was just icing on the cake.

Easter dawned with a trip to the grocery store, where I ran into an old friend from graduate school whom I haven't seen since the summer of '98 and who is visiting for Easter break. He looked exactly the same. He wrote a poem about each of us in our little group, and I still have the one he wrote about me. Ah, memories. Unfortunately, I spent most of the day slogging through more homework. When it was time for evening mass with my little brother, it started dumping rain. We got quite wet on the way in, and there was a sparse crowd. Good music, short mass, people in jeans, fine by me. After dinner, we met the other brother, his new girlfriend, and her visiting sister for sushi. Everyone but the sister was eager to discuss Friday Night Lights. My older brother was the only hold-out among the siblings in terms of hearts set aflame for this show, and now he's come over to the light. Both brothers admitted that the show makes them weep openly. This show brings people together, I am telling you. I'm so glad it's not over yet. (This is a frank, lovely, and very moving column by Scott Porter, a.k.a. Jason Street. Warning: full of season three spoilers if you're not caught up.) It was strange not having the parents in town for Easter, but it was still a decent day, homework drudgery notwithstanding.

I spent a little time yesterday making brownies with rolos, chocolate chips, and toffee. Usually these are made with chocolate cake mix, but I decided to use yellow to give things a different spin. I made them for my hardworking work peeps, and they seem to be a hit.

Speaking of baking, there is something about Tastespotting that makes me happy. I can scroll through this site for untold hours. I've never made anything from the recipes, but I'd like to. Even if I never do, this site releases actual endorphins within me. My body feels actually warmed when viewing the pictures. It is very strange. These pictures and the whole layout and concept of the site make me feel blissed out and satisfied.

I have not yet indulged in sweets. I've decided to break the fast with something sweet at my favorite cafe when it reopens soon. At least I'll know whatever pastry I decide on is homemade, handmade, fresh, and fabulous. I was semi-tempted to enjoy some leftover Easter candy dumped in the work candy bowl today, but I decided to wait for something really special. Hence the grapes I just had for dessert. Exciting!

Meanwhile, I was very sad to learn of the death of Judith Krug. Watch or read a great speech she gave back in 2002. She was a warrior and, in my opinion, a true American hero.

Food

It is very strange to think I have not eaten sweets since February 25. That is the longest I've gone without sweets in my whole life, probably, except for maybe when being exclusively breastfed. I'm not joking.

The sweetest thing I've had since Lent began, if we're talking quantity of sugar, was the Tropicana Pure Valencia orange juice in the several mimosas I drank at my St. Patrick's Day parade party. (Damn, that is some fine bottled orange juice.) I decided that though the juice was very sugary, it didn't count as an actual "sweet." (I can't find the information online, but surely bottled orange juice is chock full of sugar, right? Anyway.) Oh, and I did have more than my fair share of bourbon slush that weekend. Which has a lot of sugar. But other than that, nope.

During Lent, I've been around cookies, cake, ice cream, candy, cupcakes, brownies, etc. and haven't had any. It is truly shocking. I even stopped eating Cracklin' Oat Bran in the mornings because it's chock full of corn syrup, sugar, etc. and is totally only pseudo-healthy. I've been eating Shredded Wheat & Bran instead. Which has hardly any ingredients. And hardly any taste. But I'm down with it in a mug of soy milk, definitely. (Although apparently soy milk can kill you. Sometimes I don't know what to believe, I really don't.)

But anyway, the few ingredients plan is really working for me. The fewer, the better. Is this crazy? I don't know. I haven't even eaten Zone bars, my formerly "healthy" snack, because they have a million ingredients and are coated in chocolate, for Pete's sake.

It's not like I've been totally healthy. I've had pizza and cheese fries and pints of beer and what is surely a fat-laden puff pastry with an egg and prosciutto about once a week. But that snack is lovingly made by the hands of talented pastry chefs at my favorite cafe, so I'm down with it. It seems like basically real food to me, which is what I've been going for. I still drink half-and-half in my daily coffee and have had delicious whole milk in my cappuccinos from the cafe. And at least cheese fries are potatoes, you know? Tonight I had two hush puppies at dinner with my turkey burger. They were spicy fried cornbread balls of delight, and I don't regret a single bite.

This whole sweets giving up thing has steered me to not snack between meals for the most part and not eat food that comes in bags or packages or is super-duper processed or laden with chemicals. I had a handful of pretzel sticks when helping to pack up M.'s pantry and it felt like such a treat. My only really unhealthy "snack food" consumed during Lent was a small vending machine bag of that cheesy dorito / pretzel / sun chip / cheeto mix consumed while working on a Saturday because I was absolutely hungry and it seemed like the healthiest snack of those available. Oh, and I had a handful of goldfish out of the bag in my friend A.'s car (that bag of goldfish that seems to ride around in the car of every parent of small children) after a few beers after the 5K. The fact that I can name these snacks on one hand is hilarious to me considering the amount of snacking I have done all my livelong life.

The very, very weird thing about this Lenten experience is that I haven't felt deprived. I don't really miss the sweets for the most part. Today in the grocery store I passed a bag of Tootsie Rolls that I had a sudden craving to eat in its entirety, but it passed as I passed the bag by. I've also had a couple of strange urges to open my mouth wide and start pouring honey nut cheerios in it as fast as I can chew and swallow them. But again -- fleeting. Instead, I feel like my meals are real treats. Last night, I ate a chicken breast cooked in a little sesame oil with rice noodles and acorn squash. So simple but so totally satisfying and filling. I've been making a ton of stir-fries. I feel like the time spent making a really simple, healthy, yummy meal is time so well spent. It is like a gift to myself. This sounds so unbelievably corny but I'm not sure how else to describe it.

The way I have changed my eating habits has been radical. I do not say that lightly. Radical. I am a person who likes to eat and snack all day long and loves candy and salty, junky snack foods. I could eat a bag of Smart Foods white cheddar cheese popcorn or Chex mix every day, or polish off a box of garlic Melba toasts in one sitting, or enjoy a Twix or bag of Skittles every single afternoon and a big bowl of ice cream every night, no problem. Looking back over this Lent when I've (mostly) eaten three meals a day with minimal snacking, I've realized there's really no need to eat all day long and how freeing it is to not be consumed by food thoughts and food eating throughout the entire day. I can honestly say that banana slices with a tablespoon of natural peanut butter after work in the afternoon tastes better to me than whatever crap I would have eaten before. (That has become my major snack moment, and it's a very calming ritual. I thank my sister for this snack idea.) Grapes and oranges are sweeter than they've ever been. I feel really grateful to love fruit so much all of a sudden. I am like, thank you, earth, for growing this fruit for me. It is f-ing awesome. An orange after a run is so heavenly! Seriously.

I don't even recognize myself when having these thoughts. I've always really loved eating healthy foods but have also always loved eating really awful foods and lots of them along with the healthy foods. My body has not changed in any drastic way at all, because I'm not sure that is super possible at 34 when it's pretty set in its ways, but it feels stronger and more energetic, and that is honestly the most important thing to me. My mind and my spirit have changed in a drastic way, it feels like, and I find that very cool. And meals taste so much better now that I am actually letting myself be hungry for them. And I know my body is healthier on the inside.

I envisioned Easter Sunday as a day spent eating Reese's eggs and licking the chocolate and peanut butter off the wrappers, but now I'm not sure I want to do that. I don't know how much I would enjoy what is basically God's perfect candy when knowing how much better I've felt without sweets and how bad for me they are. Not just my body but my mind. The amount of guilt off my shoulders about eating unhealthily is unreal. Maybe feeling guilty about eating sweets is unhealthy in and of itself -- I know "everything in moderation" is supposed to be the healthiest way to live, and I do believe that, but maybe I'll give myself a little longer than Lent to soak in this sweets-free and snack-free existence before giving so much love and time and attention to sweets and snacks again.

I just like everything about my life better, knowing that I am feeding myself well. I am so grateful to have undertaken this experiment and this experience. I gave up something that I thought had a lot of power over me, but it turns out it didn't. That makes me feel pretty brave and strong. I like that this eating habits transformation occurred during Lent because I do still love the traditions of my family and church. I think Jesus, if inclined, would be psyched.

Weekend with old friends

MONDAY! I just spent an enjoyable hour visiting with my BFF, who's been in town for the weekend. We talked while I browned my drained-for-days tofu in olive oil and invented a yummy stir fry with broccoli, carrots, onion, celery, and garlic. Made up a random sauce with soy sauce, sesame oil, a drop of molasses, and black pepper. Then I threw in some walnuts just for good measure. And some frozen peas, why not? I'm eating it over quinoa, and it's very tasty! I love made-up food.

It was a busy and crazy fun weekend. I took the day off on Friday at a very inappropriate time of year to spend my BFF's birthday with her. We went shoe shopping, ate Lebanese food for lunch, and went to my favorite cafe. That night, we had dinner with our other BFF -- macadamia nut tacos over fried rice, shrimp tempura rolls, BBQ chicken pizza, plum wine, you name it!

Afterwards, we headed to a crawfish boil / karaoke party for our friend's rehearsal dinner, which was festive. At one point in the evening, my old friend and I headed to the most vile bar in creation because I thought my brother was playing there, but I was sadly mistaken. A frat boy took a giant handful of my bottom as I walked by. It was unpleasant but unsurprising. I should have known better than to set foot in that heinous place, where you get stuck in the crowd and end up fighting your way through the sweaty masses with a feeling not dissimilar to what it must feel like to stand in sewer. Not good! Overall, the day and night were great, though. It's just really good to be around people you've known forever, isn't it?

Saturday dawned, and I'm drawing a blank. I brought my friend who stayed with me to a brunch. Eventually it was time to get dressed for our friend's wedding reception, held outside on a terrace overlooking the river, and it was GORGEOUS. Beautiful bride, beautiful friends, beautiful night.

Yesterday, the BFFs and the cousin and I went to a coffee shop and had a non-shower for the friend pregnant with twin boys. We drank coffee and ate cake and gave her some gifts. It was nice to sit out in the sunshine together.

This is not very exciting, but my heart was very full this weekend.

I didn't eat cake because I still haven't cheated on my no-sweets-for-Lent resolution, which is shocking beyond belief. I finally sat down to watch the Battlestar Galactica series finale yesterday afternoon after basically resorting to a media blackout for two days. (No spoilers to follow.) All I'll say is that I'm so glad this show has been in my life for the past few years. In July of 2006, when I first started watching the show, I wrote, "Last night I watched the first 45 minutes or so of the Battlestar Galactica miniseries. When you can realize that greatness is unfolding not even an hour into a new show, it's pretty exciting. The cast seems solid, the premise is intriguing, and it's got heartache and comedy and sex and war and outer space and that's pretty much a perfect show right there ... it's going to be fun to immerse myself in this universe, I can already tell." Who knew the ride I was in for? I still marvel that my brother picked up the miniseries a few short months ago and flew through the entire series, Razor, and the webisodes in time to catch up before watching the finale this weekend. Talk about immersion! We agreed that we don't even really care what happened in the finale. We just feel like the show has been a gift.

I guess I have nothing else to say for now. Sometimes I wish all we ever had to do in life is sit around with those who speak the same shorthand language that we do and eat, drink, and be merry.

Monday

Rainy days & Mondays, etc. The sun is allegedly coming out tomorrow, and it will not be soon enough for me! We had a very gray and rainy weekend. My first annual St. Patty's Day Parade party was wet and small but spirited. (As spirited as it could be in the rain.) It was great to see everyone who showed up (several of whom had to trek on foot quite a ways in the rain to get here) and particularly to meet my old friend's new baby for the first time.

After everyone went home, I basically prostrated myself on the couch and watched Rachel Getting Married. Though there were things I didn't love about it, I can't stop thinking about it. It's staying in my system for some reason. The main thing I didn't like, and this isn't really a spoiler since the title tells you someone's getting married, is how eclectic and sensational and diverse Rachel's friends were during the whole wedding celebration weekend. I was like, who in the world really knows a group of people this creative, this interesting, this every color of the rainbow, this musically talented, this artistic? It felt really artificial to me somehow. Then it occurred to me that lots of people are probably part of groups like that and the fact that I'm not (though I'd like to be) doesn't mean they don't exist. Other than that, I thought it was a pretty astonishing and wonderful film. Anne Hathaway definitely deserved all of the accolades she got, and Rosemarie DeWitt as Rachel and Debra Winger as the mom were also amazing. I am very glad I saw it. It wasn't a feel good film per se, and the subject matter was dark and harrowing and heartbreaking at times, but it still totally made me feel good. It was real.

My mom and I spent most of yesterday shopping. I bought a new dress that I love. We had a really fun time together.

Switching gears, if you've left a comment on the site lately that I haven't published, please do not take it personally ... I would reply privately, but I'm not sure how to contact those of you who've left these comments. Sometimes people leave perfectly lovely comments that contain content I don't really want aired out publicly, that's all. I appreciate your comments and your interest and your reading! That is for sure.

Just when I thought the recipe I described here couldn't get any better, I decided to make it again today and added frozen peas and ... fresh pineapple chunks! Wow. The pineapple chunks (added just towards the end, they don't really need to cook) sent this dish to a new level of deliciousness. I am completely in love with it.

This is going to be a week of trying to move things along at work as things get busier and busier, attempting to exercise, and looking really really really forward to the coming weekend of fun, frolicking, and festivity with my oldest and dearest friends. I can't really think of anything else to say except I can't wait to watch tonight's Battlestar Galactica: The Last Frakkin' Special.

On that note, I think it's time to revisit Battlestar Galactica: The Phemonemon, in which everyone from the dude from Anthrax to Brad Paisley to Jesse L. Martin to Joss Whedon to Seth Green to S. Epatha Merkerson talks about loving the show. In three parts. Obviously full of spoilers if you've never watched the show. Which you should.

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.

Fat Tuesday / Ash Wednesday

Yesterday we had a holiday. I woke up early, of course, and headed to the grocery store for a big shopping trip and was home by 9 a.m. I don't really remember what I did. Oh yeah, I went on a run. 3 miles on a beautiful day. Then I had an impromptu lunch with M. and my favorite five-year-old, her daughter. We ate BBQ chicken pizza and drank frozen lemonade and it was great to have some girl time. I went to a cooking store where the owner fussed at me for not having cash, snarling that she might as well give me the shamrock cookie cutter for free for what running the charge would cost her. Made mental note not to return to stores where owners fuss at you for buying something. Eventually, I headed to my parents' house, where my mom and I ate king cake and watched Slumdog. (A copy on DVD arrived in my mailbox one day last month, a surprise from a friend. No idea where he got it; didn't ask!) I was able to watch the entire movie with my eyes open this time instead of shielding them at certain tense moments, and I caught things I missed the first two times around, including one really big thing involving Salim and Latika when they were kids. It was great fun to watch this movie with my mom, who covered her eyes, shrieked, writhed in her chair, laughed, and cried in all the right places. It is always fun to watch someone you love fall in love with something you love. I tell myself that I like sharing things I love regardless of how they're received, but it's always a bit deflating when something falls short of what you want it to be for someone (which is as awesome to them as it is to you). So I was unspeakably psyched to see how psyched she was to watch this movie. She actually called it "a gift." Good times.

Today is Ash Wednesday. I am giving up junk food for Lent. This feels like a monumental undertaking. My mom says that Lent, in part, is about emptying yourself of bad things in order to make room for good things. I think she meant spiritually, but I am taking this sort of literally, in that I am emptying my body of food that is bad for me and hoping it makes room for me to feel better, sleep better, look better (always a bonus), and most of all, live better. I realize it's only day one, but I feel oddly freed by this decision. Of course, in a week, I will probably be all "my kingdom for a Twix!" We'll see. Also, I abandoned my no-coffee resolution after less than a week, and I've decided my morning cup of coffee will have to be pried from my cold dead hands.

A few co-workers and I went to noon mass today for Ash Wednesday. It had been so long since going to Ash Wednesday mass that I was thinking you get the ashes the same time as you get communion. But no. You file up separately for each act. I have to tell you. I could not believe how many people showed up for noon mass in the middle of a workday. I mean, I could believe it, but I couldn't believe it. People were pouring into that cathedral like ants. We were squished together as tightly as possible in the pews, and still a huge group of people was standing in the back and people were lined up standing on the sides. Hundreds upon hundreds of people is what I'm saying. And it's not like this is the only service around ... all of the parishes have multiple masses throughout the morning, day, and evening today. The ash getting took a very long time. At communion, they ran out of communion wafers. The bishop gathered a few of us who were left around and started randomly and somewhat apologetically blessing us after they ran out. One of the ushers, a wrinkled old man, leaned over, realizing they'd also run out of wine, and whispered to us, "If we'd known there'd be this many people, we'd have brought more liquor!" Eventually someone ran in with a plastic bucket of more wafers and we all were able to receive them. At the beginning of the mass, before the processional, the cantor was announcing the song pages and then said, "Oops, I forgot to mention this mass is being presided over by the bishop. Sorry, Bishop!" and started waving her hands in the air like she just didn't care at the bishop who was in the back of the cathedral. It was all very comedic in a way, this solemn holy day.

What struck me about sitting there around these bazillions of people was not only the reminder that I live in a town of a bazillion Catholics who will march through the streets at lunch time to fill a cathedral on Ash Wednesday and what a possibly peculiar thing that is but also the reminder that maybe it isn't so much about what you necessarily believe but about rituals and tradition. I never know what I believe on any given day, but I believe in family and in growing up with certain traditions and that it's important to revisit those traditions sometimes. Thinking about that made it all a bit easier to stomach when the bishop went on and on about how we are all going to die physically but live on spiritually. It was a bit much to take on an empty, growling stomach that was dreaming of ordering a stir-fry as soon as this mass was ended and we went in peace. I found myself wondering about the people around me and the reasons why they were there. Was she a fervent believer with all of her heart? Was he there because he wanted to remember his mom or dad or grandma who used to take him to mass when he was little? Were they praying for sick relatives or friends? Were they there hoping that God exists and will save our country from this mess we're in? Were they there in case God exists so they won't go straight to hell? Who knows? Whatever the reasons, I did feel a little sense of community in that big church and with my colleagues as we returned to work with big black smudges in the middle of our foreheads.

This evening, I lay on the floor of my bedroom taking my bed apart, cursing and shaking out my throbbing hands as they turned purple from trying to unscrew totally shot screws with all sorts of sub-par tools. I wondered if there were some I would never be able to unscrew and about taking a hammer to them in blind rage. Finally, I got them all out. It was an Ash Wednesday/pliers miracle. Even though it was a huge pain, it felt good to do it all by myself, a very Mare Winningham in St. Elmo's Fire/her own peanut butter and jelly in her own apartment moment. My new bed is arriving tomorrow after 3.5 weeks of waiting for it; more on that later. I hope that it radically changes my life.

Today

I really enjoy when my friend Anne gets on kicks of writing what she did that day. Nothing more, nothing less. So today I will do what I always do, which is copy her. Even though her day involves directing Shakespeare in Alaska and mine ... does not.

Today my goal of having a sensational night's sleep was rudely interrupted when the garbage truck rolled by and rattled the windows at 4:45 a.m. I sighed, tried to squash my anger because the garbage men were just trying to do their job, and vowed not to let it ruin the day.

Today I had my second consecutive morning without coffee. For some reason, I've decided this is a good idea. I'm not sure how long I'll stick with it, but I like the idea of becoming less reliant on it to force my eyes open in the morning.

Today I bought a small box of Necco conversation hearts half-off at the drugstore. They were 50 cents and reminded me of the little boxes my dad used to give us on Valentine's Day when we were younger. I ate them at my desk, one by one.

Today I made myself an egg for lunch and ate it with two little slices of leftover French bread from Sunday night book club.

Today I listened to the Once soundtrack and NPR in the car.

Today I watched kittens riding around on a roomba.

Today I decided that I'd like to try giving up sweets for Lent. The truth is that I eat far too many sweets, know they are bad for me, and feel guilty about it all the time. In giving them up for forty days, I'd like to use that time to remind myself that I don't need sweets to cope with stress or sadness or boredom. I'd like to figure out other ways to deal with those things and after forty days feel healthier and like it's perfectly fine to enjoy sweets sometimes. I feel like this will be a truly head- and body-clearing experience. Maybe I'm overestimating the impact, but I don't think so.

Today I invited my cousin to come visit this weekend and accompany me to a night of watching my brother play, a parade, and a birthday party. I hope he will come.

Today I prepared this chicken chow mein recipe in the crockpot before I left for work. I didn't use celery because I didn't have any, I left out the baby corn because baby corn is wrong, and I added carrots and broccoli and green and yellow bell peppers. I also added frozen peas and water chestnuts. (My only complaints about this recipe are that it didn't have enough spice and fire for me, so I had to add some black pepper, and then some cayenne pepper just because I don't know what the hell I'm doing, there were WAY too many bamboo shoots for my liking, and the bean sprouts reminded me way too much of the brain worms from the last episode of Grey's Anatomy.) I've decided that the whole fun of crockpot cooking for me is not stressing about it, being loose with the recipes, and trusting that it will all come together in the end. It also feels really good to take the time to prepare something nourishing for me to eat over several meals in a totally economically sound way. There is just something about walking into my house and having it smell really good with good cooking smells that makes it feel much more warm and homey. I am pleased to be starting this tradition for myself. It's not fancy and it's not complicated, but it is working for me right now.

Today I decided to do nothing this evening but eat my meal and flip between The Biggest Loser and American Idol. Nothing taxing or productive. I'm fine what that on a gray Tuesday night.

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.

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.

Motivation

I went to the gym today to go running. Lucky for me, I caught the last fifteen minutes or so of A Knight's Tale, which are a great fifteen minutes to keep your feet moving, even with no sound and with closed captioning. It occurred to me as I watched the end of this movie (SPOILER ALERT) that this is actually a really good movie. When the prince knights Heath Ledger's character, it's genuinely moving. And when Heath Ledger fights Rufus Sewell in the final duel (my sorrow at seeing Rufus Sewell play a villain is deep, true, and documented), it's genuinely thrilling. At least it was to me on the treadmill today. The thing I like about this movie is even though it's a silly Middle Ages romp with modern rock music (and even though Shannyn Sossamon can't really hold her own with the rest of the cast, her gorgeousness notwithstanding), the actors play it all completely straight. The reactions of the prince, the crowd, and especially his friends to William's ultimate knighting and victory are so heartfelt and loving and real (how awesome is Paul Bettany as Chaucer?), and Heath Ledger never lets on that this is really a silly movie. He acts like it really matters to his character that his dad heard him being addressed as "sir." It is easy, looking back, to see why this was the movie that made Heath Ledger a star. I really liked him, and he moved me in both silly and serious films, and I am very sad that he died.

And this is more than I ever thought I would say about A Knight's Tale, for pete's sake. But it, along with the Olympic footage of the U.S./China water polo match and the women cycling in the rain under the Great friggin' Wall of China, really motivated me today to run three miles instead of two, the longest I've gone since resuming exercising this summer. So that felt great. This evening I went to yoga with my dad and we did so much floor work that my forehead started becoming permanently attached to my mat and had pains shooting through it, so that was a less pleasant fitness experience, but what're you gonna do?

I guess all I can do is prepare to watch Mad Men and face the week ahead. And make these (I used chocolate chip cookie dough and alternated mini-Reese's cups, Rolos, and regular Hershey's Kisses, and they were easy and delicious and perfect). And try to watch as much Olympic gymnastic footage as humanly possible because it is awesome. My older brother texted us in excitement when Li Ning lit the Olympic cauldron because we were glued to the gymnastics coverage in 1984 along with the rest of the universe, for that was the year of Li Ning and Bart Connor and Mary Lou Retton and MITCH GAYLORD. Seeing Li Ning was like seeing an old friend. It was funny that my brother remembered that summer. That made me happy. And now, for nostaglia's sake ... remember, she needed a perfect 10 to get the gold medal:

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.

This is going to be one weird summer.

Weekends!

This past one was an early birthday/bon voyage celebration and started with a mix-up of Elizabeth's famous bourbon slush. I decided to halve the recipe, so it went like this: 4 cups of water, 1/2 cup of frozen lemonade (thawed), 1/2 cup of frozen orange juice (thawed), 1/2 cup of bourbon, 1/2 cup of sugar. Freeze in plastic pitcher. It was frozen by morning, and we enjoyed it all weekend. This is the perfect summer drink treat.

Friday afternoon, we headed out for pizza with one of B.'s school friends and his fiancée. Blue moons and pizza were consumed and presidential politics was discussed. Then we watched Battlestar Galactica, which frankly was as dull as dishwater. It seemed like a lot happened, but it all happened so utterly boringly that I could not care. We also started The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, but I slept through most of the first half. I blame the Blue Moons.

On Saturday morning, we headed out to the farmer's market for muffins, lemon scones, garlic cheese biscuits, and coffee. At some point, we finished The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which was so utterly gorgeous and profoundly moving that I wept throughout. I loved every performance in the movie, especially Max von Sydow's. Highly recommended. We had lunch at one of our favorite sandwich places and listened to the guitar man play the theme from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly on his fiddle very beautifully. B. went for a massage, and when I went to pick him up, I saw the teacher of my old circuit class!!!!! He gave me his card and I really hope to check out his new gym. B. said, "She loved that class," and I said, "I did. I really did." In the immortal words of my teacher, "Love yourself!"

That afternoon, we went to a reception at an art gallery where for some reason I almost had a heat stroke even though normally I'd be all about visiting a labyrinth, and then we went out to dinner. We had shrimp over eggplant and angel hair pasta and some other stuff. I can't remember. Oh yeah. A fried ball of crabmeat with little fried strings shooting out of it that looked like the flying spaghetti monster. Sazeracs. Cake.

A new dog park opened, so when we woke up early on Sunday morning, we decided to head over there.

I first brought Zuko home a little more than seven years ago because the shelter people told me he gets along with any dog, any time, and I didn't want a dog who would snap back at Daisy. They were right, and it seems this is his essential nature and hasn't changed. He just rambled around at the park and had a great time, not really engaging in serious play with the other dogs, but being unfazed by it all and peeing happily on every fence post he passed. Daisy was nervous, but she didn't snap at anyone and seemed to appreciate the wide open spaces she could retreat to. It was a good time.

Later that morning, we headed down the river for brunch. I got us hopelessly lost and was an asshole about it. But brunch was divine.

"Why don't we eat here all the time?" B. asked. "I was just thinking the same thing," I said. He had some kind of black bean soup with shrimp and bacon, and I had the best food on earth, otherwise known as a bread bowl with shrimp, yellow/red/green bell peppers, and purple onions in some kind of buttery, spicy heavenly sauce and a mimosa.

Then we split eggs over a fried grits cake topped with BBQ shrimp. All of this took place in a little old wooden building that used to be a general store right across from the river. This place is almost too perfect.

After that, we stopped at my parents' house so B. could look through their multiple boxes of crazy travel accessories. On our way out the door, my dad asked him if he had a pedometer. When he said no, my dad shrieked, "YOU CANNOT GO TO EUROPE WITHOUT A PEDOMETER!" and ran back into his study to fetch one. One of my dad's favorite things to do when traveling is to measure and then report how many miles he walked that day.

Early that evening, we met a couple of friends and their dogs back at the dog park. It was way, WAY more crowded this time, and while Zuko continued his easygoing wandering without caring where I was, Daisy was not as relaxed and stuck pretty close to my side. I think it was because she was pretty tired from the outing that morning and kept looking at me wearily while surrounded by fetching, spazzing dogs with an "I am nine, and I have had it" face. If she felt cornered and didn't appreciate it, she definitely let the other dogs know. B. kept reminding me that she picks up on my nervousness, so I tried to keep my distance, but usually I'd just walk away from the scuffle and call her to come with me to a less crowded area of grass, and it would work out okay. I really want to keep taking them, but I do worry about her sometimes. The funniest sight of the evening was seeing four large dogs sniffing the belly of a yorkie who'd rolled over and seemed to be loving the attention -- either that or seeing our friends' floppy, adorably clownish boxer / mastiff mix bound over, come to a face-to-face stand-off with a chihuahua, and lick it delicately on the nose.

The reason behind all of the festivity this weekend = B. is going to France for the summer. I just waved goodbye in the driveway and cried a lot. I am now consoling myself with cold cashew chicken and a Gossip Girl rerun.

I miss him already.

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.

Misc. stuff

Crazy! That's how life's been lately.

Let me rewind a little bit to earlier this week. On our day off, B. and I decided to go see There Will Be Blood. (Possible spoilers in this paragraph.) I have to say that I rolled right along with it for most of the movie. I found the music highly irritating, but I thought it was a pretty darn good movie. The only other Daniel Day Lewis movies I've ever seen are The Crucible and The Boxer, but they were both so long ago that I have no real memory of them, and so I am not a part of the universal human family who worships at his altar even though I really enjoy his startlingly serious and heartfelt acceptance speeches and obviously think he is a beautiful physical specimen. But I liked him in this part, mostly, and I thought the oil drilling stuff and the small town stuff was really neat, and the kid was adorable, so fine. But by the time it flashed forward, it lost me, and I just wanted everyone to die (except for H.W.) and put themselves and me out of our misery. I also thoroughly misunderstood the preacher character. I thought that Paul and Eli were his split personalities and had no clue they were actually two people. We walked out of the movie theater, and I was like, "Huh?" And B. was like, "Clearly it was an allegory about the defeat of religion by commerce in America." Ooookay. I'm sure he's right, but I really did not need to see that bowling alley scene to teach me that lesson. I am becoming annoyed all over again just thinking of the goddamn straw and milkshake business.

Thankfully, I watched The Jane Austen Book Club a few days later, and it was so sweet and adorable and lovely and I really liked it. I liked every single person in it, and Hugh Dancy is clearly destined to become a Major Movie Star.

Something that makes me happy: The Weepies have a new album coming out on April 22. It is called Hideaway. I cannot wait.

My shopping at the produce market has altered the way I'm trying to eat lately. I'm not trying to diet, but I'm trying to eat so many healthy, natural foods that I don't want to fill up on crap all the time. I still have the occasional cookie at work, but I'm really enjoying the healthier foods right now. I'm also over meat for the time being. I've never been a major meat lover, but I've been eating some tofu and soy crumbles lately and trying to find protein substitutes for meat. I continue to be obsessed with roasting vegetables. This is very dull so I will stop.

Cute.

Based on hearing 2 of their songs, I think I have a new favorite band! The Avett Brothers. "Die, Die, Die" is a song that gets better as it goes along and becomes pretty great by the end. I am intrigued and want to hear more.

One of the better things I've done lately was spend a lunch break pulling over, parking my car, and standing under Japanese magnolia trees and taking pictures of them on a sunny afternoon. They are pretty and pink and smell like heaven.

Yum

I had the day off today. I slept in a little bit and then went shoe shopping with my mom. We had a nice afternoon. I went to the produce market, where I'd never been for some unknown reason, and loaded up three bags of stuff for a mere $16. I bought six little Louisiana satsumas. I ate three tonight. I could eat three more. I've decided they are the best thing I have ever eaten.

I made a simple but very yummy dinner tonight, a recipe suggested by my friend. I sauteed bell pepper, onion, celery, and garlic in lots of pepper and thyme, oregano, and basil then dumped in a can of diced tomatoes and cooked that down. Then I heated some Tyson chicken chunks (already cooked, in the frozen foods section, because I recently decided that life is too short for me to hold back the puke cutting up raw chicken ever again if I can help it) in some olive oil and stirred it into the other mixture. Then I served it over some tri-colored orzo pasta and topped it with feta cheese. YUM. For good measure, I made some sweet potato crack with the sweet potatoes I bought at the produce market even though it wasn't really a sensible side dish. I feel so very pleased to have three kinds of squash and a refrigerator full of strawberries, grapefruit, satsumas, apples, and leftovers from tonight's dinner.

I'm trying to keep up with the Artist's Way with my sister but the truth is that I haven't done a very good job. I am not really good about facing myself in any sort of paper journaling way right now, and this book is a lot of that. I want to overcome that fear.

Work is sure to be busy/crazy for the foreseeable future, but I am choosing not to think about that. I hope that school will be okay. I plan to stick with the exercise. I just want to have a happy and healthy life. I want to stop being a psycho in some respects. I think I'm going to bed early tonight. Goodnight.

Stupid Mexican lasagna recipe

My mom used to make a really good Mexican lasagna sometimes when we were kids. I decided I needed to make something like it, so I Googled it and tried the first recipe that came up, a recipe by goddamned Rachael Ray. And I don't even dislike Rachael Ray like the crazy haters out there. I'd never made one of her recipes before, and I can't say I'll be jumping at the chance to do it again.

First, I looked at two stores for ground chicken, one basic store and one specialized fancy store. No dice. So I got ground turkey. Which was $6 a pound, and the recipe called for two pounds. I should have taken the meat costing $12 as a sign that this recipe and I were not going to get along very well because I am kind of a cheapskate. Then, it called for a "large skillet." I think my skillet is fairly large, and there is no way it was going to hold two pounds of turkey, a can of black beans, a cup of corn, half a red onion, a cup of taco sauce, and a can of stewed tomatoes. So I ended up dirtying the skillet and then dumping it all into a giant gumbo pot. I spiced the heck out of the mixture -- OR SO I THOUGHT -- with more cumin and chili powder than the recipe called for, plus plenty of salt and some garlic powder and cayenne pepper thrown in of my own accord for good measure. I used the stewed tomatoes with the jalapenos in them. I used the black beans seasoned with garlic. I used the Mexican cheese with the peppers and spices in it.

And did this Mexican lasagna, despite my best seasoning efforts, have any taste whatsoever? No. No, it did not.

I don't know where it all went wrong. I don't know if most people who gave this recipe five stars just really like bland food. But this is not the first time this has happened to me, and I am not sure if I am just used to more flavorful food down here or what. I think I might blame the ground turkey. Maybe ground chicken or ground beef would have worked better? Who the hell knows? When the best thing about a meal is the bagged damn salad, it's depressing.

Maryelizabeth has advised me from now on only to use recipes by Louisiana cooks because they always include things like chiles and other spicy and zesty wonders.

Meanwhile, I've decided this recipe is jacked up in general. It says it makes 4 servings -- maybe 4 servings if you are Hagrid. The two of us have each had at least 3 servings already, and more than half the pan is still full. PLUS, the filling of the lasagna (meat, corn, beans, tomatoes, etc.) was way too much for the pan to hold, so I have a giant leftover bowl of it that I have no idea what in the hell to do with because we'll be eating the lasagna for days and will have no chance to use it in some creative way. I guess I will try to freeze it and then use it with rice or pasta or omelettes or something later. RIDICULOUS!

Damn you, Rachael Ray.

Ice cream cake is important.

First things first: big shout out to reader Jana who has finally solved the mystery of those damn five notes from the Planet Earth theme that have been driving me insane as to where I've heard them before. They are from the theme to Somewhere in Time! If you listen to this, you can hear the five notes from about 3 seconds in to 5 seconds in. Thank you, Jana. You have no idea how this has been torturing me.

On Friday night, we went out for honey wasabi shrimp, pad thai, and the best spring rolls in town. For dessert, we had ice cream cake. This was a very easy and tremendously yummy dessert if you like ice cream sandwiches, oreos, and cool whip, which I do.

The next morning, we went out for breakfast. Later that afternoon, we got take-out from the same place and watched Venus, which was alternately good and kind of disturbing. I liked it, though, mostly. It kind of made me think about my grandfather. He really kind of had a rebirth in his later years when he moved into the retirement home. The men were vastly outnumbered by the women, and a number of the ladies adopted him and crocheted for him and showered him with cards and attention. But mostly he liked the young women. The young women who worked there, the young women at his favorite coffee shop, the young women at the Y, the young women my brother dated. He LOVED them. He took pictures of himself with them and scotch taped them around his apartment. And I really don't think it was a perverted sort of lust he felt for them. I think it was mostly that they were young and alive, and they made him feel young and alive, too.

We took the dogs on a walk around the neighborhood after finishing the movie, which they definitely enjoyed if their near hysteria was any indication. For dinner, we went out for Japanese food. He had a sushi roll with coconut shrimp, avocado, mango, and pineapple sauce, and I had grilled shrimp and vegetables over fried rice and some miso soup. We also split some gyoza. That might be my favorite meal, honestly. Rice, veggies, shrimp, some soup, some dumplings. Perfect. More ice cream cake was had for dessert, enjoyed over about five episodes of season two of The Office. I realized I never saw most of season two, and I laughed until I almost cried, especially during the Olympics.

On Sunday morning, we went to the baptism of my friend's baby. (Thanks again to all who e-mailed or commented with advice!) It went very well. I did my godmotherly duties, amounting only to draping a little white garment over her after her head was doused with the water. She was uncharacteristically quiet and serene, and her dad said, "It must have been all that original sin that was giving her a stomachache." We went out for a very nice lunch after, and a good time was had by all. B. had poached eggs over crab cakes and english muffins with remolaude sauce, and I had seafood crepes. We both had shrimp and corn soup with andouille sausage. I had a cappuccino, he had a Newcastle. I don't know why I like to record what was eaten, but I do. It helps me preserve the memory of the experience somehow. As for being her godmother, I can't pretend that I will be able to advise her about faith or things of that nature, but I definitely promise always to be here for her because holy shit, she is cute, and I love her.

Speaking of memories, a veritable flood of them hit me while in mass for the baptism. I don't know if it was being around other people who went to school there or what, but I felt so nostalgic about the school and I felt SUPER nostalgic in the church. My parents were there, which was nice, and my dad took his volunteer photographer duties very seriously, darting around furtively during the actual baptism taking shots from various angles through breaks in the crowd and barking officially such commands as "Stand by!" My mom looked like some kind of radiant goddess in her blue and white checked shirt. Anyway, it was the first time that B. came to church there, and I found myself wishing for the songs to be really good. Sadly, they used versions of the Amen, Holy Holy Holy, Christ Has Died, Lamb of God, etc. that I didn't know or particularly like, and the opening hymn, closing hymn, and responsorial psalm were not all that. Thankfully, the choir came through with "Here I Am, Lord" during communion, one of my all-time favorites. I don't know how I know every word of every verse of that song, but I do. I guess it goes back to how permanently things are cemented into your brain when you do them over and over as a kid. I had a flashback to being in the choir loft way back in the day and singing at the top of our lungs a very rousing song called "Go Ye into All the World and Preach My Gospel to Every Creature!" There was lots of exclamatory singing in that song. My family is in full agreement that the best mass parts are by Bob Dufford. Two examples are the "Amen" and the "Holy, Holy, Holy," which you can hear (sung rather hideously, I'm afraid) here if you click on "Listen." I think these are from the St. Louis Jesuits Mass, whatever that means.

I guess my point is that even though I don't believe in God like I once did, I still like going to church sometimes and hearing the music I grew up on and being surrounded with so many memories of special times, like our fifth grade Christmas pageant where I played an angel with wings made out of coat hangers and aluminum foil, singing in the choir loft as a kid, all of the Christmas masses where my siblings and I stifled laughter over some crazy off-key choral nonsense going on, and all of the school masses and Sundays spent finger spelling whole conversations in the pews with my friend or my sister and how my friend and I used to pick out Eucharistic ministers who looked like movie stars, such as Tom Hulce, Diane Wiest, and the grown-up Yahoo Serious. I wished I could somehow take a picture of my heart while we were sitting there and show it to B. and say, "Here. Here is so much of my childhood and so much of who I am."

Looking forward to: a rock concert and, at long last, seeing Once.

Weepy weekend, whoa

This was a wildly weepy weekend. On Friday night, I drove to see my boyfriend. We went out for sushi and watched part of Planet Earth. Which for some reason sent me into a tailspin of weeping that I'll have to try to explain later.

The next morning, we headed to a museum that I could not have loved more. I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. We ate lunch, sharing crab claws marinated in amber beer and rosemary butter and a Thai chicken salad. I had a strawberry lager, which was scrumptious.

Later, we shared a pizza at Angeli and went to see Waitress. I started sniffling when Keri sang the pie song and cried and cried by the end. I must have had something hormonal going on, because that made two nights in a row. Certainly this called for gelato. He got white chocolate almond, and I had strawberry and vanilla.

The next morning, we crossed the lake to take care of some house business. We had our first coffee since Katrina at his favorite coffee shop, which just reopened a few weeks ago.

I became and remain obsessed with a five-note section of the Planet Earth theme. You can hear it here ... it's the first 5 notes of this interlude, lasting until about 8 seconds in. I played it on the piano as G E F G C. I know those five notes in sequence for some reason. Part of a movie theme? Another song from another life? It's been driving me totally insane. (That link goes to Windows Media Player, so apologies if you don't have it.)

Last night, my mom cooked crawfish etouffee, shrimp and corn soup, butternut squash with pecans and breadcrumbs, and ice cream dessert for Father's Day.

I found the actual recipe in an old church cookbook from 1980. I'll post it here at the request of sixmilechick, who asked for it months ago. Eat and love.

So as for my breakdown on Friday night. Which was some sort of strange existential crisis, brought on, I think by watching too many World War II documentaries, most recently American Experience: Battle of the Bulge. I told Jessie that I keep watching them because I'm trying to understand why and how that war happened. And she said, "I actually know exactly what you mean about having to watch 800 movies ... because something is too large to make sense of without a lot of different stories." And that is exactly it. And I told Jessie some of this in an e-mail and now I will say it here.

So the Battle of the Bulge really brought on the weeping. And after watching a tiny bit of Planet Earth, I started and could not stop. And he said, "What is wrong?" And I said, "I have a heavy heart." And he said, "Because of the Battle of the Bulge?" And I said, "Yes." And then I hiccupped a lot and said, "And the animals. All the beautiful animals. They're just trying to survive. And we're messing the world up. And we didn't learn anything from WWII." And I thought about soldiers with their feet frozen off and the little dead Belgian children frozen in the snow that the documentary showed. "And if we didn't learn from that war? What war will we learn from? We are at war RIGHT NOW." And we're killing the planet, and what is the point, and nobody lives for very long in the end, etc. etc. And I wept and wept. And nicely, he let me and patted me.

Anyway. All I'm saying is that World War II documentaries and Planet Earth are kind of a serious one-two punch in the soul, at least for me. I've hardly seen any of Planet Earth so far, but it's killing me. Especially the snow leopards and bottlenose dolphins and elephants who swim like they're as light as feathers or air.

Whirlwind Weekend

Weekend whirlwind, whew.

On Friday night, I drove to see my boyfriend. I didn't get there until later than usual, so there were no big dinner plans. I ate his leftover curry vegetables and rice, and we turned in pretty early. We woke up early on Saturday morning and headed to the big city.

On our way there, I talked to my sister, who'd just run a half-marathon that morning at the very impressive pace of nine-minute miles, once again leaving me in awe of her. Once we got to the city, we attended a Jazz Fest brunch at his neighbor's house ... grits with shrimp, corn casserole, homemade cream biscuits, and other mighty fine dishes. We then headed to the festival, where we saw Snooks Eaglin in the Blues Tent and part of Galactic. We also enjoyed frozen cafe au lait, crawfish strudel, a pink lemonade snowball, a strawberry smoothie, and I think that's it. We spent a lot of time walking around the different arts and crafts booths, which is always fun.

(The Harry Shearer photo is for mo pie.) After sizzling in the sun for a few hours, we headed to a wine and cheese night with his co-worker and his wife. We walked over to the St. James Cheese Company, and smelling the gardenias and jasmine growing all along the gates on the beautiful Uptown streets was pure heaven. Somehow we spent more than $60 on cheese. I don't even know how.

I don't really know much about cheese other than I hate blue cheese and that the worse it smells the more I will hate it. I know that makes me quite a simpleton when it comes to cheese. We bought cheese from different countries, in different shapes, in different containers. It was a cheese extravaganza. The couple laid out an impressive spread of cheese, sliced baguette, crackers, and wine, and we went to town. It was quite fun, and it's too bad that they're about to move away.

The next morning, we went to brunch at the Longbranch. It was very pretty and fancy and delicious. I had the whole wheat pancakes with raspberries and blackberries and cinnamon butter, and he had eggs benedict with ham and English muffins and crispy chive potatoes. And eventually I drove home, talking to Shelley and listening to Cabaret.

I went straight to having coffee with an old friend and to Toni's reading, then I came home and watched Little Children. Which I thought was brilliantly made but pretty gross and disturbing. So I recommend it, but prepare to go, "Ew."

What else? I watched a fantastic episode of Brothers and Sisters, which I swear gets better and better every week. I love Patricia Wettig, I mean, I have loved her since she was Nancy Weston about whose evolution as a character (I'm sure I've mentioned) I wrote a 30-page paper for my Women & Television class. I watched so many hours of tape of her as Nancy that I can recite whole episodes and mimic her hand gestures and facial expressions. And so I am thrilled that she has such a juicy and wonderful role on a show that has turned out, against my initial assessment, to be absolutely good. I love that she won three Emmys for thirtysomething because she totally deserved them, and I love that she is married in real life to Michael Steadman ("Yo. It's my art center."). Love it. Love her. So it pains me to say this. But her very scary boob shelf saddens me. She is 56, and she looks wonderful, and there is no woman whose breasts should sit that high up at the age of 56. Or any age, really. Maybe she is just wearing insane bras, I don't know. It's really my only criticism, and maybe I shouldn't even be making it. I still love you, Patty!

Meanwhile, I've decided that I miss running and that I have to return to it. Not only for my physical but for my mental health. I've felt decidedly more crazy since the half-marathon. For my first run back, I'm shooting for a mile. I'm not even confident that I can run a mile. But I have to start back somewhere.

Catching Up

After work on Thursday afternoon, I baked lemon scones. I liked them. They tasted kind of biscuity, and the lemon flavor was present but not overpowering. I might become more adventurous with my next batch.

That night, we had mediocre Thai food at a place that is usually one of my favorite restaurants.

On Friday, I went to work and he went to his thing. That evening, we had another mediocre meal! This time at a casual Italian joint. Two for two. We started Marie Antoinette, which was pretty to look at but kind of boring.

On Saturday, we had egg sandwiches on biscuits at our breakfast joint and fetched a vanilla iced coffee. Then it gets kind of blurry. We finished the movie, still pretty but still boring. He spent a few hours writing, and I spent a few hours taking pictures of the dogs on their cots and playing on my computer. I baked Rolo and toffee brownies. We went to visit Maryelizabeth, the new baby, et al. I got my weekly fix of baby head smell. That night, we went to an old friend's house so she and B. could actually meet each other. I drank too much wine, which I have not done in a long time.

On Sunday, we made egg sandwiches at home, discussed some things, he went home, I mowed the grass, dropped off a birthday gift, and got some granita and a sandwich and headed into work for a few hours, which is always a delightful way to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon. But I was cheered up by my great visit with the inimitable Mo. I then headed to my parents' house for my mom's incredible tuna salad and a good, frank conversation about my secret dreams of becoming a young adult librarian and, also, living in sin.

Today I am groggy and kind of surly. With no energy to say anything profound or entertaining, I will now post some pictures of my wicked dogs and their groovy new cots.

Would it be wrong to eat leftover brownies for dinner?

Ramona lives

I guess it's time for another wrap-up. On Friday night, we had a fancy dinner ... my boyfriend had steak and I had the bouillabaisse, which contained basically every seafood known to man. My favorite thing was the spicy shrimp napoleon, which was fried mirliton slices stacked with shrimp remoulade. We had two somewhat frightening parade route crosses to make on foot for the sake of this meal, but it was worth it. We exchanged Valentine's Day gifts after dinner, and I love my Everwood CD, chocolates (so far I've tasted the excellent tarragon grapefruit and the lavendar vanilla), and earrings.

We got up Saturday morning and decided to keep eating ... he had a giant chicken salad sandwich on focaccia and I had grits, scrambled eggs, and onion biscuits. Eventually we headed to the park for our last! long! run! of half-marathon training. I never really got into this run even though I really love the park. It was supposed to be 8 miles, but I only made it to about seven. He ran almost 13, for the love of heaven. I don't know if it was the cloudy day, the strong wind, or just the feeling I've decided I don't like of running in a giant circle around a track, but I did not feel strong at all and never really hit my normal rhythm and stride, turtle-like as they may be. But I survived, despite a strange altercation during our post-run stretching session with Mardi Gras revelers doing drunken, shirtless pull-ups nearby.

As for the running training, I am under no delusion that I am actually ready to run a half-marathon. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, though, and I'm just going to face the music. We drove over the overpass that we'll cross twice on race day, and I felt a little faint as I realized how steep it is. But whatever! I'll just cross that bridge (literally) when I come to it. I will say that I wish that my friends were still coming for the race, and I hope they'll come next year!

After running, we hobbled to Starbucks and then home. Soon enough it was time for dinner, so we headed to La Vita, the new place where Gabrielle used to be, and while the food was pretty good -- chicken pesto pizza for him, linguine in marinara sauce with shrimp for me, along with some bruschetta -- the service was so preposterously bad that it was laughable. We got our appetizer before we got our drinks (not exactly complicated -- sprite and root beer), and the couple near us got their ENTREES before they got theirs. On the menu, it said you got one refill on your soda, so the waitress brought one to my boyfriend when he'd finished his, but she just took my glass away and never brought another one. One waiter knocked a bottle of red wine into the lap of an older gentleman diner, and no one even seemed to care. No waiters or managers came over to assist, no one offered additional napkins or soda water or anything -- and finally he and his wife just left in disgust. It was bizarre. I wondered if we might be on candid camera. It's really a shame, and I hope they can turn it around, because like I said, the food was yummy.

We knew better than to attempt a dessert order at that establishment, so we headed to our favorite dessert place, which was closed for Mardi Gras. So we saw no other option than to go to the supermarket and buy a pint of ice cream for each of us. (Ben & Jerry's Mint Chocolate Cookie for me, Haagen Dazs Exta Rich Light Coffee for him.)

My product recommendation of the day: fleece sheets. They are very soft and warm. But make sure you use an extra fabric softener sheet or two in the dryer as they are prone to sparky static.

Let's see, what else? We watched American Experience, and it was a little bit disappointing. While it had some great stuff about the early years of the city, I guess I thought it would focus on that and be more of an archival, historical sort of documentary instead of a bunch of creative types waxing poetic about the magical, mystical, mysterious New Orleans. Some of it was just eye-rollingly trite. I still recommend the show, but I think I confused American Experience with American Masters, which is a freaking amazing show in terms of power and quality -- every one I've seen has blown me away, particularly the episodes on Robert Capa and Eugene O'Neill.

I was very struck by this entry by Andrea. I think it would be a good idea for me to think about how I can put some things in my life on P. Not that my life is so complicated or difficult, but there are probably things that I make more complicated than they need to be, even if it's just mentally/emotionally more than practically. Andrea is wise.

Because my friend recently saw Half Nelson and has been seized by Goslingitis, I brought Chinese food and The Notebook over to her house on Sunday night. We all dug into cashew shrimp, sesame chicken, vegetable fried rice, and egg rolls, and as we wept and wailed loudly at the end of the movie, her three-year-old jumped on top of her, clutched her face in her hands, and consoled her with great vehemence: "It's okay, Mommy. It's OKAY." I have decided that three-year-olds are the most awesome creatures on earth, especially when they do things like try to fake cry and then burst out laughing, recite the Pledge of Allegiance, sound out words and ecstatically shout out the letter when they figure out what it starts with, perform the entire refrain to "Amie" by Pure Prairie League, and have the same haircut as Ramona Geraldine Quimby.

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.

Souper

Monday. It is sunny! Sunny days have been so few and far between in the past month around here that I'm still kind of in shock when a sunny day appears.

To catch up:

On Friday night, my boyfriend and I got Thai take-out (cashew shrimp and red curry with chicken) and watched the first half of Slither. I rented this because I am very amused by James Gunn's MySpace page (particularly entries like this one detailing a recent trip to London), which I discovered because he's the husband of Jenna Fischer (Pam on The Office), whose MySpace page is also fun (like this entry in which she tells about her own history trying to make it as an actress).

On Saturday, we went to the library, had a good lunch of yummy sandwiches, and embarked on our long runs of the weekend. It was in the upper 40s outside and only partly sunny, but the small amount of sun and the fact that it wasn't windy out were enough to make it bearable weather-wise. (I know the upper 40s is not really cold, but I am a lightweight who's cold in the house when the heater is cranked up to 72 degrees.) I put on probably too many layers than necessary and headed out.

Surprisingly, this was actually a pretty pleasant run for me, or as pleasant as a 10-mile run can be. I plotted out a much better route than last time, allowing me the chance to stop for a quick emergency bathroom break at my brother's house and a guzzle of Powerade in my driveway. I was tired, and my feet hurt, but I never reached the absolute depths of despair like I did on my last 10-miler. It was very helpful and motivating to have my boyfriend speed past me at one point at the speed of light and to have him drive to find me once he was long done with his run to check on me as I chugged through the last mile or so. I even felt like I could have run 11 if I'd had time, but I didn't as we had massage appointments scheduled. The massage was great except for when she had me lie on the floor to step on my glutes. I told her they needed stretching, and she did a good job with that, but my pelvic bones were mashing into the floor and that was painful. Once I got up on the massage table, it was much better. I think I will ix-nay the floor work next time. I appreciate a massage therapist trying new techniques, and the glute work definitely helped, but the floor was just way too hard on my already super-sore bod.

After the massages, we stopped for coffee and headed home so I could start The Soup. I'd eaten it once before as prepared by Shelley and have always remembered it with great love. She sent me the recipe along with lots of moral support. For some reason the soup seemed like a scary thing to make, but it wasn't at all. And it was very, very, yummy. (See the short Soup photo set here; it contains the recipe.) For dessert we had vanilla ice cream with shavings of dark chocolate raspberry Hershey's kisses.

At some point we finished Slither. This is a very, very, very, very silly gross-out comic horror film, and I can't really recommend it for anything other than the fact that it might make you giggle with its grossosity. And the fact that it stars Captain Malcolm Reynolds. We also played a game of Scrabble, of course, and went out to take a few pictures of a burned church.

After he went home, I went to see a local production of Annie with my Maryelizabeth solely because we both grew up loving Annie a lot (her more, even, if that's possible) and her three-year-old is really into the movie. It was fun, but we were both rather appalled that Annie's hair was brown. No red wig. No washable red hair spray dye. No effort to remove the lines about her red hair from the dialogue. It was confounding and quite frankly upsetting. Maryelizabeth could hardly speak about it after the play, so flabbergasted was she. "I could have lent them my Annie wig from childhood," she lamented. "My mom still has it!" It is a sad day indeed when Annie's hair is nowhere close to being red. WTF?

I went out for sushi with a friend during the Super Bowl so I don't have much to say about it, other than this: to my friends Amy and Erin and other normal, nice, and sportsmanlike Bears fans, I feel your pain about your team's loss. I truly do. But to the Bears fans who sent nasty, hateful, and gloating comments to me after the Saints lost to the Bears -- and those who displayed their ugliness for all the world to see -- all I can really say to you now is right back atcha, you big mean jerks.

After sushi, I started Grey Gardens. I've been interested in it ever since seeing the divine Christine Ebersole perform "Another Winter in a Summer Town," a very beautiful song from the new musical based on the documentary, on The View. I haven't finished it yet, but so far, it's pretty damn riveting. It's hard to watch sometimes, but it's mostly just fascinating. I look forward to finishing it. And now if you'll excuse me I am going to heat up some soup.

But before that ... I want to share my new favorite new running song with you. It's called "Don't Know Why (You Stay)" and it's by a band called The Essex Green. I discovered it as a mention over at Sweet Juniper, and you can listen it in its entire swell glory right here.

Vegetables

Vegetables
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Sometimes you realize you need to eat more vegetables.

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.