Y'all don't even know

There was a little football game yesterday. I had no plans to actually attend this game, but a ticket miracle was masterminded the night before, and I happily embraced the opportunity to road trip down there with my little brother for a day of frolicking and merriment in the big city.

Before the game, we lucked into a table at a restaurant owned by a family our older brother is very close to, who actually were among the wedding guests (their goodness was demonstrated by the fact that they missed the game the weekend before to attend the wedding -- that is true friendship right there) and we basically fell down and died over the deliciousness of the house specialty rum drink and the shrimp and redfish with crabmeat and onion rings and Irish coffee and bread pudding in whiskey sauce. Honestly, that meal alone made the entire trip worth it, as crazy as that might sound.

Soon enough we found ourselves swept up in the masses walking to the dome, drinking champagne from the bottle on our way in the warm afternoon sunlight, and I thought I had experienced the height of my lifetime's game hysteria at a couple of other big games, but this was an entirely different level.

This crowd -- well. Young and old, rich and regular, black and white -- all decked out in black and gold and all screaming at the top of their lungs for so many hours that I think I suffered permanent hearing loss. It was just so much fun.

It was intense, though. Like, you could see the weight of the closeness of the game starting to take its toll as people would quiet down for a few minutes, clenching their hands over their mouths and just staring at the field as if willing it to happen: "Finish strong, boys." The few Viking fans around us obviously loved their team, too, and weren't afraid to scream and ring their cowbell. One of them behind me splashed a large portion of his drink all over my head. But it was all good. We laughed about it. I mean, I don't see any reason to be hateful to other fans. I have nothing against the people of Minnesota. They traveled a long way to be there, and they cared about the outcome just as much and love their team just as much.

But they were certainly outnumbered by our diehard fans. There was bonding in the seats by strangers and friends, and it wasn't long before we were embracing everyone around us at various points in the game. I swear when it was all over and all had avoided stroking out or having heart attacks, some random guy almost kissed my brother on the mouth as they jumped up and down in each others arms. There was just that kind of love in the air. It was truly dizzying. The guy next to me sat down and quietly put his face in his hands and said, "I never thought I'd live to see this." He was, like 20 years old. It just seemed so impossible to hope for, and yet, here it was. Actually happening. In a classy display of good sportsmanship, two men on our row in opposing jerseys hugged it out at game's end.

In the ladies room after the game, all was chaos. In the stall next to me, a woman cried out in savage glee, "Bitches, y'all don't even KNOW!" But we all knew.

As we drove home, my brother and I listened to talk radio, where the commentators, members of the crowd, and callers alike lost their collective minds, slurring with overwhelmed emotion and probably lots and lots of beer. We laughed so hard and so hoarsely with barely any voices left with which to guffaw, just delirious from the day and everyone's spastic radio comments. The sentiments expressed were so emotional and clumsy but so obviously heartfelt and true. People called in from all over the country -- even from other countries, like Panama, shouting their sometimes garbled cries of elation as members, far and wide, of the Who Dat Nation. And I can only imagine what was going on throughout the city ... we got out of town pretty quickly as work awaited this morning, but there are reports of fireworks in the northern parts of the state, and my neighbor said our street had a party rolling down it of people hollering who dat. It's just so huge, so enormous, this excitement and joy.

I can't really explain what it felt like to be in that crowd. I am certainly the least among sports fans in my family, and it's not like I know squat about professional football, so I'm not saying this while pretending to be something I'm not. And it might not be my city in that I was not born there, and I don't pretend to claim it as such. But as anyone who's from around here knows, it really is our city, all of ours, and it's our team, and I think it's okay to feel that way. And unless you're from here or have lived here a while, you probably can't understand, and that's okay. Just like we don't understand what it means to be from where you're from. We know that. It's all okay. But see, our people, our parents and our grandparents, have been waiting for this. And it is something in the blood of my family, these families, all of our families, no matter where we're from in this state. Of course for those from New Orleans it means the most. But to all of us, it means a whole hell of a lot.

So, please. Don't belittle this team as if it's just a part of a poetic narrative that makes good newspaper copy. Don't try to take away the win by blaming it on this or that. Don't try to cheapen or slap in the face or knife through the chest something that we've been waiting for, well, forever. Have a heart. Read this article, one of the best things I've ever read in my life. Watch this video and try not to cry. And then if you don't understand just a little bit better, and you still want to hate on the Saints, then I don't even know what to tell you.

I'm so happy we got to be there. I will never forget it.

Brandi Carlile

As if seeing the Indigo Girls the night before weren't enough of a treat, I got to see Brandi Carlile the next damn night at the House of Blues.

Brandi Carlile has been my number one want to see in concert artist for a while now, and the wish finally came true. The concert was the perfect mix of old songs, new songs, and a few covers. It was all I hoped it would be and more, honestly. I knew the music would be amazing, but I did not know she would tell so many great stories and be so unbelievably interactive and charming. Brandi Carlile is the real deal.

(I found it surprising that most of the people I told I was going to this show had never heard of Brandi Carlile. So I'm going to link to some video of songs, mostly from recent shows, so you can check her out if you aren't familiar with her, because I think she is someone special and I love her music very much, obvs. I tried to find ones of good quality. I'm sure you know that you must click HQ if you can. Good stuff, beautiful, really. I must say that I loved every new song and can't wait for the new album this fall.)

Setlist:

Burn: This is a Ray LaMontagne song, which was a nice and surprising opener for the Ray fans in the audience. Video here.

Closer to You: What is not to like about this song? Nothing, that's what. Video here. (Bonus: the following song is also included in this clip.)

I've Just Seen a Face: I was aware that she has performed this in concert but it did not occur to me that she would do it at this show. I love this song, and I love her version of it, and I was bouncing on my toes with delight over this one.

Late Morning Lullabye: One of my faves. It just makes me happy. Video here.

Have You Ever: This was the first song by Brandi Carlile that I ever heard. B. put it on a mix CD for me. I have him to thank for introducing me to her. This remains one of my favorites to this day. Video here.

Dying Day: They stood on the edge of the stage and sang and played this one with no microphones and no amps. It still filled the entire house. Good stuff. Video here.

Dreams: New song. Video here.

Before It Breaks: Beautiful. Video here.

Oh Dear: This was a nice showcase for the twins. Video here.

Creep: Well, this is not a favorite song of mine. But I still enjoyed it. Video here.

What Can I Say: She invited the crowd to sing along on this one, and the crowd obeyed. Video here.

Over You: She wrote this song when she was 17, and it will be on her new album. Video here. It's not the greatest song ever, but it sure feels like being 17. She played it for her mom, who asked, "Why are you so angry?" Totally 17.

Turpentine: The three-part harmony audience choir aspect of this one was very fun. Video here.

The Story: This is the Brandi Carlile song that most people who have ever heard of Brandi Carlile know. Or at least know of. Or at least have heard in a truck commercial. This song did not disappoint, not one tiny bit. This song means a lot to me, just like it means a lot to a lot of other people, and there's a reason for that. And that reason is that it is awesome. I might have cried. Video here.

Jackson: Video here.

Folsom Prison Blues: Totally raucous and fun. Video here.

Let It Be: Beautiful beautiful beautiful. Can't find decent video. She played the piano. It was a perfect closing song. We smiled the whole way home.

At some point during the show when everyone was cheering and cheerful and things got really lovely, Brandi smiled a huge smile and said, "If they could all be New Orleans..." If all the concert venues, if all the cities, if all the places in world.

It was nice.

Indigo Girls

Recently I attended an Indigo Girls show at Tipitina's Uptown in New Orleans. I tried to think back to the times I've seen them. First time: Jazz Fest afternoon show. Skipped out of school early with friends senior year of high school. 1993. Liberating, sunny, beautiful afternoon in the grass. Sometime mid-college. New Orleans. 1995? Some arena setting. Wrote a paper about it for anthropology class. Summer of 1995, Denver. Another time somewhere around here, another arena setting, with sister and friends, the least favorite of the shows, where we joked that they played every song we never wanted to hear. The glorious Chastain Park, summer of 1999 (I think). And that was the last time. Beautiful, outside, transcendent, circled back to that first Jazz Fest show.

Can't believe it had been 10 years. Because I am a nerd and like my iPhone's notes function, I typed the songs in as they played on Saturday night. This is organized by album and not by order of when played in show and will likely only appeal to longtime fans. Basically all you need to know about the setting is that it was standing room only at Tipitina's, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip with strangers and friends, totally smoky (only downside), and that the crowd was very enthusiastic and it was basically one big massive singalong. The Girls seemed psyched to be there and very moved to be playing at Tipitina's -- one thing about shows in New Orleans is that the artists really romanticize the city and love it, which makes for a cool vibe. Amy Ray definitely dominated; she also rarely wiped the huge grin from her face, which was endearing; Emily's voice was still really beautiful but was a little tired every now and then. Emily said to the sweaty crowd that it's like taking a bath all the time when you're in New Orleans. Only missed opportunity: Southland in the Springtime. Seemed like a no brainer to me. Major annoyance: couple next to me who slumped over each other's shoulders, closed their eyes, and swayed back and forth the entire night, bumping me with every sway, like they were on their own personal dance floor or competing on Slow Dancing with the Stars. Otherwise, no complaints. Okay, here goes. (I'm going to link to some video, high quality if possible, for some of these ... not necessarily from this show but good recordings. Some of them will include Brandi Carlile, just because that makes me happy.)

Indigo Girls

Land of Canaan: Super fun, of course.

Closer to fine: Last song before encore. Audience member bid $9,000 to walk onstage, drink in hand, to sing final verse onstage with the band and get CD recording of it. She really knocked it out and turns out my friend knows her. She is an OBGYN. Money went to charity (Sweet Home New Orleans).

Nomads, Indians, Saints

Watershed: This one came out of the blue for me and I was so glad they played it. What a beautiful song. One of my all-time favorites.

Rites of Passage

Galileo (2nd encore song, last song of show, with Bonerama -- lots of horns, random but good): Since Closer to Fine and Shame On You had already been played, I was having trouble thinking of a really upbeat encore song. I turned to my sister and said, "I guess all they can play last is Chickenman?" She looked at me like I was an idiot and said, "Um, GALILEO!?" Duh. Obviously. She is smart. It was a fantastic closer.

Swamp Ophelia

Power of Two
Least Complicated

These are not my 2 favorites from this album -- Mystery and The Wood Song and Language or the Kiss are -- but they were fun to sing along to and the crowd loved them.

Shaming of the Sun

Get Out the Map: My sister and I worked on a top 10 of all time list to kill time while driving to New Orleans, and I'm pretty sure this made it, though we didn't write it down so I can't remember. I never thought they would play it, and it was great to hear. Meant something to my brother since he's leaving for a 3-week Europe backpacking trip in a week. Beautiful song.

Shame on you: I've always really loved this one; also a surprise to hear. Really fun in concert, clearly. Almost explosive joy from the crowd.

Come On Now Social

Oziline: I have never really gotten into this album.
Go: Ditto.

Become You

Become You: Decent song, kind of random. Not my fave from this album, but I like it well enough. (Those would be Deconstruction, Collecting You, Hope Alone, Our Deliverance, and She's Saving Me, all of which I love.)

All That We Let In

Fill It Up Again: They played these back to back and I felt they were totally random.
Heartache for Everyone -- Cute songs, sure, but nothing epic.

My two favorite songs from this album are the title track and Come On Home. It would have been nice to hear them in the place of these, but I am not going to quibble.

Prom (Amy Ray Solo Album)

Let It Ring: She did this onstage by herself and blew the roof off the place; hard to put into words; beautiful; spiritual; a prayer. Awesome!

Posiedon and the Bitter Bug (New Album)

Love of our Lives
Sugar Tongue
Driver Education
What Are You Like
Ghost of the Gang
Digging for Your Dream
Fleet of Hope: My fave song on new album.

when I was a girl

all of my fancy took flight

and I had this dream

could outshine anything

even the darkest night

now I wait like a widow

for someone to come back from sea

I've always known

I was waiting for me

I'll Change: My 2nd fave song on new album.
Second Time Around: First encore song.

It was a wonderful road trip with my sister and her new husband and our little brother. We ate pizza on a Magazine Street sidewalk and drank beer beforehand. We sang until we were hoarse. The staff held tall stacks of plastic cups to hand concertgoers on the way out to pour their drinks into and carry out into the night. We didn't get home until morning. When I woke up, my hair and pores and pillowcase smelled like smoke. I'm a little too old for that. But I will always go back to see the Indigo Girls. I love them forever!

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.

Avetts at Jazz Fest

Clearly I was thrilled to learn a few months back that my beloved Avett Brothers would be at Jazz Fest. My brother scored tickets and tent passes from a friend, so we headed to the city after lunch on Sunday, squeezed into a parking spot on a side street, and waltzed on into the Fair Grounds on a beautiful and sunny day. The tent was really swell -- couches, beers, big screen TVs, speakers, and best of all, misting machines. We parked ourselves on bar stools at tables and enjoyed Blue Moons with orange slices and felt like we were living the life. As the mist spewed forth upon us, I wondered aloud, "Do you think the chemicals making the mist cold are getting into our beer and poisoning us?" He pondered this for a moment and then sighed contentedly, "It's worth it."

Soon it was time to head over to their stage. There was already a pretty big crowd there, but we were able to get pretty close. What can I say? I love this band. They started with "Shame," one of my favorites (you have to scroll about 2 minutes into that video for the song to get started), and they played lots of songs I knew and several I didn't, my favorite of which by a mile was "Salvation Song." (Link is here. Be sure to click "HD" if you can on any videos I've linked.)

Something I love about the Avett Brothers is that they are, I've decided, fundamentally optimistic. Their songs are openly emotional and honest and not afraid to be boldly and proudly emotional and about family and about making the world a better place. That might sound super cheesetastic, but it doesn't come across that way. It's not that their songs don't also have darkness and sadness because sometimes they do. But sometimes they are so nakedly hopeful and romantic and I can't help but believe that they mean every word.

We came for salvation
We came for family
We came for all that's good, that's how we'll walk away
We came to break the bad
We came to cheer the sad
We came to leave behind the world a better way

I am not conveying this well. I just think that there's a time for music that makes you feel dark and twisty, as Meredith Grey might say, and there's time for music that lifts you up and makes you want to shout and sing and feel brave and happy.

I waited in a long line at the merchandise tent following the show so they could sign my CD and I could shake their hands. I have always regretted not waiting in line to meet Anne Lamott. So I decided what the hell. I moved across the table really quickly and they scribbled initials or signatures or whatever on the CD, and I thanked them for coming and told them that their music means a lot to me. I wasn't sure what else to say. They were nice.

And I took a lot of pictures. And I said this over at Flickr and want to say it here. These were not taken with a great camera or with great skill, but they were taken with great affection and joy.

If I had to pick one song as my favorite of theirs, and it would be difficult if not impossible, I think "Murder in the City" would be it. (Here's an excellent video of the song at the fest. Click "HD" and let her load.) When the opening chords started, I turned around searched the faces in the crowd for my brother's ... he'd ended up a little ways behind me in the crowd. We waved and nodded and smiled.

It was a wonderful day.

Weekend Update

It was a jam-packed weekend to be sure. On Friday evening, B. and I headed out to celebrate the end of his finals with some of his school friends. We ate pizza and drank beer. Then we went to a foul, piss-smelling bar where he played pool and merriment was made. I headed home early while he deservingly partied the night away.

The next morning, I ... am drawing a blank. Oh yeah. I went to World Market to buy some bamboo shades for my back living room windows. I have some cute but flimsy white curtains in there, and now that every last tree that provided shade to the back of my house has been felled either by Katrina or a chainsaw, it gets full afternoon sun and causes my house to bake like an oven every single afternoon. I'm not sure how I feel about the shades, and I broke one of my dad's drill bits by trying to drill a hole in the window frame with the drill set in the wrong direction, but B. saved the day and now they're hanging sturdily and darkly. This does not solve the problem of the curtains I have hanging over my sliding glass door which, despite being think and sturdy and nice khaki Pottery Barn curtains, do zilch to block out the slammin' rays of the sun. But it's a start.

Then I went to class, where I had to walk out angrily and lie on a bench in the quad in the sun for a few minutes and talk to S. on the phone because I was so annoyed that people were going over the set 7-minute time limit for our presentations, like way over, like doubling that time and beyond, and it meant we would likely have to meet the following weekend. And I did not understand why this professor whom I like very much was not just shutting them the heck down. What is wrong with these people? I do not know. But because the last remaining people (myself included) speed-talked through ours, not bothering to fire up our powerpoints, we got done in time. So much for all that time spent on the powerpoint for nothing. I really need to relate, relax, and release over this and unclench. And I have. There. Done! Overall, I loved the class because I got to read and talk about YA literature which is one of my favorite things in life to do.

That evening, we ... I don't know why I am drawing such ferocious blanks on the whole weekend. What in God's name did we do? Oh yeah. We went to a crawfish boil with some of his school friends.

Then we went to a party with some of my school friends. It was great to see some people again I haven't seen all semester and lovely of my classmate to host it. Hi, classmate, if you're reading. I want that tomatilla salsa recipe.

We got up on Sunday morning and prepared to head out to Jazz Fest for our fourth year in a row, which is kind of mindboggling. I enjoyed snapping some photos on our walk through the neighborhood on our way in.

The thing about Jazz Fest is that it's really awesome but it's usually really hot. It's dirty, a lot of the people are annoying, and for every annoying person, there are dirty feet in flip flops. And yesterday all of those thousands and thousands of dirty feet surrounding me at every turn got to me. That and the heat. Other than that, I was glad to be there. The Raconteurs were great, even though I know none of their music. But Jack White is a real rock star and it was cool to be in his presence. Then we saw the Neville Brothers play together in New Orleans for the first time since Katrina, which was awesome. The announcer who introduced them talked about how the people of New Orleans are a family and how this was a big family reunion, and the people around us screamed and held their Miller Lite cans proudly up in the air in salute. Then we took our dirty, sweaty selves out of there. Before the Fest, we ate a very yummy lunch of salads and spicy tomato paste on pita triangles at Fellini's, where we hadn't been in ages, and that was lovely. B. and I sure have had some good meals together.

Speaking of meals, I stopped on the way home from work today to pick up some Thai food over which to enjoy last week's Battlestar Galactica. Unfortunately, the bag broke just as I exited the car in my driveway, and my food splattered on the concrete. Needless to say that is not where I wanted my food to end up. But I guess there's no sense crying over spilled cashew chicken. B. shared his red curry with me instead, and we just finished the episode. All I have to say is that this show just keeps getting weirder and weirder, and I love it.

Life is tiring sometimes, but I'm glad to be alive.

V to the Tenth

Somehow I did not learn about V to the Tenth until earlier this week. Either the local press was late in covering the upcoming event or I was just oblivious. Either way, around mid-week, I started seeing notices of the night pop up, and I knew that I needed to go. My girlfriend and I left boyfriend, husband, children, pets, homework, and housework behind and fled for the big city about 5:30.

Background: My sister and I went to see The Vagina Monologues in New Orleans years ago -- maybe 1999 or 2000? -- not sure, and I went to see it a few years ago here. Both time were great experiences, and when I had to choose a "tough cookie" on whom to do a major project for a class a few years ago, I chose Eve Ensler. So I'm pretty familiar with the show and even own it on audio CD. It was clear that I needed to be present at this event, even if it meant sitting five rows from the very tippy top of the Arena (which we did). We sat back with our shared hurricane daiquiri and chicken sandwiches and fries and prepared to relax and enjoy the show.

Let me get the negatives out of the way first: I know I let this sort of thing get to me too much, and I feel almost disloyal saying this about a fellow woman while at a pro-woman event of this magnitude, but there was a row of twenty-something women dressed to the nines as if going out for a night with Carrie, Samantha, Amanda, and Charlotte who were very loud when they came in, very loud as they crossed over us multiple times, very loud as some of them moved to the row behind us, and just ... loud. I really hoped they would settle down and settle in once the show started -- but they didn't. One woman in particular who was sitting behind us decided that she needed to take the thoughts in her head and speak them aloud in reaction to the show. Not quietly, not under her breath, not whispered carefully into the ear of her friend next to her -- but out loud. At full volume. When Doris Roberts (the grandma on Everybody Loves Raymond) and Didi Conn (YES, FRENCHIE) were doing the "down there" monologue and said something about things being noisy "down there," this woman said, "Are they talking about ____-ing?" (Rhymes with leafing.) When they said something about the smell "down there," she said, "Mine smells like oranges!" After each of these comments, I would turn around and shoot her a death glare, but it had no effect. When Christine Lahti (CHRISTINE LAHTI!) delivered the "hair" monologue, the woman shared with us that hers is shaved. When Kerri Washington performed the monologue about Bob, the man who likes to look, when Washington was describing how Bob liked to sit in the shade in the summer and wore beige clothes, the woman's friend turned around to her and said, "Bob is SUSPECT," I don't even know what that means. Then when Washington was describing how Bob looked at it for an hour, my favorite person behind me said, "He'd better be doing something else while he's down there for so long!" Death glare after death glare -- nothing. Then the amazing Charmaine Neville came on and gave a little personal speech before performing "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" and wondered aloud what happened to the people in her neighborhood. She said that she wondered what happened to the German woman who would come sit on her front porch and drink coffee with her so they could "talk about people." About the boy who would ride by every day and tease her dog. About the Vietnamese family who ran the corner grocery store. My friend behind me said loudly and indignantly, "Um -- stereotyping??" And Charmaine wondered what happened to the Chinese family who ran her dry cleaners. "I am getting offended!" Said the genius behind me who clearly did not stop and think that these were actually real families in New Orleans? Hello? Then she continued, "What's next? Is she going to ask what happened to Apu?" That's when I turned to my friend and said, "Get up! We're moving." So she grabbed her purse and we hustled to some empty seats in the adjacent section. And from then on, the evening was smooth sailing of normal people who don't do anything in the audience but laugh and cry and applaud in the right places.

Highlights: Rosario Dawson & and an Eastern European actress performing the one about the young woman and violence in her village, who explained that the woman who told Ensler that story and on whom the monologue is based was in the audience. Seeing Amber Tamblyn come onstage, not knowing she would be there, and thinking in my head, "OMG Joan Girardi, OMG Joan Girardi, OMG, OMG." Hearing the insane reaction of the audience to the entrance of Jennifer Beals, who, along with Alex Hedison, Ilene Chaiken, and Daniela Sea (The L Word), was hilarious in the monologue about moaning. (Jennifer Beals is really as beautiful in real life as she is as Bette Porter, if that is humanly possible.) It was neat to see Jennifer Hudson, who looked great. She performed a monologue about loving being a girl. And I feel like she had the potential to BE great, but she held her cards so closely up to her nose that I wondered if she had not practiced at all? It was kind of weird. The other actresses had cards, but they only glanced at them sometimes and did not read straight off of them. Oh Jennifer Hudson. I know you have it in you! And Jane Fonda, the amazing Jane Fonda, who was the only person (I think) besides Ensler in the opening "I am worried about vaginas" monologue who went off-book. Not a card in her hand had Jane Fonda for "I Was There in the Room," probably my favorite of all of the classic vagina monologues. In case you don't know, this monologue was written about Eve Ensler being present in the room when the wife of her stepson, Dylan McDermott, gave birth. More on him later!

Now it is time to talk about Liz Mikel, otherwise known as Smash's mom on Friday Night Lights. I have been known to say when watching that show, "This episode could use some more Mama Smash." Which any episode of any show could, frankly. She is always wonderful on the show -- strong and tender and fierce all at the same time. I saw her walking in with the little parade of stars and I got very excited. She performed the "my vagina is angry" monologue, and it was funny and fantastic. I was so proud of Mama Smash and thought she was such a great addition to the night.

Meanwhile, I'd read that Oprah was going to be there to perform a new monologue that Ensler wrote in honor of women affected by Katrina. And sure, I was excited to see Oprah. Oprah is an event unto herself, you know? So when Liz Mikel came back to the stage late in the evening following an amazing gospel choir (Lois DeJean and the Voices of New Orleans) and said this was a new monologue in honor of a New Orleans woman named Patricia Henry, I wondered, "Hm. Isn't this the one Oprah was going to do?" But the thought left my head when Liz Mikel started performing this monologue. She had cards, sure, but she barely glanced at them. She embodied the spirit of this woman with her full mind, body, soul, and spirit. She was soft in the right places, mighty in the right places, angry in the right places, and so forth. It was called "Hey, Miss Pat!" and she told of the people who would come by and say that and ask her what she was cooking that day. And she talked about all of these people who were lost in or damaged by the storm. And I don't really know what to say other than when Ensler is good, she is great, and that Liz Mikel was unbelievable. By the time she was done, she was crying, and Ensler ran to the stage and embraced her, and then Ensler, whilst basically sobbing, called the real Patricia Henry to the stage, so she was escorted up there, and she was crying, and she and Liz Mikel held each other and rocked back and forth and wept, and Liz Mikel said, "God bless you, God bless you," and we were all on our feet and tears were streaming down thousands of faces, and it was just one of those transcendent moments in theater and in life.

A few minutes later, Eve Ensler, still totally overjoyed and overcome by Mikel's performance and the whole beautiful scene, said, "I guess you've figured out that Oprah couldn't here tonight," and she explained that Oprah was sick, and continued, "But I think we can all agree that seeing Liz Mikel was such a gift," and said something about how some things happen for a reason and we just have to let ourselves be carried by however the wind blows. And I mean, it was clear to her and to everyone, I would think, that there is no way that Oprah's performance would have been nearly as extraordinary as Liz Mikel's and that we were blessed to have experienced it. Right? Not long after, we decided to start making our way down to the car as Ensler was wrapping things up, and some people were clearly not as blissed out and zen about the whole thing as I was, because people were PISSSED about Oprah and about not being told until the very end. Which my sister assures me was a very reasonable reaction on their part, and maybe I am just so blindly in love with Mama Smash that I could not be fazed by Oprah's absence. Anyway.

And now for our up close and personal celebrity spotting of the night! As we neared the exit doors, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dylan McDermott in jeans, a black leather jacket, and black Chuck Taylor sneakers hurriedly making his way to the door beside ours, and I crammed my mouth into my friend's ear and said, "Look to your right, RIGHT NOW," and she did, and her eyes flew wide open and we exited beside him as he totally speed-walked to wherever he was going, I guess to avoid being recognized (sort of funny considering how much, much bigger stars were there, but I guess they were not Among The Common People like he was for some reason), and he was very handsome if a little shorter than I imagined, and I thought for a fleeting moment about how I like him best as Leo Fish in Home for the Holidays. And he was holding the hand of a young girl with long hair whom I suspect was the girl whose birth inspired "I Was There in the Room," and I wondered how it must feel for her to hear something like that being performed by Jane Fonda, to hear about herself -- "first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms" -- and it was a nice, sort of mind-blowing, full-circle way to end the evening.

It was wonderful, and it was wonderful to spend an evening with my friend, and it was wonderful to be there, and I'm so very, very glad we went.

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.

Game

So that was really fun.

I was not feeling all that excited about going to the game at first. I was stressed about taking off at work when I’d just taken off for the holidays and I had a pretty major assignment in the works, and I was bummed my boyfriend wasn’t going, and I was wishing we all could have made a big weekend of it instead of just showing up for the game and heading home. But on game day before heading out, I started to get more pumped and put on my grateful hat and knew I should quit my inner bitching and remember all the people who wished they could be going, hello.

It started with a trip to the city with my parents, which went smoothly (I listened to the new love of my life, Brandi Carlile, on my iPod) until we parked. My mom started singing the Tiger fight song opera style in the Superdome parking garage and stepped off lots of curbs into the paths of many tour buses. I think she was just so excited she lost her mind a little bit, bless her heart. We kept running into people we knew – in the hotel bathroom, walking down Canal, in another hotel lobby, randomly on the side of whatever road we were walking on, in restaurants, in the Superdome bathroom. Everywhere! So that was fun.

It rained on our way into the Dome, and I got actually manhandled and shoved by a policeman, which was so infuriating that I cannot think much about it or I start to seethe with rage, but by the time we settled into our seats with big buttery, salty pretzels and miniature pepperoni pizzas, I had calmed down. We inevitably bonded with the people around us – a guy with his elderly parents and a row of drunken lunatics plus one of their lunatic wives in front of us. They were pouring beer into each other’s seats, into each other’s baseball caps. It was just kind of insane, but my sister, brother, brother's girlfriend, and I definitely enjoyed the hilarity.

As for the game itself, we started out with the blues when we were down 10-0 at the start, but soon things were turned around and all was fun. At first I was a little morose about the seats (I hate sitting underneath other seats; the concrete ceiling makes it kind of dark and you can’t really experience the mass brightness of the Dome), but one of the drunks in front of me argued, “But we’re in the game. We’re IN THE GAME!” And I was put in my place. I wasn't drinking at all, but finally I got so thirsty from screaming that I accepted a beer from my sister, who accepted it from the drunken wife, who said, "They're buying it faster than I can drink it!"

(I want to just say that I am ashamed of the way some of our fans were acting. Just purely and horribly ashamed. What is with booing the other team's band? How classless can you be? I understand there is no stopping the booing of the team, even though I think that is disgusting, but the freaking band? They are just out there in their costumes lining up and marching their hearts out, and they get booed by us? I am sorry, band. I was not booing you! I tried to be really nice to all of the other team's fans. I was so nice to one lady in the bathroom after the game that I'm not sure she believed I was being genuine. But I mean, come on people. It is a game and we both went there wanting to win. And they lost two years in a row! Can we not show a little peace, love, and understanding? However, one very rowdy fan in red, during our march to the Dome, actually yelled "F*ck you!" to an old man who was holding up a bible and talking about how Jesus loves us, not at all in a hellfire and brimstone kind of a way, just a nice sidewalk standing kind of a way. So I guess fans in all colors can be disgusting. We all shot that drunk bastard a death glare. As far as I am concerned, he and the brutal policeman can go straight to hell!)

I think the beer made me a bit teary when the chants of "SEC! SEC!" would start. I don't know why I found that so moving, but I did. I don't know much about the politics of college football, but I have gathered that people look down on the SEC somehow and think we're all a bunch of losers? Can anyone clarify this for me? I don't know. But I felt like the whole Southern United States of America was cheering with us, even our rivals whom we hate and who hate us, and even if I totally made that up in my mind, it made me really happy.

The best thing about the seats was being so close to the band, which played constantly and kept everyone dancing and yelling in their seats. At first I was watching the time closely and feeling like it would go on forever, but then I felt like I was in another world, what with the screams and the thundering stomps of the people that made the ground vibrate steadily throughout the game, and time lost all meaning. While no game could top the feeling of four years ago, I don't think, this game was very fun, and it was special to sit with my sister and brother, and I’m so glad I got to be there.

Update!

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

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

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

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

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

Not Laboring on Labor Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take this sinking boat and point it home

It's Sunday night, and I'm listening to the Once soundtrack. Glen Hansard is singing "Say It to Me Now."

It was a full and lovely weekend. On Friday night, I did a lot of chores aroung the house that were long overdue. I woke up on Saturday morning, watched a little bit of Return with Honor, got packed up, stopped for a frozen coffee, and headed to see my boyfriend. On the way there, I had a nice long talk with my sister, who was stranded curbside in Queens with a dead car battery and a spilled iced coffee just trying to get the hell out of New York about religion and faith and whether it's possible to have faith in a higher power without having a religion and whether it's possible to believe in a higher power while deep down knowing that it's all pretend even if it's just to make yourself feel better about rotting in the ground vs. living on. It was a good talk, and it was good to talk to someone who understands where I am coming from in this realm probably better than anyone else ever could because we grew up in the same house believing the same things and now have many of the same questions and doubts.

Once I got to the big city, my boyfriend and I had lunch and went to see Once, which I loved. Loved, really, in italics. There was not a moment of it I did not love.

The next paragraph will be full of Once spoilers. I would not read it if you have not seen the movie and plan to because it will ruin it. Okay. Don't ruin it.

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Beginning of Once spoiler space.

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Don't read this next paragraph. I mean it!

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I started crying the first time she sat down at the piano in the back of the piano store and they sang "Falling Slowly" because not only is it a beautiful song, it was such a beautiful moment. It basically blew me away. And then I cried and cried and cried at the end, when it was clear she wasn't going to show up, when the piano got delivered and she smiled that huge smile, when it showed her with her husband and their daughter through the window, when he called his ex-girlfriend who looked perfectly nice in the old home movies, when their lives went on without each other. My boyfriend and I agreed that if for some reason you don't like the music in the film then you won't like the film, but I reckon, how can you not like the music? It is so beautiful. I thought their performances were so incredibly natural and real and moving. It was such a moving film. Even though part of me of course wanted them to live happily ever after, I think I liked that they didn't, or at least if they did, they didn't do it together. Even if their lives didn't dramatically change due to their meeting, at least on the outside, they changed so much, clearly, on the inside. And they'll always carry the secret of their experience and their lives will be better for it. GOD, THIS MOVIE IS AWESOME. I loved it so much, and the tears I cried weren't really sad tears. They were the good kind of tears, the tears of beholding something beautiful, the tears that make you feel cleansed.


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End of Once spoilers.

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After we saw Once, we went out for Vietnamese food and then went to see the Police! My knowledge of the Police is limited to basically whatever songs of theirs made it into the top 40. Which is clearly a lot of songs, because I knew most of them that they played. It was a very exciting concert on many levels. Part of it was my boyfriend about to dance out of his seat next to me, singing along to every word. Part of it was seeing his friend, a drummer, playing the air drums in his lap along with Stewart Copeland. Who, by the way, is one intense individual. He did not just play the drums. He PLAYED! THE! DRUMS! With total concentration and maniacal energy. It was pretty amazing to behold, actually. And Andy Summer, guitarist, was very interesting to watch. He did not really seem interested in putting on any kind of a show, breaking a smile, or in any doing anything but playing the living shit out of his guitar. It was almost like he was thinking, "I am Andy Summer. There is no one in this arena and possibly the universe who can play the guitar like I can, and I am getting paid a shit load for this, and everyone can really suck it." But then at one point he totally broke out of that blase, stony-faced attitude and started doing herkies across the stage. Which was so out of the blue that it made me love him a little bit.

Meanwhile, there was Sting. On the way to the concert, I said, "I hope that Sting wears a shirt that shows off his guns." And my boyfriend looked at me like I was crazy and I said, "Oops, did I just say that out loud?" And the admiration I feel for Sting isn't so much lust as it is just straight-up admiration that the man is 55 and still has the body of a very in-shape 21-year-old. I only wish I were in half as good of shape. Seriously. And the thing is, he obviously knows it. Copeland was insanely wailing on his drums with focus and the occasional burst of silliness, Summer was mostly just playing, like, "Eh, I rock," but Sting was such a natural showman. He smiled, he played his bass like he could do it in his sleep, he encouraged audience sing-a-longs, and he exuded such ease and such cool. Sting is just very cool. That is what he is. And yes, he did show off his guns. And he took several opportunities to promenade around the stage so people in all directions could take in his sunshine and light. At one point during "I Can't Stand Losing You" there was lots of singing along with the crowd and he said something about New Orleans being alive and that maybe if we sang loudly enough, they could hear us in Washington, DC, so I sang as loudly as I could, and I hoped Elizabeth could hear me, because she loves Sting more than anyone I know, and because I was singing to her.

This morning, we went out to brunch, where the best things were the fried green tomatoes crusted in parmesan with crawfish tails and remoulade sauce and my boyfriend's sazerac. We talked a little about faith, non-faith, and the place in between.

After hundreds of old video tapes cascaded upon my head when organizing my closets with contents ranging from many episodes of Life Goes On, Beauty and the Beast, The Rosie O'Donnell Show, thirtysomething, and such things as the 1991 People's Choice Awards and Bill Clinton's first inauguration celebration and the high school graduation episode of 90210, I decided to grab those featuring home movies of friends and family and head over to my dad's machine that lets you record VHS tapes onto DVDs. I only made it through one tape, but it was a great one, indeed. It has our 1991 family vacation where we spent two weeks driving from San Diego to San Francisco, recording every beautiful and annoying moment, and then my brother's 8th and my sister's 15th birthdays that December, then all of the Christmas festivities of that year. Visits from friends and relatives, a legendary rendition the rap song "Friends, How Many of Us Have Them?" by my older brother's best friend at the time while my friend gasped in laughter in the backround, my brother's recitation of inspirational speech after inspirational speech about American free enterprise, my sister telling me to get the camera out of her face repeatedly, my mom looking gorgeous and being infinitely patient, my sister being secretly filmed by me while sitting on our bedroom floor belting out Chicago's "You're the Inspiration," and my dad being hilarious and showing his dad how to use his new razor. Most of all, though, my little brother steals every show on this 1991 tape, being the most adorable 8-year-old ever to live, dressing up as Peter Pan and wearing his Terminator 2 t-shirt, singing "Happy Birthday" to himself, having a tantrum when my older brother took his bullsye-hitting dart off the dartboard to the point where he lay face down on the floor and screamed, "JERK! JERK!" at him, and then recovering and sitting calmly at the dinner table narrating about the whole affair: "He took my dart off the dartboard on purpose, and I pitched a fit. And then I spilled milk on my pants." And he was just sitting there, eating diced-up pieces of hot dog, milk all over his pants, matter-of-factly admitting his fit pitching, like, totally over it already, demonstrating at age 8 the mellow chillaxity that he still displays on a daily basis.

Watching the tape from that year, the year I was seventeen, when I was mostly behind the camera, and seeing that little glimpse into our loud and busy house and how we laughed and cried and yelled at each other -- and watching so much of it tonight with my parents as they said things like, "Woman, you had some hair back then," and seeing how they got bundled up on Christmas night to go walking around the neighborhood with my dad as the instigator and my mom going somewhat reluctantly but merrily along and how they still do the same thing every night fifteen years later ... it was too much. We are all so different now but also so the same.

And that was just parts of one year. And does not even begin to touch the hours and hours I have from filming my friends in high school and college being ridiculous and doing ridiculous and often dangerous things that I will definitely not be re-watching with my parents in the room like today. I called Maryelizabeth to tell her what she was doing on this one tape I was reviewing from New Year's Day, 1993, our senior year of high school (lecturing, "All of my friends' kids are going to have birth defects because all they do is SMOKE!" and lying on the couch under a blanket singing "Welcome to the Jungle") and I was laughing so hard that when he answered the phone her husband thought I was crying.

I think I would like to buy a new video camera.

And now, a scan of a card I bought at Jazz Fest that I love.

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.

Pineapple=good

The weather is gorgeous, and it pains me to be inside all day.

After a crazy work week, I headed to see my boyfriend, and we ate sushi on Friday night. On Saturday morning, we headed across the lake to do some cleaning at his house for the Jazz Fest renters. We cleaned our hearts out for a little while and went to eat lunch at Fellini's, sitting outside. Their spicy tomato paste on pita bread is probably one of my favorite things to eat in life, I've decided. We cleaned some more and he embarked on the adventure of replacing his kitchen light fixture, damaged when his ceiling was felled by Katrina, with the assistance of his next-door neighbor. We got take-out for dinner (he had grilled pork over noodles, I had tofu and vegetables over rice), stopped for gelato (he had white chocolate almond on a cake cone, I had strawberry and chocolate hazelnut in a cup), and headed out to see Shelley and her new fiance. We posed for a picture and pretended not to be old.

The next morning, we did some more cleaning and had some lunch (he had a cheeseburger, I had a caesar salad with grilled shrimp and fries), and I headed home. I had dinner with an old friend (she had sweet and sour chicken, I had shrimp lo mein) and got to spend a little time with my godson as they're visiting from Italy.

Tonight was boiled crawfish with Shelley and Maryelizabeth and their broods, along with garlic bread and corn on the cob and red potatoes and pineapple broiled in brown sugar and rum for dessert, which excited me very much. I haven't been to my crazy exercise class in two weeks, and I can't wait to go back soon. Last night I had a new version of the same anxiety dream I have on a pretty regular basis, the dream in which I haven't shown up all semester for classes required for graduation from high school or college. Last night the guidance counselor trying to help me sort through my academic freak-out was Craig Ferguson. And I guess that's about it for now.

Except that I have no idea why this entire blog is now gray or why my bullets are no longer cute and no longer match up with the text beside them. I guess something got screwed up in the template some mysterious way, and I'll be damned if I know how to fix it.

Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

Bright side

In other news ...

I'd like to recommend glamscience. There was shipping mix-up with my order, and the artist was gracious and accommodating. And her stuff is very cute, particularly this shirt that the universe deemed needed to be possessed by Jessie's daughter. Check it out.

As for the non-race parts of the weekend ... on Friday night, I had dinner with three girlfriends. We had a pretty good time if you don't count my very pregnant friend's increasing discomfort and my inability to stop staring inappropriately at my other friend's once small boobs.

I left early the next morning for the big city, where I was treated with homemade Maryland-style crab soup and homemade bread and salad (all delicious) along with a surprise stack of early birthday gifts! So that was really great.

Then ... I can't remember what we did. Oh! We went to see the Anne Frank exhibit, which was disappointing. I cannot recommend it because it was basically pages from a history book enlarged and hung on big banners and that was it. I guess I was spoiled by the exhibit at the Imperial War Museum on the Holocaust, otherwise known as possibly one of the best exhibits ever created on planet Earth, but this one was boring and not even worth going to. It saddens me to say that, but there it is.

Then we went to Bourbon Street to see my brother playing a long daytime gig with some of his friends in a band. As always, he was great, and the energy was fantastic even though the crowd was full of cheesy tourists dancing their hearts out to "Small Town" by John Cougar Mellencamp like it's the most happiness-inducing song known to man.

After that, we basically rested. We tried to have Italian pasta for dinner but had no luck so we ended up having Chinese pasta, which was pretty good if possibly not the most ideal thing to eat before a race. We started All the King's Men, which is just not good at all. "This movie does not do justice to a beautiful book!" I proclaimed. "It is shameful." So we turned it off and went to bed early because we had to get up at the crack of dawn for the race the next morning.

After the race, we ate a lot of leftovers and started a game of Scrabble and listened to The Darkness because it seemed like triumphant music and we were feeling pretty triumphant. I basically started passing out at the table once the feeling shifted from triumph to I Must Be Lying Down Right Now, so we retired for a nap. I burrowed under the fleece sheets for an undetermined period of time like a zombie, and then we finished our game and I went home, where I couldn't even stay up for half of the Oscars. (Luckily Kymm stayed awake to recap them for me.)

I might not have liked All the King's Men, but I did like Shut Up and Sing. What a great documentary. I've always liked the Dixie Chicks but haven't been a diehard fan or anything. It was great to see them win those Grammys recently (even though I felt their acceptance speeches were lacking), and the viewing of this movie could not be more timely after that awards night because it makes their sweeping victory seem so much more meaningful because you see what came before that album and all that went into writing those songs and how their future was totally uncertain and their careers and lives were re-written. It is a really great behind-the-scenes look at the music industry, the publicity industry, and how they were professionally and personally affected by the aftermath of Natalie Maines' comment that they are ashamed that that the president is from Texas. Plus, you can't help but be reminded when watching it that they are talented beyond belief. I highly recommend this one.

Meanwhile, I thought my birthday gift to myself was running the race, but I guess in actuality it's a new plumbing line. Oh, joy. The leak detection company came over this morning and found my leak by shooting air into the line, which I think made it worse, for what was once an invisible leak is now erupting in my front yard like a small geyser and flowing down the sidewalk to the end of the street. I got two plumbing estimates this morning and settled on one that seems reasonable for replacing my line between the water meter and my house, jackhammering the driveway, and re-paving the driveway once it's blown to smithereens. [That would be 1,100 big, beautiful dollars that I was hoping to spend on (a) car repairs or (b) airfare to some place pretty and far, far away on a yet-to-be-planned vacation.]

This picture does not even begin to capture the bubbly ferociousness of this leak. Oh, well. At least it's in the yard and not underneath my actual house. Bright side!

Race report

The race ended up being a lot more fun than I ever thought it would be.

Basically, I worried about a lot of things in advance for no good reason.

The weather was perfect. It was probably the most beautiful day we've had this year. Sunny and breezy. Not hot, not cold. Just perfect.

I never had to use a porta potty. The lines were too long before the race started, and it only took one whiff of a set of porta potties along the route for me to make up my mind that there was no way in hell. And I never even had to go! It was like my bladder ceased to exist. It was amazing.

I never had to stop to walk. I ran very slowly, to the point where I was totally in the back with the walkers, but that's okay. I mastered the art of taking a cup of gatorade and drinking it without stopping even though it sometimes ended up all over my chin. I had it in my mind that I would run as slowly as I needed to go in order to not get so tired that I had to stop running, and it worked. I mean, I was tired, don't get me wrong, but I never felt like I was going to have to freak out and stop. There were high school and college students handing out gatorade every two miles or so, and a group of them started cheering as we approached, "Great job, walkers! Let's go, walkers!" Then one girl spotted me jogging at my turtle-y pace and yelled loudly, "And runners! Great job, runners!" That made me giggle.

My hips were a little sore, but they never bothered me the way they usually do. Maybe taking ibuprofin the night before and the morning of the race helped, as did possibly using this crazy thing on them the night before to try to loosen them up a little bit. So that was a relief.

At one point at about mile 10 while I was running around the bayou, a group of three little kids started storming towards me as if to tackle me, which was somewhat alarming, but they stopped when they reached me and stuck out their hands so I could give them high fives as I jogged by. That was sort of awesome.

There were groups of spectators handing out pretzels and little chunks of hamburgers and hotdogs and cocktails. (I passed.)

When I approached the overpass for the second and final time, James Brown came on and sang "Get Up Offa that Thing," which is the perfect overpass song. And between miles 11 and 12, Eminem appeared to sing "Lose Yourself," and those were my two favorite musical moments of the race.

(I had my shuffle in my pocket, having been persuaded by my sister the experienced racer that I probably shouldn't use it, but when I saw that 8 out of 10 people had them, I said screw it and decided to use it. I am glad I did. I can see what she's saying that it's not really good etiquette and that it isolates you and keeps you from experiencing the great outdoors and the atmosphere and everything, but I kept mine turned low enough that I could talk and listen when necessary to the nice woman around me who struck up conversations with me every now and then about her Alaska marathon and her plantar fasciitis, and I certainly wasn't running near anyone would need to tell me to move so they could run past me. I could still hear the cheers and whatnot, so that was good.)

Sometimes I would forget I was in a crowd. I belched loudly after gulping back some gatorade at one point, felt myself turning red, and yelped, "Excuse me!" to anyone in my vicinity who might have heard me. And when listening to "I Get Along" by the Libertines, I said aloud the lyric, "F*ck 'em," and then I remembered that some folks around me didn't have earphones in and could definitely hear me. I hope they didn't think I was talking about them.

I was getting pretty tired and sort of bored by about mile 9, so I decided to open a small packet of strawberry/banana-flavored phlegm (I mean carb gel) and see if that would give me some energy. I ate it in tiny little squirts for about the next mile, and it was pretty disgusting, but I do think it helped. It did not make me feel like Jackie Joyner-Kersee, but it put a tiny bit of pep in my step and I was able to speed up a little for the last mile or two, which felt great. As a whole, the race was infinitely better than any of my training runs. Those were mostly such drudgery, but this one never felt that way at all.

I was happy to see my boyfriend, who'd finished the race more than an hour before like the speedster that he is, up on a ramp at the finish line. I was also glad to have finished in under three hours. I ate some orange slices and a half a banana and drank some gatorade and just enjoyed the post-race sunshine and camaraderie and then we headed home.

I feel this strange need now to set another goal because not having one anymore leaves me feeling sort of out of focus. But I'm going to give myself a little time to think that one over. I turn 32 the day after tomorrow, and I think running in this half-marathon was a good birthday gift to myself. I might barely be able to walk today, but I did what I set out to do, and I couldn't have done it at 22 or 25 or 30, and so maybe 32 will be a strong and healthy and fun age of new goals to achieve and adventures for me. I hope so.

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.

She dreamt of blue skies, soft breeze, and sunshine.

"The Word of Your Body" from Spring Awakening is one of the most beautiful songs I've heard in a long time. My obsession with this musical continues.

I finished In the Family Way, Julia Sweeney's monologue about becoming a mom, and I loved it. It was hilarious and moving and made me think, just like Letting Go of God. I've added God Said, Ha! to the top of my Netflix queue.

I called the water company last week after receiving an eye-poppingly high bill, and they told me that two months ago I was using 5 water units and am now using 50. What? They said I must have a leak. I can't find a leak anywhere. I'm disturbed by this but don't really know what to do. I asked them to come out and double check my meter because they told me to check it and I couldn't find it. I'm pretty familiar with my own front yard. If I can't find it, how can they? How am I suddenly using 10 times my usual amount of water? What the hell? The only thing I can think of that is coinciding with this is the season of winter and an increase in the use of my heater, but what does my heater have to do with water? (It's a gas heater.) I have no idea. I certainly haven't been watering any plants or the yard as it's rained basically every day for weeks and weeks. I hope there is not an invisible leak that is rotting my house from the inside out.

The episode made me cry, and now this column is making me cry. (Warning: includes information about recent Grey's Anatomy episodes if you haven't seen them.)

And now for a weekend update. On Friday night, we ate delicious corn chowder with tomatoes and basil and a kickass salad and homemade bread all cooked by my gifted and talented boyfriend, and we started Sherrybaby, which we finished the next day. (Gyllenhaal is of course great in it, but it's very depressing, and the love scenes were unbearably uncomfortable to watch.) We went to the gym instead of the park for our long runs because it was pouring down rain outside (as usual). He ran 10.6 miles in the blink of an eye, and I, like the wind (ha), ran 8 in a little under 2 hours. I was supposed to run 10, but I didn't really have the time because we had plans. Even if I'd had time, I probably wouldn't have run 10 anyway. That number holds too many icky associations after last week's horrid run. Running 8 miles on the treadmill was surprisingly not terrible, mostly because for the first time I ran on a treadmill with the little built-in fans. I am going to request that my own gym get those immediately because they honestly made all the difference in the world for me.

After our runs, we rushed on creaky legs to the matinee of Pan's Labyrinth, which was much scarier, grosser, more violent, and more disturbing than I'd anticipated -- but also much, much more fantastic than I thought it would be! This movie is beautifully done and thought-provoking and totally, totally moving, and the little girl in it, Ivana Baquero, is SO good. I was thinking that if the Academy wanted to nominate a child this year, she should have been the one (my love for Abigail Breslin notwithstanding), but then I figured that this would have had to go in the lead category which is already too crowded as it is. So whatever. But she was unbelievably good and impressive. The whole thing was so delicious and sad and amazing and everyone should see it with the understanding that you might have to cover your eyes sometimes if you're squeamish and it might possibly sometimes scare the bejesus out of you. This is definitely the best movie I've seen in 2007.

After the movie was dinner (pizza and beer and conversation) and dessert (he had the chestnut, and I had strawberry and chocolate chip). Yum.

On Sunday, we went to the French bakery for an oat bran muffin, a raspberry pastry, and the newspaper. We then went to Whole Foods and spent $1 million on a handful of items which is just what you do there, and I finally got some of this (in Cocoa) because Maryelizabeth has been singing its praises for weeks now. It is in fact very nice. Soon I hope to order this because both she and Shelley think it's God's gift and I think I need to take better care of my skin. It's just so dry (yet also oily!) that I fear I am going to turn into an old lady any moment now. We played a game of Scrabble and ate leftovers, and I headed home to visit my friend's new baby and do a big grocery shopping trip at Target, where I returned the peanuts that B. was eating merrily last weekend when a spider came out of the jar along with the nuts. It was sort of like something out of Pan's Labyrinth, actually.

And then I took a bath and ate more leftovers and watched Battlestar Galactica and that was my weekend. Oh, I also watched the SAG Awards and cried when Miranda Bailey won and during the entire Julie Andrews tribute. (P.S. Anne Hathaway looked gorgeous.) This video is for my sister, who, thankfully, like Janey Glenn after she fictitiously almost spun to death at gymnastics tryouts, is HOME, SAFE, and ALIVE.

Yes, my name is Johnny Wishbone

Another weekend gone by. On Friday night, I drove to the big city, ate a spinach salad with walnuts and feta and red onions and raspberry dressing, and watched a little bit of An Evening with Kevin Smith before we had to turn it off. I like Kevin Smith, but I do not like shots of overly enthusiastic fans in any kind of video. Music concert, lecture series, whatever. Spare me the extended footage of audience members applauding, "woo!"-ing, guffawing. Hate.

On Saturday morning, it was off to the French bakery for a muffin and croissant. We bought a Christmas tree and went to split the planet's best barbeque shrimp po-boy. We went to the mall, which was hellish, of course, to buy a gift card for the intern at my office who's graduating, then to Border's, then to meet my parents for coffee but not really because they got stuck in traffic and didn't make it, and started a game of Scrabble before heading out to dinner, where the wait was long despite reservations but the food was very good. The house salad was especially tasty, as was the butternut shrimp bisque, into which I dipped much bread.

The next morning we went out for Christmas lights and put them on the tree and I headed home around lunchtime and set out for my supposed six-mile run which ended up being a 3.5-mile run. I was having a hard time and kept slowing down and slowing down until I realized, "Hey, I'm walking." I kept on walking and didn't finish the run. It might have been the heat or running outside again after a two-week stint running indoors or the fact that mentally I knew that I'd already run 6 miles the Sunday before. I don't know. It was the first time in all of this training that it was body over mind and I was upset about it at first but have now let it go and plan on running my 19 miles this week come hell or high water.

Alert. Alert! Bravo is airing the first ten episodes of Friday Night Lights, marathon style, on Saturday, December 30. My evangelism relative to this show is perhaps growing tiresome but I don't care.

And here's another alert: You can watch three episodes of thirtysomething on YouTube now. I have done searches for this show since forever and now look, there they are: "Separation," the episode when Nancy and Elliot separate; "Legacy," the episode when Michael and Elliot's plane almost crashes so Michael and Hope start drawing up a will, Nancy and Elliot are getting back together, and so forth; and "Mr. Right," the episode when Melissa and Ellyn do video dating, Ethan has to kiss Cinderella in the school play, and Melissa meets Lee. Excellence all around. I now see that you can buy this show on DVD here and here, both of which might be sketchy as the show has never been officially issued on DVD. I'm thinking of buying it from the first link; is that insane?

I caught part of Eddie Murphy on Inside the Actors Studio tonight and was reminded of how often my brother, sister, and I used to watch the first two Beverly Hills Cop movies when we were young. I remember how hard they made my brother laugh. For having parents so holy, we sure did watch a lot of filth. I think the trick is having holy parents who can still find amusement in the likes of Axel Foley.

Weekend

Favorite
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

Ah. Weekends.

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

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

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

And that was my weekend.

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

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

:::

About this time in ...

2005

11/1:

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

2004

11/2:

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

2003

11/6:

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

2000

11/1:

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

Wanted: Snow Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saints

Well. Wow.

If you missed the U2 / Green Day performance at the game or would like to see it again, you can view it here. Awesome.

Parks and Pie

Having now finished The Comeback, I can say without reservation that there must have been no better female performance, comic or otherwise, than Lisa Kudrow's on this show last season, and it is making me sit here and fume inwardly that she did not win every possible award for her brilliance. After getting over my initial discomfort both because of and on behalf of the lead character, much like I had to do with the BBC's The Office before falling head over heels in love with it, I came to really love this show. I grimaced, I put my hands over my face, I teared up, and I laughed belly laughs on multiple occasions. I definitely think it's worth it to stick with this show through the end, and I totally recommend it, if only to witness the teeth-gritting but somehow loving patience of Valerie's husband, the unforgettable punch in the gut, and Valerie's rendition of "I Will Survive," which made me laugh almost as hard as my original viewing of "Free Love on the Freelove Freeway" when Gareth and then Tim started doing their back-up harmonies (which you can watch here).

The weekend started Friday evening. Mellow. We ate sushi. There is something comforting in the predictable tastiness of a crunchy roll and a dumpling dipped in ponzu sauce.

We woke up early on Saturday morning. He headed to work, and I headed to the park to do my "long" run for the week -- 35 minutes. I hadn't been to this park in a long time. We took a walk in it on one of our first dates. Told some of our sad stories. My sister used to run in this park, so I kind of went in her honor. Even that early in the morning, the park was full of people. People running, people walking, people on roller skates, and people on bikes. Pushing babies in strollers, walking dogs. Sometimes I would get tired and want to quit running and then I'd come up on an old lady in a sun visor walking with a cane and I'd force myself to keep going. I walked to my car when cooling down and grabbed a bottle of water and my camera and walked around the park a little bit, panting and taking some pictures. It it a beautiful place.

Once the sweat had sufficiently dried (I know, gross), I went to the vet to buy his cat her food and to the bookstore to buy us each a copy of All the King's Men. I then went to the coffee shop and settled in with a vanilla iced coffee. I went upstairs where there weren't many people so I wouldn't stink up the joint too much. It's a highly cool building, and I like it very much even though the staff typically appears unshowered on the whole.

I read for a little while while a man behind me said, "Is that an old Mac or a new Mac? Is that an old Mac or a new Mac? Is that an old Mac or a new Mac?" I thought he must be on his cell phone with a bad connection, but finally I turned around when he said loudly, "EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT AN OLD MAC OR A NEW MAC?" I said, "Are you talking to me?" He said yes. I said, "Uh, I got it in December, so I guess it's ... new?" (Showing what a dumbass I am about computers.) He assured me that it's not new, something about a processor, blah blah, then engaged me in a conversation about how I like my iBook and I said I love it and he said he's been using Macs since 1989. I just nodded and turned back to my coffee, and he said, "Spread the word!" So I guess he is just a major Mac lover or some kind of viral marketing operative sent to coffee houses by Apple. Who knows? Who knows.

Eventually we were reunited and headed to a family gathering at my cousin's apartment, where we ate Moroccan stew and lots of pie.

We tried to go to roller derby, but it was sold out, so we went to see The Last Kiss, bile about which I have already spewed.

On Sunday morning, we walked to the market for a newspaper and breakfast and once we parted ways, I headed home to go grocery shopping for the week, do two loads of laundry, and get my life in order. I'm looking forward to re-reading All the King's Men. I haven't read it since junior year of high school, when I did my big final paper in English on alienation and self-discovery in the novel. I don't remember it very well, and I guess that's okay considering that it was fourteen years ago. I know that my grandmother loved Robert Penn Warren a lot, and that's enough to make me want to love him, too.

(More park photos are here.)