Giving thanks

Phew! Finally catching my breath after a whirlwind Thanksgiving holiday, which included stints in D.C., Connecticut, and New York in varying degrees. I've never not spent Thanksgiving near home with my whole family, so it was a bit of an unconventional adventure. It was great to spend time with my sister and her husband and his family, though, and experience a touch of winter and their traditions. It was never too terribly cold with the exception of one day when we walked down to a very pretty, very chilly beach.

We had Thanksgiving dinner at a magnificent home that made me feel like a very patriotic American and sing songs from the musical Ragtime in my head. (In 1902, Father built a house at the crest of the Broadview Avenue hill in New Rochelle, New York, and it seemed, for some years thereafter, that all the family's days would be warm and fair ... Fine weather, isn't it? Isn't it? Now that we're out of the city, isn't it? Nothing like the city ... Safe? Yes, everything's safe in New Rochelle ... )

As for running ... after completing four solid weeks of running training, week five (Thanksgiving week) was basically a bust except for a short but lovely run when I was away. It was lovely because I got to run over paths and bridges that looked like this:

And that wasn't even the only spectacular park we visited! We also went here:

What is better than a bunch of trees and lakes and hills and the sun shining through the branches at a state park in Connecticut on the second to last day of November? Nothing. Nothing, that's what!

Week six of training got off to a late start today ... it was very cold and windy and gray and wet this morning, with the misty drizzle basically drenching every inch of me by the time I was done. It was only a short 20-minute run, but I think it was about all I could handle after getting a bit derailed. I'm not too worried about it, though. I got some new shoes (inspired by Linda) and they felt okay. (I got the black and gold ... the color options in my size were limited, and this choice made me feel Saints proud.) I think the run was too short to fully evaluate them. I guess my shins will probably decide in the end, just like they do everything else! (My watch hasn't worked for the last two runs, so I hope I'll be back on track with keeping up with my pace and distance soon.)

I've been doing a lot of reading ... that's one great thing about traveling long distances. I finished An Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns by John Green (both of which I hope to write about soon) and The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing: Traitor to the Nation (volumes one and two), a staggering reading experience that I wrote about over here.

My greatest TV surprise lately was accidentally stumbling upon Indigo Girls: Live at the Roxy on Palladia, a channel I didn't even know I had. I take this is a special cosmic gift since I just happened to see it when scrolling through my guide and it was on that very night and doesn't appear to be airing again any time soon. It just came out on DVD, so it's available for purchase, but I got it for free in all its HD glory! It features many performances that I've watched over and over on YouTube, as well as World Falls and Closer to Fine and Cannonball and Last Tears and Don't Think Twice, It's Alright, all with my beloved Brandi Carlile. I mean, Shame on You? The Wood Song? What more could a girl want? The whole thing is just heavenly.

(In other TV news, Ugly Betty and So You Think You Can Dance and Parks & Recreation and Modern Family continue to make me happier than anything else on right now. I'm so behind on Friday Night Lights that I can't speak to it at the moment, but I'm sure once I catch up it will be at the top of the list as usual. And the fact that Chuck returns next month ... forget about it. I can't wait!)

Meanwhile, I'm back at boot camp, and you know it's been too long since you were last there when the teacher whips out the orange cones and the first thing you feel is irrational hope that she's brought candy since they're the same orange color as the wrappers on all those Reese's peanut butter Christmas trees you've been eating. Oops.

Weekend update

Another weekend done! It started off mighty fine with the best massage I've probably ever had. (To backtrack, I had a really bad massage last weekend. I've always maintained that any massage is better than no massage, but I was proven very, very wrong. It started with my asking the guy to change the music because I knew I would not be able to relax to the beat of new age techno music and went downhill from there. It wasn't inappropriate at all, it was just uncomfortable, not the least bit therapeutic, and akin to what it must feel like to lie face down on a fault line during an earthquake. I knew I needed another massage, and soon, to counterbalance the heinousness of the experience with someone who was actually in tune with my body and could help relieve some of its soreness, which was mighty and unprecedented after two weeks of boot camp and running.) This latest massage was delivered by an old family friend, so not only was there an automatic comfort level, she was really, really good, and I was so grateful. It was a gift.

This glorious massage was followed night out at a local evening celebrating the arts ... I haven't been drinking very much over the past few months, but I had a few cocktails ... some kind of frozen vodka concoctions with chambord at the suggestion of the bartender ... okay! I'd never heard of such a thing before, but sure. It was one of those nights in a restaurant where it's totally packed and there's a band playing in the corner and you can barely hear over the cling clang of the glasses and all was merry, even though it was a bit drizzly outside.

Saturday ... Saturday ... blur? Class, too early. A visit to the library where I checked out a ton of books, including everything I haven't read by John Green and both volumes of Octavian Nothing. Homework for many, many hours. A game, the culmination of which has caused much wrath in this town.

I got a good night's sleep on Saturday for the first time in weeks upon weeks, which was a sweet and blessed relief. On Sunday morning, it was time for my first group run, which went pretty well. Then it was more homework. And more football, which thankfully had a happier ending than the day before.

The weekend wrapped up with an evening of book club ... I made pumpkin muffins, and there was homemade bread and boudin balls and wine and pumpkin beer and a good discussion with nice people. Zeitoun is a good but very upsetting book, P.S.

Thanksgiving awaits!

Weekend update

My eyes are stinging intensely from the horrid aftermath of a questionable night of sleep and an alarm clock that cruelly went off this morning when the first number was a 4, but I will try to type through the burn.

It was a jam-packed weekend that I don't want to forget in the busy-ness of this week ahead ... before work on Friday, I headed out early to an estate sale where everything was English mahogany and cost about $500. Nope. At lunch on Friday, my co-worker and I went to a downtown estate sale, where we were sadly scoreless. On Friday night, it was sushi and potstickers and Where the Wild Things Are. I'm not sure how I felt about it ... I did not fall in love with it like I thought I would, but I definitely appreciated it and was moved by it. It was beautiful and scary and sad. We stopped at the nearby Urban Outfitters, where plenty of household items were on sale, but they all looked very cheap and crappy, which was obvious even to the likes of me, so we passed! I'd been interested in Xenia Taler's wall art on sale there, but I saw it in person in the store, and it just ... did not look good. The paper wasn't glued in very well to the wood frame, and it just made me sad because I love her work. I'm all for making nice art more affordable, but not when it looks so shoddy. Her work is so beautiful, and I'm just going to have to invest in a real tile from the artist herself. No thank you, Urban Outfitters.

Saturday dawned with class bright and early, which I was late for because I got carried away buying organic satsumas and grapefruit and stationery and onesies at the farmer's market. After class, I went on an insane wild goose chase through the outskirts of town, hither and yon, to three different thrift shops and warehouses only to find nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing. Then I went to three different paint stores to collect paint chips of colors I've seen on design blogs that I've liked. This was much harder than I thought it would be because for most of them I only had names, and most of the paint chips were sorted by number. And the clerks at the paint counters weren't much help. Maddening! (It did not occur to me until later to look the names up online to find the matching numbers beforehand. Duh!) But it felt good and productive to gather these colors as I take baby steps toward making an actual plan. Then it was fair time with my friend and her daughters, which was excellent. They are delightful children and I love them very much. Highlights included snowcones, the helicopter ride, throwing balls in a lion's mouth, and watching the older child take her hot dog out of the bun and wave it around like a conductor's baton. Then our team lost the game in a rather heartbreaking defeat, so my dad and I met up for greasy bar food and beers in woe. I ended up having shrimp & corn soup and he had a grilled shrimp salad with the dressing on the side, so it's not like we went full out greasy like the evening probably called for.

Sunday morning, I contemplated going for a long bike ride, but my shins were aching a lot from the prior day's run, so I decided not to push it. Instead, I threw open all the windows and cleaned the house, which is always a liberating feeling. I went to a sale at a local vintage shop, where I ended up buying a bright orange vase, a pair of pink and purple ramekins that I just thought were cute, and a strange lime green wall hanging that looks like it could be used as some sort of planter. I don't know. I just liked the color. It does vaguely resemble something from the set of The Golden Girls, though. Then I went to an antiques store nearby, where two very lovely men were very kind to me, but everything was Victorian and expensive and kind of ridiculous. I think I will just start a tradition of going to stores and being disappointed when I find nothing and then one day I will find something truly wonderful and it will be the best day ever. Anyway! Then I went to a crafts store to buy something cute, fake, and floral to put in my orange vase (I ended up getting something that vaguely resembles capiz shells on a stem), some frames, and some spray paint for some black frames in my hall I want to paint white. Of course I ended up buying bright green and robin's egg blue spray paint, also, even though I have no idea what to do with them. I just have a hankering to spray paint stuff, God help me!

Finally it was time to go the heck home! I roasted some red & green bell peppers and carrots and broccoli and onions in olive oil and salt and pepper and some juice squeezed from a fresh lemon from a neighbor's tree and stir-fried some tofu in olive oil and it was a very satisfying dinner ... then I took a long lavender bath and finished Princess Academy, which oddly turned out to be maybe my least favorite Shannon Hale book ever ... it just kind of reminded me too much of The Bachelorette. (The Goose Girl & Book of a Thousand Days are tied for tops ... oh, how I love them both.) Then I watched some thirtysomething (the one when Melissa and Ellyn meet the guy in the video store and both kind of like him even though Ellyn totally has a very nice and cute boyfriend who buys her ski boots) and started When You Reach Me, which I already know I am going to love truly, madly, and deeply.

I can't wrap up the weekend without talking (without spoiling anything) about the season finale of Mad Men. I don't even know what to say except I loved every single second of it. Some people have given up on this show, but I honestly do not know how. It is just delicious from ceiling to floor -- every hue, every necktie, every drunken, sad, hilarious, horrible, timeless moment. I will miss it.

Weekend update

I love fall weekends! I love October in general. I'm a little sad that it's over. It was a great month ... Hawaii, multiple Saturday night football games, the weather changing from sweltering to perfect, good people, good times, road trip to see Brandi and Amy, fun dinners and coffees with friends, and beginning to train for the half-marathon. But November is looking pretty good so far. The sun is streaming in through the windows, the dogs just gobbled chew bones that are supposed to last up to five days in under two minutes, and it's about time for some coffee around here.

Friday night was rainy and cold, but a good time was still had by all at a gigantic Halloween party where the kids and grown-ups were all in costume and we enjoyed pumpkin ale and baby pecan pies and fried chicken and catching up with old friends. The later part of the evening was spent piling into my brother and his fiancee's guest room to watch the season four premiere of Friday Night Lights. My brother got Direct TV for the sole purpose of hosting such gatherings, and we are all grateful. Clear eyes full hearts Texas forever WOO! It was heart-achingly beautiful and wonderful, as always, and if you're not watching this show by now I don't even know what to say to you. It was fun to watch it for the first time with my mom, who has decided that Tim Riggins has saved the life of every character and will outline ways in which he has done so. Oh, TIM RIGGINS. Oh, Coach & Mrs. Coach and all of you. I love you.

I had class bright and early on Saturday morning, where my classmates and I sat around for a while before finally deciding to call our professor at home. "Dr. T?" I asked. "Yes?" "This is Eliza calling from class." (Pause ... pause ...) "Oh my word!" She overslept, bless her heart! It was a good morning for oversleeping, that was for sure. What can you do? She's only human. We got started presenting our projects and she arrived soon enough. Sometimes it's weird to go to class with a bunch of adults. You feel really childlike sometimes just by virtue of sitting in a desk.

I sat out in the quad with some classmates post-class and we discussed our final project ... again, kind of a time warp to find myself sitting on one of those concrete benches in the sun, where 15 years ago I was probably sitting on the same bench talking to someone inappropriate and smoking a cigarette (gross) trying to pretend I was 2 cool 4 school. (I was not.)

I finished and loved Looking for Alaska and wrote about it at Kidliterate.

I have finally started to watch thirtysomething on DVD. I think it took me a while to actually process that it came out after wishing for it year after year after year. I honestly thought it would never happen. But here it is. So far, my favorite season one episodes remain "But Not For Me," the episode about the Saturday night where Hope and Michael have an ill-fated date night and Melissa and Gary do a little backsliding and have to face each other the next morning and Michael Feinstein sings in the background. I have always loved that episode and it still holds up for me -- and also "I'll Be Home for Christmas," featuring Michael (Jewish) and Hope's (Protestant) conflict over how to celebrate Christmas (very thoughtfully and sensitively and humorously done, I think) and an epic fight between Michael and Melissa and the moment they make up, also known as one of the sweetest reconciliations I have ever seen on film. (Apparently this episode has been written about by people way more scholarly than I am ... see pages 31-32!)

It is bizarre the way I can basically recite the dialogue on these favorite episodes that I guess I've watched a few too many times on videotape over the last 20+ years.

:::

Later ...

Today I went to the Unitarian church for the first time with a friend. I liked it. It was different and interesting. Parts of it really spoke to me and fed my soul, and parts of it felt very foreign and strange. I have a lot of thoughts about this but right now I can't really process them. (WEIRD: During the service, a song by Greg Holden ran through my head over and over. I was wondering if this service was feeding my soul ... his song, "Serendipity," which I love, has these lyrics: "I have seen all I need to roam free within these streets. Climbing up walls that are never too tall feeds my soul." Anyway ... like I said, I was thinking about souls being fed, so this song popped into my head. And I just put on iTunes on shuffle and this song popped up! Out of thousands! You can hear it here.) It's hard to capture in a nutshell, but in a nutshell, I love the family tradition aspects of the church I grew up in; however, when I learned recently that a friend's husband left the Episcopalian church to join the Catholic church because of the former's openeness towards gays, it felt like a punch in the stomach. Do I want to be part of the church that people join because it's more discriminatory? No, I don't think I do. But like I said, family tradition. Argh. Moving on for now.

After the service, we had coffee and a lovely visit. What is not to love about a day that is sunny and 65 degrees? What is better than that? Not much! I then had a rather fantastic run and spent part of the afternoon with my future sister-in-law. We sat on their balcony and pored over cottages the family might stay in for their wedding and ate cheese and crackers and veggies and guacamole and my brother made these insane peanut butter / rice milk / protein powder smoothies that basically tasted like peanut butter cookie dough OMG YUM.

Now I've got a cat on my lap and "All My Little Words" just popped up on the shuffle list, a song from my friend mo pie that I LOVE AND ADORE. Seriously? This song kills me.

I guess that's about it for now. Mad Men awaits, and I still haven't watched last week's, allegedly the most intense episode of all time. (Speaking of Mad Men, how funny is "Hells bells, Trudy!" on Community?)

To close, November's first sunset:

Cool weather and cool times

A few misc. thoughts to start:

I am continuing to regularly update my House Ideas post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Octoberfesting

My Lord, what a month!

I spent the entire first week in Hawaii, which I won't say much about other than I loved being there. Lots of baby-love and friend-love and eating potato chip encrusted fish sandwiches and coffee toffee nut gelato.

After arriving home, I spent a few days stumbling around as if drunk trying to readjust to the five-hour time difference. I think I might be very constitutionally weak when it comes to jet lag. Then it was time for the biggest football game of the year, which I attended with my mom and brother and where we had a great time despite (a) the rain and (b) losing.

Then it was time for a road trip ... my brother and I drove 400 miles to see Brandi Carlile (opener: Amy Ray). It rained and took six hours and we got a little lost walking through the dark and desolate sidewalks between our hotel and the venue, but all was good. The venue was just fantastic, I cannot lie, and of course the acts were great. Amy Ray definitely rocks out way, way more when on her own, and she and her plaid pants were really great. Brandi joined them for a song or two, which obviously excited the crowd. Stand and Deliver was unsurprisingly a highlight.

And Brandi -- well, if you've seen her, you know what I mean here -- what can I even say? Even though I saw her in May, and even though some of the stories and moments and songs were similar, it was like a whole new world of delicious awesomeness in this beautiful venue with my brother.

I'd prepped my brother with some of her songs on the way there, including her new album which just came out last week, so he was vaguely familiar with her. But when she and the twins and the drummer and the cello player came out to sing "Oh Dear" in harmony with some kind of old-timey-sounding microphone, I was pretty sure I could hear his jaw dropping behind me along with everyone else's in the room. We all just kind of froze in the beauty of it. (Here's a video of the actual performance. While I am psyched this video exists, it absolutely does not do justice to the sound in the space. The acoustics were phenomenal.) Incredible opener! And now I shall list the rest of the setlist in order!

Looking Out: Amy Ray joined the band for this song, as she does on the album. Totally awesome! My mind was blown by seeing them together, for real. The sound isn't great here, but you get the idea.

What Can I Say, Late Morning Lullabye, My Song: These older songs were audience faves, of course, and we were encouraged to sing along, and lo, we did.

Dying Day: Performed unplugged at the edge of the stage. Sensational in every way. Video from our very show.

I Will: Acoustic. Here's the video from our show! This is a new song that didn't really make much of an impression on me until hearing it live. I got a tiny bit teary, to my surprise. I basically thought about various estrangements in life. "... It hurts to be the one that you'd regret. I have to say that I am proud to know you, and I'll never be the same because we met. You might not miss this, but I will ..."

Hiding My Heart: Acoustic. She said they rarely play this one in concert but had started to ask for fan requests, and this was one. Video from our show; gorgeous, obvs. This is quite a depressing song, in case you were wondering.

Dreams: Possibly my favorite song on the new album. You can see the official video here.

Before It Breaks: Kind of heartbreaking. (Video from our show.)

Turpentine: Audience singalong. Fun.

The Story: I am not sure how I have never noticed that she actually switches guitars in the middle of this song. Noticing this made me happy. Obviously, it was awesome.

Let It Be: Very Pretty.

Jackson / Folsom Prison Blues: I thought this first encore would be it! But it wasn't!

Johnny Rottentale: With Amy Ray. Very fun. I like when singers share a single microphone. It warms my heart.

(Brandi mentioned how she had done Cannonball with both Indigo Girls the night before in Atlanta, which made me fantasize briefly that Emily was going to appear. She did not, but here's a video of that performance. It might be a good thing I did not see this live, as I'm not sure my heart would have been able to take it.)

And still, there was more!

Calling All Angels: With her sister Tiffany Carlile. Unspeakably perfect & beautiful. (That link is an excellent video of the two of them performing this song).

That Year: Just Brandi and her guitar and a stool. Heartfelt explanation & lovely, very sad song.

Pride and Joy: Closed it out. (Video from our show ... starts out kind of dark but sounds GREAT.) A powerhouse of a finale to be sure. The instruments got so explodey at the end I thought the top of my head and roof might blow off. Greatness!

Overall, it was a magnificent experience and one that produced such euphoria that it was totally worth driving 800 miles in two days.

Meanwhile, I'm in the middle of this, which probably deserves its own post one of these days. And I'm taking a class on Saturdays, and this weekend is a high tea and a party and a book club meeting and it's just all kind of pouring over, the fun. So ... October isn't even halfway over, and it's already been so chock full of excitement. I'm liking this crazy autumnal bliss, even though it rains every single day.

To close, I would like to share an e-mail I received today from my mother, just because it made me smile. She is making her way through season three of Friday Night Lights for the first time.

I am sobbing. I just watched the scene where [spoiler about Smash redacted]......

I looooooooooooooove this show........except for too much casual sex, it's just about perfect!

Love you!
Mom

And my dad's reply:

So Mom comes into the bedroom all teary eyed and says [spoiler about Smash redacted]. I look at her and say, "Who the F* is Smash?" Clearly, I don't know the plot line.

Dad

10 things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I still believe in summer days

Oh, summer weekends. I love you.

Project Exhaustion commenced on Friday morning. Zuko and I set out for a walk before work, which sent him out of his mind with happiness. I decided to stay in and be quiet that evening, so I made a veggie omelet and watched True Blood, which is pretty trashy, almost shockingly so. But I'll probably keep watching it with the excuse that it's summer.

I got up early Saturday morning and hit the streets again with Zuko. This time we decided to go ahead and run two miles. Frequent stops to lift his leg notwithstanding, he was a pretty decent running partner, and I think he had a great time. I made it to the farmers' market early enough for fresh eggs and also picked up some baby tomatoes and a basket of sweet peppers (yellow, red, purple, etc.) and some more of the spicy purple onions I got last week. I went home and did some chores and baked some sugar cookies. I went to the pet store and spent an ungodly sum on items to treat Zuko's ailment and distract him from making it worse. I bathed him for the second consecutive Saturday, this time in some medicated oatmeal shampoo and some kind of conditioner that is supposed to help hot spots. These products are probably a total sham, but whatever. I think he's enjoying the TLC, and I sure enjoy having a clean dog. I've been brushing him a ton and overall just trying to shower him with love and attention. I bought some Missing Link upon a reader's suggestion and have been adding it to their food just for good measure. I went on a 1000-yard swim that afternoon ... it was very hot outside and I could feel my back baking in the sun despite sunscreen, but there were giant sprinklers shooting out over the pool, so that helped. I continue to love swimming so much I'm ready to build a pool in my backyard. My backyard is totally big enough for a pool. How awesome would that be?

Saturday night, I went out to hear my brother play with my parents, and a friend came along and we stayed for a long, fun catch-up visit after my parents headed home. The musical highlight was hearing my brother's version of "Murder in the City" for the first time, which thrilled & touched my heart, especially considering that (a) I was with him the first time I ever heard it and (b) his version was awesome. (P.S. New Avett Brothers single is very pretty indeed.)

Sunday morning dawned, and something magical was in the air. It was cool. Actually cool. I don't know what forces of nature aligned to make this happen, but it was jarring in the most excellent possible way. I was in shock. I think it was in the mid-70s when I headed out for my 13.5-mile bike ride, and while I certainly got very sweaty, as usual, it was totally bearable and pleasant outside. It was therefore a great ride. I didn't need to downshift on any "hills" (in other words, parts of the route that are at the slightest uphill incline) but instead was able to pedal through them, which makes me think I might be getting a wee bit stronger.

It was so lovely that I decided to grab the dogs when I got home after changing out of my hideous (but lifesaving) padded biking shorts and take them both on a walk. I decided on a whim to head to the dog park, and I'm glad I did. Neither of them is super dog park-y -- they don't wrestle or play chase with the other dogs, and Zuko was not having it when a giant mastiff tried to start humping him, and Daisy mostly stayed close to me. But I, for one, leaned against the fence in the shade and had a great time watching the other dogs play. A big golden retriever sprinted across the park from one baby pool to the other, jumping in and rolling around then leaping out and repeating this action over and over in the other pool. In something out of a comedy script, a big pack of dogs played chase with a rubber ball that reached such heights of hilarity that the entire human population of spectators was laughing heartily in unison. Daisy and Zuko did not roll in the pools, but at least they stood in them briefly. So that was fun.

When we got home, I wasn't ready to be inside yet, so I walked to the coffee shop for an iced coffee. Being able to walk anywhere and enjoy being outside this much by late morning in July is unheard of. It felt like a little gift. I loved it ... I felt so in love with my entire neighborhood, seriously. I cooked a farmer's market egg and had some plain yogurt with berries mixed in for a late breakfast. It was a perfect Sunday morning.

Soon it was time to head to my co-worker's house to help her bubble-wrap household items, which took the rest of the afternoon. Then I cooked dinner with some fresh shrimp from my mom and my farmers' market items ... so good. ("Food reclaims its story, and some of its nobility, when the person who grew it hands it to you." --Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food. And that is why I love the farmers' market. But more on that later.) I attempted kale chips, inspired by Erin, sprinkled with olive oil and kosher salt and a little romano cheese, but they fell a little short ... I think I didn't let them cook long enough because they were a little soggy. I'm going to try again.

Monday was an evening outing to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The pacing was weird, the scene transitions were choppy, and the Quidditch brooms were more phallic than ever, but the acting was good, the effects were grand, and the end was moving. I was not crazy about this book, and the movie was way too long, but Alan Rickman's line readings alone made it worth seeing (along with the marvelous Jim Broadbent, beloved by me in everything he ever does). Best part of movie, possibly, was seeing the terrific Where the Wild Things Are trailer for the first time.

Today began with a two-mile run with Zuko before work, which was sweaty but nice. His leg does not appear to be getting much better, but it doesn't seem to be getting worse, so I am cautiously optimistic. Tonight I ate some delicious fresh fish cooked by my mom, about a pound of her broccoli salad, and a pecan praline.

Meanwhile, weirdly, one of my favorite summer songs is called "Winter Song." It's by Sara Bareilles & and my beloved Ingrid Michaelson. I first heard it on one of this season's audition episodes of So You Think You Can Dance, of all places. Here is the song's very cute video. My favorite lines are these, and I find myself singing them over and over to myself as this summer goes by.

I still believe in summer days
The seasons always change
And life will find a way

Weekend update

Putting my feet up on a cloudy Sunday afternoon feels pretty great. It's been a nice weekend.

On Friday evening, I relaxed to the max with a cook-whatever's-left-in-the-kitchen-dinner of roasted sweet potatoes, green bell peppers, chick peas, and celery over whole wheat orzo. Surprisingly tasty. I watched Parenthood, which has held up remarkably well over the past 20 years. Seriously: every moment is perfect, particularly every one involving Dianne Wiest.

I arose at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning to go on a 15.5-mile bike ride with a friend. It was nice. I still struggle a bit getting foot #2 into the toe clip but I feel practice will help me improve in this regard, much as I can now grab and replace the water bottle with ease. It was nice to ride with a friend instead of solo and great to be done, showered, and ready to go to the farmers' market by 8:15. I bought eggs, a basket of assorted sweet peppers, and some baby tomatoes and ran into my parents, who bought me some small spicy onions and a dozen big fat shrimp. I keep meaning to become a vegetarian, but my mom made tuna salad this week, and then they bought me shrimp, so I keep failing. It was fun to wander through the market with my mom, who basically bought all of the peaches and all of the corn.

Saturday was a busy day. I don't remember the exact order, but I went on a very satisfying greeting card shopping spree, bought a bike rack for my car I have no idea how to install and a tire patching kit I have no idea how to use, bathed not one but two dogs in the tub and half-assedly put the bathroom back together after the great flood caused by Zuko, enjoyed homemade cool-brewed iced coffee placed in the freezer for a while to get slushy, watered all my plants, and washed a million gross and furry dog towels.

That night, I decided to thank my parents for petsitting during my recent trip to D.C. by bringing a movie over and cooking them dinner with the farm-fresh fixins. I cooked the shrimp in a skillet with olive oil and a little Tony's and sauteed garlic, the tiny purple onions that basically made my eyeballs explode with tears, red and yellow bell peppers, and tomatoes in olive oil until they were caramelized and mushy, mixed the shrimp in, and served it over whole wheat angel hair. My mom cooked a half-dozen corn cobs and we ate every single one of them. It was such a fresh and sensational dinner and we all moaned a lot and celebrated our local farmers. I tried to explain The Omnivore's Dilemma to them and how it has revolutionized my thoughts on food but I'm not sure I did a very good job. We rubbed our bellies and watched Stranger than Fiction. I knew they'd be prime for another Emma Thompson/Dustin Hoffman movie after the way they loved Last Chance Harvey, and they really enjoyed it. After not seeing it since it was in the theater, I'd forgotten how good it is. It's so, so good! Love. Also good: The Book Thief, which I love on a level that prevents me from being very articulate about it.

I took to my bed with The Castle of Llyr and slept well, going grocery shopping this morning and attempting to put a dent in the piles of pet hair wafting through my house. I had a nice lunch with a friend and headed to the gym for a treadmill run, which was surprisingly tolerable, thanks largely to my intense enjoyment of the adorable, inspiring, and triumphant "Expressing Yourself" from Billy Elliot and Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now."

Then I put Patty Griffin on loud and made myself my first ever pie. It's a blueberry pie with a pecan crumble topping. I feel really good about this and hope I don't burn it. I can smell it baking now, and I am kicking back with season four of Weeds, which I've gotta tell you, is not exactly uplifting. The problem with this show is that not a single character is likable. They are all fundamentally vile. If Mary Louise Parker were not so pretty I doubt I'd keep watching it, but there you go.

This is really the first part of my summer, this week ahead, where I'm not on vacation or super-duper busy at work. It's in stark contrast to last summer at this time, when all I did was read, analyze, and write about graphic novel after graphic novel for class in every waking moment. I have to say that it's pretty pleasant. I'm going to have to hit the training hard in the next few weeks pre-triathlon, see the new Harry Potter movie, and mentally prepare myself to swim 500 yards in a lake filled with brown water and slime.

And ... the pie is ready!

Life is good.

Swimming, eating, remembering

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

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

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

Then this happened:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend with old friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

34

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parade weekend

It was a busy weekend. Sometimes it's good to be busy. My cousin arrived Friday evening; we had hummus and beers, went to see my brother play an excellent set, and then had Italian sandwiches. We turned in early in order to prepare ourselves for the next day.

The next day was parade day, and it was a long and fun one. We ate egg sandwiches at my neighborhood deli for breakfast and headed to our first destination, a party at my classmates' house on the route. There were mimosas and bagels and the cookies I brought, sugar cookies colored pink, the parade's signature color, with pink sprinkles that accidentally made them look a lot like boobs. It was all in good fun! We visited and hung out in the grass and caught beads and it was mostly sunny and very pleasurable. My cousin LOVED the neighborhood and had many intelligent things to say about urban design.

After the parade, we headed to the next party of the day, where there were margaritas and red beans and rice and homemade French bread and a front porch and more good company. Then we went to our third and final party, another classmate's birthday party, where there was another spread of great food and fun. By this point, I think my cousin and I were a bit delirious, so we headed home in the rain and basically turned in early.

This morning we were up with the birds and went out for cafe au lait and beignets. Then he returned home, and I put my fixins in the crockpot and didn't leave the house for the rest of the day. I worked on homework for a billion hours in a row and am proud of myself for getting a lot done. The food smells amazing, and I'm ready to relax with the Oscars. I'm watching Mickey Rourke on Barbara Walters right now, and can I just say, he would still be a pretty handsome guy despite his bludgeoned face if he did not have such RIDICULOUS hair, such silly glasses, and such a hideous striped gray suit, purple sash, and blue and orange striped shirt with an enormous collar. What is he thinking, and can't someone close to him stage some sort of intervention? This is his moment! And it is a shame that someone doesn't step in and whip his look into better shape for his step back into the sun. It genuinely saddens me.

It was fun having my cousin as a houseguest this weekend -- there is something really special to me about talking about family with someone who really gets it and likes to talk about family, too, and about where and whom we came from -- and I look forward to the next parade! I plan to get over myself and throw a party for it because it runs close to my house and life is short. I think I will cook something Irish-themed in my, what else, crockpot. People always get kegs for parade parties, but I feel like I might be a little too old for a keg? Maybe I can think of some other fun drink to serve. Anyway, I can't think about this anymore right now because I need to see what my movie star girlfriend Kate Winslet is wearing.

Monday Catch-Up

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

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

Niceness

This has been a weekend filled with lovely things. Some things haven't been so lovely, mostly involving the heinousness that is standing on a ladder painting ceilings, but I'm going to focus on what's been nice.

My mom and I celebrated her birthday by eating pizza and gelato and watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which I liked more than I thought I would; particularly enjoyable were the girl who played Lucy and the wonderful James McAvoy as Mr. Tumnus. 

This weekend also marked the triumphant return of Friday Night Lights to network television and the first of the final episodes of Battlestar Galactica. I love these shows so much; they make me so happy. I already miss them, knowing BG is nearing the end and FNL is probably not far behind. Yesterday I made my favorite crock pot recipe, and today my mom shared carrot salad and bean soup. I read a book, Schooled by Gordon Korman, that started off annoying but ended up charming me.

Today I went on one of the best runs in recent memory. When you get to leave the house at noon on a sunny, cloudless, blue-skied Sunday in January and it's 65 degrees outside, you are one lucky girl. So the weather played a major part of the pleasantness of today's run, but there were other factors -- the many white pelicans perched on the lakeshore in a huddle -- God, how I love the white pelicans! The little pink and white buds starting to peek out from the bare branches of dozens of Japanese magnolia trees. The ducks taking flight in unison. The breeze. The sight of people walking their dogs, picnicking beside the lake, biking, walking, running. The new earphones which allowed me to actually hear my songs in both ears, which was like running in super surround sound compared to what I'm used to. The way that "You Can't Stop the Beat" came on just when I needed it to. The fact that I didn't worry about a single thing while rounding the lakes. I just thought about how glad I am to have the day off tomorrow and how full my heart feels when thinking about the day after tomorrow. 

Last but not least, running three miles on a gorgeous, perfect day is about a billion times more fun than painting a bathroom ceiling, which I did yesterday and all morning long and which I'm about to have to do some more. It's been months since Gustav, and I could bear the brown spots not a day longer. Painting ceilings ranks in life, I've found, with some of the most dreadful acts a person can do on a beautiful day. Mishaps have been the story of the day ... the roller snapping in two and falling on my head, stepping off the ladder and taking down the shower curtain mid-plummet, drips galore in the bathtub and all over the floor, etc. But at least I had good music to keep me company and all of the windows are thrown up and the fans are running to try to keep the air as fresh as possible. 

My brother just called and wants me to road trip with him tomorrow to see Slumdog Millionaire, which sounds like the best idea I've ever heard. A few nights ago, I went to his house to eat dinner and watch The Dark Knight, which he of course loves immensely as a lifelong Batman fan. I thought it was way too long, but we agreed that Heath Ledger and whoever first decided to slap BBQ sauce and chicken on pizza are both geniuses.

All in all, a mighty fine weekend a few weeks into the new year.

Decluttering, etc.

This weekend I went bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s. I decided I needed to declutter my house as much as possible in a tornadic burst of activity. I washed and ironed my bedroom and living room curtains. I went through shoebox after shoebox of old photos, trashing many of them, along with every set of negatives dating back 20+ years. I cleaned out three, count 'em, three junk drawers in my kitchen. Why did I have seven wrenches? I'll never know. Goodbye, wrenches. I went through a giant box of old videotapes. I went through a stack of old magazines. I washed a giant hamper full of clothes that had been sitting in a closet for over a year. (Horrible, I know, right? True confession time!) I went through two boxes actually labeled with the words "Misc. Crap." I filed, tossed, and bagged/boxed for St. Vincent de Paul. 

It's not like you walk into my house and think, "CLUTTER!" It's because it's all stashed away in drawers, cabinets, and closets. And every time I would pull something out to go through, I'd realize there was something else behind it. It was like a horrible multiplication of mess. So many boxes ... I can't even really believe it. I threw out ancient TV Guides and ancient TV Guide clippings about shows like Beauty and the Beast and Life Goes On. I found my Disney World ID and Disney name tag and Edelweiss seeds purchased in 1998 in Salzburg on The Sound of Music tour. My sister still has hers, too, bought separately from me, and we resolved to plant them in pots on the same day, even though I have no idea if seeds stay alive in little packets for eleven years. I found four very pretty rosaries, and I have no memory of where they came from. 

So I made a lot of progress, but it's basically invisible progress because most of it was hidden away. I am comforted to know that my closets are less full and that I am now free of some of the many things I had but no longer wanted or needed. I still have a long way to go ... I just found a giant box of playbills and theater programs dating back to young childhood. (Sigh.)

Meanwhile, last week, I dropped my iPhone on the very hard tile floor outside my office elevator, and it went splat. The home button stopped working, the ring sounded like something gasping for air from a vat of quicksand, the person on the other line couldn't hear me at all, and it wouldn't sync to iTunes. It was a sad day indeed. I made an appointment at the store, fully expecting to be told my warranty had expired two weeks prior and I was SoL. When the guy said that my warranty just expired two weeks ago and he would swap it out, "just this once," I practically started weeping right there on my stool. It was a Genius Bar miracle. Thank you, Eric at the Apple store! 

I can't focus on anything else to write. The Visitor is quite a good movie. The performances are amazing, and it is quite moving. I got it because it was written and directed by the guy who did The Station Agent, which I adored, and it didn't disappoint. And I am so glad that Colin Farrell won the Golden Globe (read Kymm's great recap) last night for In Bruges. I have been telling anyone who'll listen about how fantastic he was in this movie for months, and I am so glad the whole world knows it now! And his speech was delightful and divine, and I love him. 

Catching up

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

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

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

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

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

Catching up

Having an iced coffee before my little brother and I head out to see the Rent film. I am looking forward to it, though I'm not sure what to expect. We had to design TV channels in my 9th grade mass media class, and mine was a Broadway channel -- all shows, all the time, sort of a pay-per-view situation. I thought it was a swell idea at age 13, and I remember one obnoxious boy saying during the class critique that it wouldn't be the same as being in the theater. Well, duh. I just hope the Rent film (filmed on stage) is not too much like a music video. That frightens me.

It is so beautiful outside it's hard not to be in a decent mood these days. On Friday evening, B. and I ordered a chicken pesto pizza and settled in to watch the first presidential debate. We yelled at the TV a lot and applauded a lot. What I keep thinking about is how at least Obama attempted to look at and address McCain directly sometimes while McCain never did once, at least not that I noticed. And I wonder if that was intentional strategy -- McCain's way of saying Obama isn't worth his attention because "HE JUST DOESN'T GET IT" -- or just McCain being a wuss. I haven't watched much debate commentary because I saw a McCain advisor triumphantly concluding right after the debate that Obama is out of touch with mainstream America and I thought I was going to go blind. I just get too emotional. That said, I can't wait for Thursday's vice presidential debate, during which my friend predicts Palin will be a "hot mess all over the screen!"

Yesterday is kind of a blur ... I did homework and watched the highlights of the first season of The Rosie O'Donnell Show. Oh, I got a new roof! I got a new roof on Friday. Which I love, although I stepped on two giant roofing nails this morning in my front yard and luckily I had on thick-soled sneakers and the nails went between my toes instead of into my foot. I am going to call the roofer tomorrow and see if he can send someone back out with the magnet broom.

Last night, we ate dinner outside on a restaurant patio (miso soup, sushi rolls, and a macadamia nut chicken salad) and went to see Burn Before Reading. I both liked and didn't like it. It was worth seeing for Brad Pitt alone.

:::

(Later in the day ...) My brother and I just got back from the Rent film. WOW! Talk about exceeding all expectations. I thought that Roger was a little too pretty. That said, most of the cast knocked my socks off both vocally and acting-wise. The standout, far and away, was Renee Elise Goldsberry as Mimi. Which surprised me because I always mistakenly thought she was sort of a bland presence based on my limited viewings of her on One Life to Live. I could not have been more wrong about her. Not only was her singing voice fantastic, she completely looked the part from head to toe and acted circles around everyone else on stage. Not that the other actors weren't good because some of them definitely were -- but she was on a whole different level. She really impressed me and I'm so glad I got to see her performing this character. The other standouts for me were Michael McElroy as Collins and Justin Johnston as Angel. They were so wonderful in "I'll Cover You" that they made me not even miss Jesse L. Martin and Wilson Jermaine Heredia. Of course, they'll always be those characters in my heart, but the ones I saw today brought the same kind of beautiful performances and chemistry to that pair. Impressive, I am telling you. IMPRESSIVE. Michael McElroy's voice=beautiful. Of course, nothing beats seeing theater live, but this was a real treat, and I am so glad we went.

:::

Last night before Burn After Reading, of course there were trailers. The only one that made me sit up and pay attention was the one for Milk. I accidentally caught The Times of Harvey Milk (Oscar-winning documentary) on PBS several years ago, and it has stayed with me. I am really looking forward to seeing Milk (or as much as I can look forward to something that I am sure will ultimately be devastating.) If nothing else, I think it's an important story of an important life that more people need to hear. The documentary is definitely worth seeing, and it's available from Netflix and in 10 parts on YouTube.

And now I am going to eat the tofu pepper stir fry I just made, wash stinky towels that were trapped in a bathroom cabinet whose ceiling was molding unbeknownst to me, and prepare to face the week ahead.

Monday update

Another weekend, another Monday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Misc. Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

More tomorrow.

Catching up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is going to be one weird summer.

Weekends!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss him already.

What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing

Not sure where to start, so I'm just going to start typing. It's Memorial Day, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about that, but none I can really find words for at the moment. Mostly I'm just thinking about my friend Jessamyn!

I really liked Iron Man. I have always loved Robert Downey, Jr., and he did not disappoint in this role. I definitely recommend it.

I'm not really sure what has been going on. I've been really busy with work. B's mom is here, which has been nice. I sort of went into a manic panic when it came to pre-visit housecleaning, which was silly. We had dinner with my parents the other night, took her to a plantation, took her to a museum, took her to the top of the capitol, had lunch with my parents today, and overall it's been a merry time. Today my mom made three different salads -- her cabbage crunch salad, a green salad with fresh pears and toasted pecans and feta cheese, and a curry chicken salad with dried cranberries ... delish!

I've been reading Linda's journal for a long time ... long enough to know that she is all about the Turbo Jam. I knew it was a tool in her fitness routine, but it wasn't until I saw her legs and passed out from their sheer awesomeness that I got on eBay and bought myself a copy. I did it for the first time this morning when B. went to play racquetball and his mom went for a walk around the lakes. As I told Linda in an e-mail, I am becoming increasingly frightened of my own stomach. It's always been a place where my out-of-shapeness manifests itself ... along with a big bottom that is sort of big no matter how in shape I am ... but my stomach is now doing this weird thing when I bend over where my stomach goes down before the rest of me and is sort of like a distorted, distended other being, like a sandbag attached to my body, and it's so bizarre and so disturbing. While this Turbo Jam video does not specifically address the stomach, I'm hoping that just getting moving again will be an overall good thing for my overall body. I could barely follow the steps and do not understand the different kinds of punches and am wholly baffled by how the teacher's somewhat skimpy orange bikini sports bra holds her boobs in place and I ended up just kind of punching the air randomly to the beat and trying to kick my legs out without putting my foot through the TV or taking out one of the cats. But I think it's okay because I did sweat a lot and get out of breath, which is more than I've done lately, so I hope to get into a little routine and stop scaring myself with the flubberoo.

We watched The Painted Veil last night. I sort of hated the first hour, but by the end I was glad we watched it. I've decided I think Naomi Watts is a very good actress because she just comes across as very natural. Edward Norton, on the other hand -- I've decided that he bugs me. Whereas Naomi Watts seemed to really inhabit her character, every move he made -- every turn of the head, scratch of the neck, hand on the hip -- seemed so calculated and actor-y. It was definitely not an exciting movie, but the scenery was pretty and I ended up being mildly moved by it.

I was much more moved by Secret Lives: Hidden Children & their Rescuers During World War II. I love a good WWII documentary, and this definitely was one. I cried and cried when one man, then a boy, spoke of how when the war ended, freed from his hiding place and his hidden identity, ran out into the streets waving a small Dutch flag and shouting, "I'm a Jew, I'm a Jew." I cried and cried when children grew up and re-met their rescuers -- their parents during those years, really -- half a century later. I was very struck by one woman who was the biological daughter of a rescuer couple who remains angry that her parents risked her life and the lives of her siblings to hide Jewish children. She said she's been angry about it most of her life. And I felt so sad for her and so sorry. And I wonder how all these years later she cannot see the experience with some perspective. That because her parents did what they did, children were saved. And it was dangerous, but nobody died. Not them, not her. So wasn't it ultimately a good thing? I enjoyed this movie very much.

Yesterday we visited a special Jim Henson exhibition. It was just wonderful. If it's coming anywhere near you, I think you should check it out. After coming home still feeling a bit happy/weepy from the exhibit, I went on an all-things Henson YouTube search. I loved watching the singing from his memorial service (part one, part two). And I somehow came across a version I'd never heard before of "The Rainbow Connection," which is one of my favorite songs, even when sung by the likes of Andy Bernard. Anyway, it's by the Dixie Chicks, and here it is, and it made me cry and then cry some more.

Can we talk about plantations for a second? An African American man I rode around with a lot at work last week is probably his mid- to late-60s. He was born on a plantation in St. Fr-ville and picked cotton every summer until he was 19. We were talking about plans with B's mom, and he said we definitely needed to take her to a plantation. He said he loves visiting them, loves walking through the grounds and gardens, even loves seeing the slave cabins. I asked him, not very articulately, if walking around a plantation makes him feel "yucky." (The best word I could come up with. I'm not proud.) He said definitely but he still likes going because he thinks they're beautiful. We had a pretty interesting conversation about it. So when B. and I decided to take his mom to one, I kind of kept him in mind. And sure, the house was beautiful. And hearing about the history from the tour guide was sort of neat. But I about gagged when she said something about how "they're very proud that slaves were not abused at this plantation." Well -- swell. It gave me an overwhelming sense of ickiness.

Here's a picture of the house from the top of the levee:

I can't think of anything else to say about the plantation other than that the best part of the visit was the restaurant's sweet potato fries. And now here are some more pictures of late:

Catch up

Last week, my mom called to announced that there was a Camelot special on PBS. Of course I turned it on right away, and behold, there was Live from Lincoln Center: Camelot. I could not believe my bloomin' eyes. Marin Mazzie as Guinevere? LORD. Perfect. I've loved her since 1998, when she created the role of Mother in Ragtime (even though I never saw her in it, I feel like I have, you know?), and seeing her in Kiss Me, Kate was something I'll never forget. I thought she made a fine, fine Guinevere.

Anyway, I'd never seen the guy who played Lancelot before, but I understand he's an opera star and I was pleased to see that he had both comedic and dramatic chops as well as a great voice. Christopher Lloyd as Pellinore? Too good. I have no idea who Mordred was, but he was great. And Gabriel Byrne as Arthur was wonderful. Sure, he spoke through many of the songs, but that is what Arthur does, since it's not a singing part and it never has been. (Hello, Richard Burton.) And sometimes he rushed and didn't speak the words with the proper musical timing. But you know what? I didn't care. He made me cry so hard during the "Proposition" scene that B. could hear me from the next room even though I was sitting on the bed in the dark with the door closed. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful to see this show that I have loved so much my whole life reinvented in this wonderful way.

Of course I called my parents crying during the show to tell them it was the best thing I'd ever seen, and a few nights later, while B. and I were over at my parents' house visiting my sister who was in town, my dad busted out his Camelot script from his college production (he played Arthur) and performed the "Proposition" scene for us, stopping to explain how the notes from "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight" play in the background and so forth, and it was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

On Saturday, I was running around buying gifts, and I stopped at the Catholic bookstore to buy my dad a gift certificate and next-door I spotted a Mexican bakery. At least it looked like a Mexican bakery. Seeing as I don't speak Spanish, I wasn't sure. But I was so hungry that I ran and not walked inside. I was not really sure what to do, procedurally. This was definitely a Mexican-Mexican bakery and not an American-Mexican bakery. Should I order at the counter even though I could not translate any of the menu items on the wall? Should I stand at the large rack of unlabeled baked goods and inspect them carefully until someone came over to take my order? I did the latter, and the friendly counter guy asked me what I would like. I pointed to a big pastry and said, "I'd like one, please." He said, "It's chicken!" Because I think he thought I thought it was dessert. I said, "Great!" He told me, "Americans always taste that one and come back for more." $2.65 later, I walked outside, got into my car, and tore into it. It was so good I moaned. I ate the whole thing with my hands, while driving. And it wasn't small. I took my sister back the next morning, thinking she might want to speak some Spanish. She explained that if she were in Mexico, sure, but that the general consensus among bilingual types and those trying to be so is that as Mexicans operating a restaurant here, they might not want to be used for us to practice Spanish on, but rather might want to use us to practice English on. Which made sense, I think. So they spoke a little Spanish and a little English and all was merry and gay. We loaded up on stuff and it is now my favorite food establishment. They've only been open a month; I hope they're a wild success.

Spending some time with my sister when she was here was nice. We went shoe shopping, which is not either of our things, but we survived. Mother's Day was good. We also celebrated my dad's birthday, and my mom cooked an awesome meal of crawfish etouffee, broccoli casserole, and of course ice cream dessert. It was nice to have the whole family together, plus fiery B. I forced everyone to jump in the air for pictures because I read that it's a good way to spice up a group photo. I feel everyone was slightly annoyed, but these pictures will make me laugh forever.

My mom, sister, and I watched P.S. I Love You, and I'm not sure I have the words to aptly capture how much we hated this movie. Just when we thought it couldn't get any stupider or more unrealistic, it would. IT WAS BAD. I am still kind of in shock that it ever got made. I think we started hating it immediately when Hilary Swank's character complained about how small their apartment was and it was a big, lovely NY walk-up that was bigger than any apartment my NY friend ever lived in. I also hated: her fancy up-do for her husband's funeral [not really a spoiler; his death is basically the premise of the whole movie] and the way she went to bed after it in the most uncomfortable type of bra possible (corset) and sexy black panties. Who dresses like that for her husband's funeral? I hated ... everything about it. EVERYTHING. Except for the beauty of the Irish countryside. That was the only good thing about it. What a slog of a movie ... the worst I've seen in years. Possibly in my whole life.

Don't know what else to say. So ... pictures.

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.

Easter feaster

For Easter lunch my mom made crawfish fettucini, dirty rice, cabbage crunch salad, a ham, a turkey, ice cream dessert, rolls, and apple pie. I can't decide if it was over-the-top excessive or just right. I think just right.

On Friday night, B. and I attended a bowling birthday party for a friend. After another 70-hour work week (not complaining; many of my colleagues worked possibly twice that), I was a little delirious and did not get too into the bowling revelry. I contemplated posting a video B. took of me taking a turn but I might be just a little too proud for that as my technique is rather spastic. I saw some school pals there, which was a nice surprise.

Yesterday, we woke up early and went to the farmer's market. We bought grapefruit and cranberry cream scones and brussel sprouts and peanut butter fudge. I tried to nap but it was futile, as usual. I went to my friend M.'s house for a little while to hang out with her and her girls. The Annie soundtrack reigned supreme as usual lately. B. and I got sushi take-out for dinner and watched Michael Clayton, which was better than I thought it would be.

I've been watching a lot of behind the scenes features on the Across the Universe DVD, and the more I delve into this movie, the more I like it.

This morning, I was being lazy and watching The Goonies before we went to lunch. Of course I have seen it one billion times and own it on DVD and loved it so much as a child I used to dream about it, but that doesn't mean I won't stop flipping and watch it if it's on TV. Anyway, I understand that at the beginning all of the kids have their backs turned or are distracted when the Fratelli chase is going on so nobody will believe Chunk at first when he tells them about it. But I don't understand what the giant vat of water is that Martha Plimpton is sticking her head into to cool off. What is that about? It certainly doesn't look very clean. Mystery. Okay -- according to this version of the script: "Stefanie, known to her friends as Stef, is at the docks. The chase passes behind her while her head is immersed in a fishing barrel. She surfaces with a crab in hand and tosses it aside, oblivious to the commotion. " -- but why would she be sticking her head in a fishing barrel? Can someone please explain this to me?

I watched Barack Obama's speech of this week this morning. I had tears streaming down my face for approximately 35 of the 38 minutes. I tried to bring it up at Easter lunch but my mom said even though she heard me and understands that it was a great speech that she does not approve of Obama, basically. I feel like maybe she buys into the idea that he's a great speaker, but so what? I tried to explain that reading his first book really showed me what's behind the great speeches and how much more deeply I understand where he's coming from now. She said a lot of people don't understand why he would stick with that preacher for the past 20 years if he disagreed with him so much. She wasn't saying she thought that; she was saying a lot of people are saying that. I was so out of everything happening in the world because I was working so much that I haven't really heard the reactions. I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "People are complicated." She thinks it's really going to hurt his campaign. My dad said he doesn't think it will have as much of an effect as she does. He thinks Obama will get the nomination. Both said they don't know if he can win. It was kind of baffling. My dad is careful not to say too much, I think, because I think they get that I love him. I guess I just don't understand how my mom of all people doesn't understand why Obama would not want to stick with someone who helped to bring him to his Christian faith and in whose church he was literally converted even though sometimes he says messed up things. I just do not know. It's sort of confusing to me. I love my mom and want to understand where she's coming from.

It makes me sad to think about it, so I think I'm going to eat another piece of peanut butter fudge.

Update

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Updatin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

33

I had a nice 33rd birthday. It started with a nice card from B. and some calls from people singing to me. We had cake and ice cream at work, and B. and I went out for Thai food and he gave me some lovely gifts. Then we watched Lost, during which I had to start crying near the end of the episode.

The next night, I gathered with friends and family in the private room of a Thai restaurant for a karaoke birthday party I decided to throw for myself. I am not really sure what came over me or possessed me to do this. I am more and more introverted the older I get, and I don't gather with large groups of friends very often anymore. But I decided to say "what the hell" and go for it. My parents came, as did my brother. Frankly, any party where most or all of my family can't come is not a party of mine I want to have. And lots of friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in a while. I had no idea if anyone would get up and sing, but 99% did. I kicked things off with "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness. My mom's jaw hit the floor because normally I'm quite stage fright-y about such things. My dad sang "By the Time I Get to Phoenix." B. sang "Summer Wind." M. sang "Behind These Hazel Eyes" and some Hall & Oates song. My brother sang some Air Supply song. I mean, the songs just ran the gamut, and people seemed to have a lot of fun singing them. There was lots of merriment all around, and I shocked myself by actually relaxing and enjoying the whole thing after a few hand-wringing moments of needless anxiety. My brother even figured out some way to set up his iPod on some speakers and play a recording of my sister playing and singing a personalized, re-written version of Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am," which warmed my heart to no damn end.

The next night, B. and I sat down with Italian take-out and watched Gone Baby Gone, which I enjoyed very much. It was great to see Michelle Monaghan again, whom I loved so much in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.

Yesterday, I did homework and spent a little time at the park with M. and her girls. My godchild is going to walk any day now, I can feel it. She pulled lots of sand determinedly and ferociously into her diaper. And the four-year-old sang "Tomorrow" at the top of her lungs while swinging, which is always a good way to have one's spirit lifted, and we all drank Icees for the second day in a row.

B.'s mom sent me a basket of four beautiful plants for my birthday. I bought some new pots and some potting soil and potted them yesterday. They are really brightening up the house. It had been so long since I put my hands in dirt, and it felt really good. I hope I keep them alive.

I have high hopes for 33.

Stuff & nonsense

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend update

What is better than a sunny Sunday afternoon? Not much.

It's been a nice weekend. On Friday afternoon after work, B. and I met downtown for sushi at a place we don't go very often. There are always lots of women in Carrie Bradshaw clothes, the music is bumping and loud, and the servers rush you out of there like their hair is on fire. But we were basically the first people there, so we took our time a little bit and enjoyed the terrace view, our wine, our scotch, our shrimp and eggplant miso, our seaweed salad, and our sushi rolls. We got frozen yogurt on the way home and watched Friday Night Lights, which I still love no matter how off the rails it might be going this season.

Yesterday morning, we got up pretty early. I went to the gym and did day two of week two of Couch to 5K and headed to lunch with my girlfriend. We shopped around a little after and exchanged late Christmas gifts. It was nice to see her. Then I went to a gathering of school friends, whom I was glad to see after the holiday break.

Dinner last night was uneventful leftovers, but the entertainment was eventful. It was Stardust, which I knew nothing about other than that Pajiba named it one of the best movies of 2007 we probably didn't see and that my little brother thought it was good. And it was. It was so good! It was just delightful and fun and very pretty to look at. It also did what I previously thought was impossible and that is make me like Claire Danes again. It was a movie miracle! She won me over in her first five minutes. Everyone in the movie was great. Just when I thought the cast could not be improved upon, up showed Ricky Gervais. Just kill me now.

The one thing in the movie that drove me a little nuts was the familiarity of some of the score. I was like, I have heard this before and it is driving me bananas! You can hear the little snippet that made me bonkers here. And I could not figure it out. And finally B. threw out, "Battlestar Galactica?" Whose title sort of sounds like Back to the Future. And I realized, eureka! That was it. (The first 25 seconds or so of that clip.) Anyway, other than that, the movie did not drive me crazy at all except for maybe with happiness.

This morning I went grocery shopping and did day three of week two outside, which was downright blissful because the weather continues to amaze. Then I went to paint some pottery with my favorite four-year-old, who announced as she madly splashed her ceramic plate with color, "I CAN'T STOP PAINTING." This is my last non-school weekend for a while, so I'm glad it's been so lovely.

Here are my playlists for week two, days two and three:

Piddle, Twiddle And Resolve/Till Then ~ 1776
Blame Canada ~ South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut
Pavement Artist (Chim Chim Cher-Ee) ~ Mary Poppins
What Would Brian Boitano Do? ~ South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut
We're Not Sorry ~ Urinetown
Broken Heart ~ Motion City Soundtrack
Closer To You ~ Brandi Carlile
All I Want Is You ~ Barry Louis Polisar
The Story ~ Brandi Carlile
Who's Got a Match? ~ Biffy Clyro
Eyes ~ Rogue Wave
Shake It ~ Metro Station
Follow Your Heart ~ Urinetown (mainly for the part at the end when Hunter Foster knocks "laughter and glaaaaadness" out of the park)
School for Monsters/The Money Song ~ Avenue Q

Dear Prudence ~ Across the Universe
Run, Freedom, Run! ~ Hunter Foster (Urinetown)
So Nice So Smart ~ Kimya Dawson
All My Loving ~ Jim Sturgess (Across the Universe)
I've Got the World on a String ~ Michael Buble
Singin' In The Rain ~ Gene Kelly
When Your Mind's Made Up ~ Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová (Once)
The Nicest Kids In Town ~ James Marsden (Hairspray)
Busted Afternoon ~ Old 97's
Kind Of Hope ~ Pilot Speed
Happiness Is a Warm Gun ~ Joe Anderson (Across the Universe)
You Can't Stop The Beat ~ Hairspray
Everything ~ Michael Buble
I Will ~ The Beatles
The Story ~ Brandi Carlile

Aw, yeah.

Wow! What a weekend.

Let me think back. I have no memory of Friday night. Oh yeah! I went to a white elephant work party with my girlfriend and watched Friday Night Lights. (Sigh.)

Saturday, we woke up pretty early ... B. hit the books, and I headed to pick up my sister from the airport after her 27-hour trek from Bolivia. We had a joyous reunion over Reese's Christmas trees and iced coffee. We stopped in the airport to buy her coffee, and we struck up a little casual coffee counter conversation with the barista, who, after hearing why she was in Bolivia, declared, "Those people who come over here and don't even try to speak English? I don't like them." We had a good chuckle over the irony of the first person she spoke to besides me upon her return to the U.S. being someone who doesn't like the very people she left U.S. to learn how to speak to when they come here. God bless America!

We spent the afternoon eating pizza and watching LSU win the SEC championship, which was of course great. It is always very amusing to me to see my parents get so worked up over a football game when they get to watch it at home together. There was a lot of cursing from my dad and my mom screaming things like, "He's totally FREAKING open!" and "MORON!"

Also yesterday, my sister bought an iPhone, which is really fantastic and I drooled over it. After the game, we headed to Target so my sister could pick up some essentials and played with her phone a whole lot. We also watched the #1 and #2 teams in the nation lose and thought, "Huh." But not really because what were the odds?

Well, the odds were better than we thought as we discussed over grits this morning. Hello? Wow! The polls came out throughout the day and soon enough it became clear that we are the luckiest team in the world because we are going to the national championship again even though we lost two games. It is a beautiful, beautiful thing, and I am so glad my sister is home for it. I can't wait to do four years ago all over again.

Boots

Lately I've been missing my faraway friend. She's about 4,000 miles away, give or take.

When she moved away, she left me her boots. These are boots I've always admired and coveted. I went to the shoe store to get some and tried on endless pairs, but none of them ever fit me properly. But she left hers with me. And I wasn't sure they would fit. The first pair of socks I tried on with them made them too snug and I was seriously bummed, but then I tried on a pair of thin running socks with them, and now they are perfect.

I wear them and I feel closer to her, less lonesome for her. But just a little.

Right now I'm baking cookies and watching the new Charlotte's Web. I thought I never would, but I am, and 20 minutes in, it is so sweet and adorable and lovely that I have deemed it acceptable even though it makes me intensely long for the songs of the original. I'm not sure how I feel about Julia Roberts as Charlotte though. She's being a little too cheeky in her first scene. I don't remember the original Charlotte being this cheeky. And I don't remember the other animals shunning Charlotte and calling her ugly? Maybe I blocked that out. I also rented Miss Potter and The United States of Leland.

So far this weekend, I've spent lots of money getting my car fixed (some more), finished up a project at the library, gone to an art show/party where I felt awkward and square to a shocking degree, eaten Thai food, done laundry, and gone to the Farmer's Market for a hazelnut latte and garlic cheese biscuits and raspberry scones. I'm looking forward to having coffee with my friend and her daughters tomorrow. I've decided no longer to freak out about school. And I'm really glad I've got my boots to keep me warm.

Catching Up

It's daunting to think of updating chronologically so I think I'll go backwards.

Tonight I am sitting on the couch. I just watched Moonstruck and ate some disgusting chicken fried rice from a Knorr envelope. Zuko liked it, though. Today I mowed the grass, did four loads of laundry, unpacked from my trip, reorganized my bathroom cabinet, got gas, went grocery shopping, and finished Harry Potter. And also spent hours on the phone with Apple bemoaning the fact that after sending it in for repairs, something is now broken that wasn't before. (It won't burn any CDs.) The first person I talked to immediately "suggested" that I take it to a retail store so that a "Mac genius" could "isolate the problem" and then I could "call them back" and tell them what the problem is. I "suggested" that I paid for Apple Care and intended to receive technical assistance over the phone. I did this nicely, of course, but deep down I was growing more livid by the second. After going through the usual hoops and steps I have jumped through countless times as they've tried to diagnose problem after problem and reminding them that I just sent it in and had the disc drive REPLACED, they had me do whatever you do with the 2 original install discs and then call them back to report that it still was not working. After much ridiculousness, I finally talked to someone named Dan who gave me his personal extension, told me how to cut through the voice prompts, and said he or some other specialist would be handling it from now on. So I'm sending it back in. And I have never been a customer service person and I understand there are rules they have to follow, but I swear to God that when what's-his-name, before even beginning to address possibilities or troubleshoot, suggested that I drag my ass to Comp USA, I almost cursed Apple forever. Thank God for Dan.

Last night I went to see a local production of Cats with Maryelizabeth. We stopped for cookies and Icees on the way home along with a hamburger and fries. We decided that it was a very good production but that even at its best, Cats is kind of a boring slog of a show. I like some of the songs, but mostly I've decided it's annoying and I don't understand what it is about it that middle America so faithfully embraced for years and years on Broadway. Give me Rodgers and Hammerstein any day of the week, is all I'm saying. One weird thing is that we noted when walking into the theater that we went to theater camp there the summer after ninth grade. So we were reminiscing about it. And one of the girls from theater camp was in the show! Bizarre. She looked great, danced great, sounded great, and was overall in incredible shape as a performer. Nelly Forbush was played by three girls that summer ... I was one, and so was she. I got "Some Enchanted Evening," and she got "Honey Bun." I think it's safe to say that she carried the torch from theater camp, and I totally dropped it. I cannot believe that was 17 years ago.

Speaking of Rodgers and Hammerstein, I've been enjoying the hell out of a four-disc set that my dad dug out while cleaning his study, "Golden Memories of Stage & Screen." On my way to the airport last weekend, I listened to "Edelweiss" and cried and cried. Mostly remembering the moment when the Captain is too overcome with emotion to continue singing at the end and Maria walks out on stage to save the moment and save him. One of my memories of watching that movie on repeat as a child was how my mom always pointed out during that scene how much Maria loved him to go out there and sing the song when he couldn't. The whole box set is pretty damned awesome.

Yesterday, I got back into town and played with my pets and bought Harry Potter and was reunited with my computer, which was a very joyous experience before I realized it was still broken.

On Friday night, B. and I flew home from our week away. We finished disc one of The Best of Youth on the plane ride home and in doing so broke HIS computer, only his seems to be more severely broken as all it will do at this point is blink a question mark at him. Sorrow. To make our connecting flight, we ran and ran and ran through the Miami airport and I almost had a heart attack. The Best of Youth is quite long and good. This trip's airplane breakdown occured while reading this article about Barbaro. It was similar to my fit while reading The Book Thief, only shorter in duration as it was an article rather than a novel. I just could not control the tears from shooting down my face. I discovered after finishing it that it was written by Buzz Bissinger, who wrote Friday Night Lights.

(Photo by B)

We spent a few days with his family, which was very nice as always, after going to Williamsburg, which is a groovy place to visit if you enjoy historical nerdiness, which I do. We went to Jamestown Settlement, the Governor's Palace, Busch Gardens, etc.

(Photo by B)




(Photo by B)

I wish I were not such a germophobic freak in hotel rooms, but I can't seem to shake my paranoia. I am definitely happy to be back in my own bed and bathroom.

The Emmy nominations came out, and I have some thoughts on them, but they'll have to wait. A new week starts tomorrow, and I want to be on top of things and be healthy and happy.

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.

Ice cream cake is important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weepy weekend, whoa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a Tuesday

This weekend was B.'s birthday, so we did some celebratin'. On Friday night, I made this recipe, and it was so bland and tasteless that I felt like I was eating chunky, meaty water. I dumped tons of garlic powder, some cayenne pepper, some salt, a couple of bay leaves, and some black pepper in it after the first round, and it was better as leftovers. So that was disappointing, though the store-bought garlic bread was tasty. I made these brownies as a special birthday treat, but they weren't as good as I'd hoped they would be for a prize-winning recipe. I thought that the butter/brown sugar mixture made the bottom (the peanut butter cookie dough) too soggy, and the potato chips tasted stale. They weren't disgusting by any means, but they did not knock my socks off. We watched Notes on a Scandal, and while I appreciate the talent of Blanchett and Dench, mostly this movie just grossed me out and annoyed me.

On Saturday morning, we went out for a breakfast of egg sandwiches on homemade biscuits with bacon and cheese and a side of grits over the newspaper. He had his new coffee and deemed it a hit. Then we went to the planetarium because it was too hot to even think about being outside and watched a movie that was alternately very cool and very motion sickness-inducing. We had po-boys for lunch (me: shrimp, him: roast beef), and I dropped him off for his birthday massage. Later that afternoon, we played Scrabble and had a fancy dinner of red snapper topped with lump crabmeat (me) and pork loin with orange slices and blackberries (him) along with a couple of Sazeracs and went to see Knocked Up, my favorite part of which was the Cirque du Soleil Mystere scene because I had not a dissimilar experience while watching that show.

The next morning, there were more biscuits and eggs and cheese for breakfast, and we bid each other adieu. I mowed the grass, went over to Maryelizabeth's to visit for a while, met my dad at yoga (where I felt the entire time like my wrists might snap in half, ow, sun salutations can suck it), and spent the evening doing a whole lot of nothing.

Now I'm sitting here obsessing about painting my hall or foyer something like this color or this color, watching the two delightful Rosie and Ross videos, finishing Austenland (very cute book), scouring the Internet for the Spring Awakening Tony performance because I somehow deleted it from my TiVo, contemplating going on the South Beach Diet, renting World War II documentaries from Netflix, watching Diggers, and trying to find a new book to read. Suggestions welcome.

Frogs and falling chocolate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strawberry love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(a little excited about her Friday Night Lights shirt)


(making his best Jim Halpert face)


(pretty building)

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


(giant piles of sushi at the reception buffet)

(the graduate and me)

Jam-packed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Pie for days

I spent most of the weekend eating slice after slice of my boyfriend's homemade strawberry pie. I'm a big fan of strawberry pie, as it turns out.

Let's see ... we went out to our favorite Asian restaurant on Friday night. He had honey wasabi shrimp, and I had shrimp with tomatoes, peppers, onions, and pineapple. For dessert, we had strawberry pie and pistachio ice cream. We started The Illusionist.

On Saturday morning, we had cereal for breakfast, stopped at the coffee shop for a granita, and headed out to a festival. This was our first visit to this festival. It's a lot smaller than Jazz Fest, and it was fun to walk around downtown, check out musical acts from Belgium, Finland, and Mexico, and eat festival food like a pink lemonade snowball and crawfish maque choux.

We got back to town, went to a backpacking store, and went home, where I made chicken stroganoff for dinner, inspired by this post of Jackie's. I liked it, but I thought it could have used some cayenne pepper or something to make it a little more fiery. We had more pie and more pistachio ice cream for dessert. Also, we finished The Illusionist, which I definitely do not recommend. It was terrible. Maybe not quite as terrible as The Holiday, but close. It was boring and ridiculous, and I felt embarrassed for all of the actors. Except for Jessica Biel because I don't expect anything better from her. But Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti are really good actors! How are they not mortified to have appeared in this nonsense? Argh. And we also watched Hollywoodland, which I liked but did not love, while playing a game of Scrabble. I thought everyone in this one did a great job, especially Adrian Brody and Ben Affleck, and I thought my beloved Diane Lane was a little over the top, but I still liked her performance.

On Sunday morning, we went to the coffee shop, sat outside, ate a white chocolate raspberry scone and a whole wheat bagel with veggie cream cheese, and read the paper. Soon it was time for him to go home. I did some chores like hedge trimming, went grocery shopping, lay around watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother online, and so forth. I took the dogs on a walk that went awry when Daisy got out of her collar and took off like a rocket after a cat and I ended up trespassing in someone's backyard and ultimately cornering her, which was not an easy task. It's always an odd moment when Zuko's the dog that comes out like the angel of the situation.

Last night, I was watching The Riches, and I had a flashback to when Minnie Driver was on The Rosie O'Donnell Show and she and Rosie sang "Truly Scrumptious" in harmony. It made me really like Minnie Driver from that moment on. I wasn't sure about this show at first, but I've decided that I like it. And I really wish I could find a clip online of them singing, because it was adorable. Truly, I probably still have it on tape somewhere, so maybe I'll dig it out.

I am trying to turn over a healthy new leaf this week. I've been packing on the pounds since finishing the half-marathon training and skipping my crazy exercise class for a few weeks, and I've also been eating like an out-of-control lunatic. It really has to stop. It was almost exactly a year ago that I started Couch to 5K, and I somehow completed that (9 weeks), One Hour Runner (10 weeks), and training for the half-marathon (16 weeks), but I find myself floundering when it comes to health and fitness right now. After missing class for a couple of weeks, getting back into it has been so difficult. It might be because the temperature has been pushing 90 lately, and it feels like it's about 190 in the class. I was doing some move with an exercise bar where you lie on your back and hold it over your head and then do a sit-up with it and on the bar's way back over my head, I hit myself in the nose. Dazed, I reached for my nose and thought it was gushing blood, but the dripping liquid was just a river of sweat! Delightful. I really want to commit to doing the class three times a week and throwing in a day or two of running in there for good measure. And start eating more healthy foods. Just as soon as I finish this strawberry pie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would it be wrong to eat leftover brownies for dinner?

Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

Uttering joyous

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, a few pictures from our day downtown.

Grapevining

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

Ramona lives

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet you in the light

Okay. Weekend update. Life update.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Souper

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

To catch up:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Still love you, Saints

The Saints just lost, it's raining, and my man just left. All of those things suck.

I don't know what to do with myself so I guess I'll lie here and update. On Friday night, we ate Thai take-out and started The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. Mainly I was obsessed with The Bread that night, but more on that later.

On Saturday morning, we went out for breakfast and split banana pecan pancakes. We finished the movie, which was pretty good. Eventually we set out on our runs. He ran 8 miles in about 70 minutes, and I ran 10 miles in about two hours and 20 minutes.

Without dwelling on how stupidly slow that is, all I can really say about it is that the first half was okay but that as I got through the last few miles, I was more miserable than I can remember being in quite some time while running or otherwise. I can't really explain the dark place that I went to, how much I hated running at that minute, how much I hated grey winter days, how I felt hot and cold at the same time but mostly cold, how I wondered why I was doing something that I loathed so completely and why I wanted to subject my body to something that caused every inch of it to hurt, especially my hips which felt like they were dislocating from the rest of me, etc. It was so hard, and I was so spaced out, and I really thought I was going to just fall over and black out several times. I don't even know how or why I didn't quit.

Obviously, based on my time, I almost slowed to a walk by the time I neared the end, but I never actually started walking, and for that I am very proud of myself. Because by God, I wanted to. I really don't know why the ten-mile run was so much more difficult than the 9-mile. I do not know. But after yesterday's run, I seriously thought, "I am done." Done with running, done with training, forget the half-marathon, the whole thing. Because I never, ever, ever, ever wanted to do that again. I'm still not sure that I do, but I guess I'll wait until next weekend and see.

We went to the library later that afternoon and checked out Shoot the Piano Player, which we started last night and I think we were going to finish today, but I guess we forgot. We went out to dinner last night, sharing some insanely good pull-apart bread slathered in garlic, olive oil, and parmesan cheese, and he had steak and I had seafood cannelloni. Then we headed out to a party where my brother was playing. It was heinously crowded and smoky, but it was still a good time, mostly because my brother was awesome and seemed to be having a great time. I love seeing all of the young girls and guys (young meaning in their 20s) singing along with his songs.

This morning we had coffee with my dad and then headed home to hunker down for the game. My sister is in the Philippines right now working on a school project which is a great opportunity I'm sure but is way too far away from me, clearly. Insanely, she got up at 4:00 this morning to watch the Saints game, which was ON IN MANILA. I'm so sure. We chatted a bit online and I'm sure she is very bummed right now along with the rest of the state. Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. Well, the way I see it, they still had an amazing season, brought incredible happiness to their city, and can totally hold their heads high.

And as for the bread, it will probably just be easiest to direct you to the Flickr set chronicling the process. Start here. I'm off to feed my Saints sorrow by eating some right now.

Weekend update

I guess it's time for a weekend update. On Friday night, I drove to the city to have dinner with my boyfriend and his sister, who was visiting for the first time. We ate and ate and ate. Then we had gelato. Then we played Scrabble. The next morning, we had brunch and took a walk on the levee. The weather over the end of last week and the early weekend was unbelievable. Sunny and in the 70s. Bliss. That night, Maryelizabeth and I attended the wedding of J., whom we befriended in Latin class our sophomore year of high school. It's strange to think we've known him for 17 years. How is that possible? What the hell?! Then boy, now man, now husband, always friend. Life is crazy. He seems happy, and it was fun for Maryelizabeth and me to have a night out as each other's dates.

I got up on Sunday and headed outside for my first nine-mile run. It was no longer sunny and blissful. It was mostly grey, but it was still pretty warm. The first 4.5 miles were okay. Knowing that I'd planned the route to stop by my house to speed-pee and down some Powerade at the half-way mark was definitely psychologically helpful. My break clocked in at under two minutes, and then I hit the streets again. By about mile seven or eight, I started to seriously dissociate and it took on the out of body experience feeling. My feet were killing me. But I just kept telling myself that it was nothing and that I was not allowed to quit. So I didn't, and I spaced out to the point where I had to remind myself to watch out for cars. I could barely walk for the rest of the day, but I did it. I had a massage yesterday, and that was glorious. It felt like such a gift to my body. I asked her to spend extra time on my glutes and hips because they're wound up so tight that it's painful and I can't seem to stretch them very well, and my only complaint about the massage is that instead of doing deep tissue work with her hands like I'd hoped, she karate-chopped my butt and hips with her elbows. Other than that, it was decadent and very enjoyable.

I finished Letting Go of God, and I thought it was great. It made me laugh and think and was very moving at times. It brought me back to my childhood and my Catholic education in ways that I can't even articulate at the moment. Like Julia Sweeney, my memories of being raised Catholic and going to Catholic school are really mostly positive. I laughed and laughed at her memories and her re-exploration of the tenets of the faith and the Bible as an adult. She really did a brilliant job with this, I think. I liked it so much that I just ordered another monologue of hers called In the Family Way.

Last night, we gathered at my parents' with Thai take-out to celebrate my mom's birthday. As usual, there was much football talk. They weighed in on their opinions; my parents seem to think he did his job here and we can't begrudge him his desire to succeed somewhere else, no matter where it is; my brother's girlfriend said she doesn't care what he does but is disgusted by the way he leaves other people to clean up his messes; my little brother could do nothing but turn red, shake his head, and mutter, "Judas."

In other football news, people are so excited about the Saints that you can feel this sort of underlying hysteria boiling underneath the surface that could explode at any moment. Everyone's disappointed that we're playing in Chicago instead of in the Dome, but my little brother observed that so insane would be the experience in New Orleans that sheer mutiny might break out and maybe it's for the best that the city is not subjected to that at this time. But who knows? I fear the effect of the snow and cold on our players, but my dad said in his way that is somehow both steely and rabid, as he stabbed at his pad Thai, something like, "Do you think our guys, knowing they are playing for the Super Bowl, will be cold? They will be on fire." Awesome. (And by the way, Anonymous, did you really think I would post your rude comment about the Saints? Maybe if you'd left your name, but of course you didn't. Give me a break.)

The weather is now ass. I know I've no room to complain compared to what the rest of the country has gone through this winter and what still lies ahead, but I can't deal with the high temperature of the day being in the 30s and rain, rain, rain, rain, rain for days on end, which is what we're facing this week. It makes me unspeakably morose and yet again I wonder how my sister and Shelley can survive in the northeast without taking permanently to their beds. I was so in love with my bed this morning that I thought, "I could stay in you all day. I really could. I have never been so warm and comfortable. Flannel sheets are the world's best invention. Bed. Love. I love you, my bed. Love love love. I never want to leave you. You are my soulmate." But I got up and shivered through my cereal and bundled up and headed out. Again, I know this is faux winter to many, but it's winter to me, and I hate it.

I was so glad when Ugly Betty won the Golden Globe, and I cried when America Fererra did. I think it's great that everyone seems to be talking about what a great message this show has in terms of people, especially women, having more to offer the world than what they look like, but I wish that more people were talking about how this show is a lot more than that "message." It's really mostly just highly entertaining and completely hilarious. I saw Michael Urie, who plays Mark, who I think is my favorite character, on The View recently, and he was so delightful. (I love this photo of him and Becki Newton, who so deliciously plays Amanda, posing in character.) This is a great show, but don't be put off by the reports that it's all about some kind of sociological moral. It's also sweet and funny and over-the-top and I love it.

Damn You, CamelBak

I've just returned from a disastrous run during which I attempted to use a CamelBak fanny pack contraption. What a fiasco. I couldn't get it to fit properly, and it kept riding up around my waist instead of around my hips and was bouncing around atop my tailbone and causing shooting back pains. Awesome. I was supposed to run a 10K this weekend for my long run to end week 9 of my training, and instead I ran under three when last week I was able to run eight. Failure to be certain. But for some reason I can't bring myself to care. It's rainy and dreary outside, and all I feel like doing is lying around in sweatpants watching season two of Cold Feet and eating coffee ice cream straight out of the carton.

Aside from the run from hell, it was a nice weekend. On Friday night, I made shrimp pesto pizza for my boyfriend and sister and pretended to be an actual entertainer as inspired by my Christmas gift of I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence. We started A Scanner Darkly, which was so irritatingly confusing to me that I started to pass out in involuntary protest. On Saturday morning, we went to the farmer's market for muffins and to the sporting goods store and to lunch, where I had the slimiest gumbo ever. It was like the chef blew her nose in the bowl and called it a day. I heard somewhere that if you don't cook the okra properly, it results in snotty gumbo. Clearly this chef needs an okra lesson. B. went on a run while I sat outside with the dogs and read The Wonder Spot (another Christmas gift) which I can happily report is much better than Melissa Bank's first book. We finished A Scanner Darkly, which I still didn't understand by the time it ended. After watching some special features, I liked it a little more even while realizing that a MAJOR plot point flew completely over my head. Oh, well. We played a game of Scrabble and eventually headed out to see Children of Men, which I did not love quite as much as Kymm did but which certainly made for a good night at the movies.

For breakfast this morning, we ate eggs with cheese and roasted red peppers and biscuits and orange juice squeezed with my new juicer. Another game of Scrabble was played, and coffee was purchased at the Starbucks that seems to be staffed by increasingly inept morons. Wrong-sized drinks, clots in the cream. Tasty.

My sister left today, and it is weird that she is gone. I know she has a life of her own far up in the frozen tundra, but it's always nice to know she's nearby. I'm glad we got to spend time together over the holidays and spend time together on New Year's Eve, just like we did in 2004 and 2005. I will miss her and hope she stays warm.

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.

Pink roses

Sometimes I feel like if I don't write about my weekends that they'll be lost somehow.

On Friday night, there was sushi. And, of course, the watching of Battlestar Galactica. On Saturday, there was running shoe shopping, beignets and half-cafe au lait/half-hot chocolate, a stop in my favorite store, a visit to the library book sale where I bought this CD for a dollar, a visit to this store where I accidentally plopped a giant blob of lotion all over the floor, a work fish fry, Vietnamese food, and Wordplay, which was very geekily enjoyable. On Sunday, there was a homegrown orange for breakfast and a game of Scrabble where I got the X, Z, J, Q, and all sorts of other high-scoring consonants so I actually won the game. Then I went on my first five-mile run on a cold sunny day. I was very glad to have my new headband/ear-cover thingie or I think my ears would have frozen and shattered onto the ground. I have no idea how I'm going to run 16 miles this week considering it's Tuesday and I haven't started but I suppose I'll make it happen somehow. Along with a six mile run at the end of the week but I'm not thinking about that yet.

What I'm thinking about is how I have a sudden new obsession with baked Cheetos, how sad and moving Anne Frank Remembered (that I watched Sunday night) was, how very good Case Histories is, how Zuko smells lately like he rolled in something that died which is possible considering the deer legs that were being tossed about to and fro in my backyard by the neighbors until I left them a very nice note asking them to please keep the frightening hoofed meaty limbs to themselves because they are in fact super gross, how Marley spends entire days with her entire body buried under my comforter in a hidden lump of warmth and purriness, how Khaki refuses to get down from her cat bed unless it's time to eat, how totally awesome the James Taylor Great Performances show was on PBS and how I cried at the end when they sang "Shed a Little Light," how Daisy just wants to curl up on top of the pillow that sits atop her crate in ball of shivering my life is so hard-ness, how I don't understand why it was 23 degrees here this morning and 40 degrees in New York City, and how happy I was made earlier by the appearance of pink roses in my office in recognition of two December fifths ago being the scary but exciting blind date I went on with the sender of the pink roses.

I've never really been a huge James Taylor fan the way my sister is a huge fan. I've always loved "Carolina in My Mind" and an old live version of "That Lonesome Road" but I've never really known much about him except that most of his music seemed kind of, I don't know, milquetoastey. But after watching this show, I think I am digging him on a deep level. I mean, maybe there's nothing wrong with singing songs about how we should shower the people we love with love and show them the way that we feel.

Haul Out the Holly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Catching Up Some More

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lot.

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

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

Catching Up

I guess it's time to catch up.

Let's see ... my sister arrived late last week, and we descended upon the parental abode for dinner on Friday night, everyone bringing his or her favorite take-out. We ate Thai; my brother's girlfriend ate sushi; my parents ate homemade tuna salad. Comically, my little brother showed up not with food but with a big box of beer.

On Saturday morning, my boyfriend and I went to the market for giant muffins, and then he went running while my sister, my brother's girlfriend, and I went to hear my mom give a little talk on the importance of silence in our lives. She encouraged us to turn off the radio, turn off the TV, and not be afraid to be quiet sometimes and listen to what life might try to tell us in the silence. This was compelling, especially in light of all of my thoughts after reading Eat, Pray, Love. I think I want to become a meditator. Seriously. My mom did a great job, as always.

After the talk, I went on my long run of the week and somehow managed to run 4.4 miles. I have no idea how. I like this running program because every week ends with reaching a personal best. It's always made easier by a beautiful day outside. I got home, and we rushed off to our massage appointments. Massages are important.

Then it was to the coffee shop with my sister for a game of Scrabble and a disturbingly gross decaf cafe au lait.

That night seemed like a good movie night so we went to see The Departed, which was FANTASTIC. It's not really my kind of movie, but it was so exciting and everyone should see it. Leonardo DiCaprio has somehow transformed himself from the wormy days of yore and is suddenly strong and manly. Everyone in it does a great job. It's a highly entertaining movie.

Last week, I used my new detergent to wash basically everything in the house. I thought it smelled pretty good. My boyfriend sniffed my sheets suspiciously and declared that they smelled like hamsters. Namely, the cedar chips in a hamster's cage. I defended the detergent. "It's supposed to smell like vanilla and lavender!" But after further sniffing, I conceded that the sheets did rather smell like cedar chips. So much for the blissful aroma of the new detergent. No. It makes my bed smell like a rodent's lair. (Weirdly, I still kind of like it. Perhaps it's the fond memories of my childhood hamsters, Spaghetti and Meatball.)

Sunday is kind of a blur. My boyfriend left. I think I did some chores and grocery shopping. My sister came over that night to watch last week's Grey's Anatomy.

On Monday, I felt not at all like running after work but went out anyway for the first run of the last week of the one hour running program. It was a pretty mellow 30-minute run.

Last night, my sister and I went shopping for work-out clothes and I somehow spent $46 on a pair of Adidas Climalite running pants which she insisted were a good bargain even though they are possibly the most unflattering pants I will ever own. Then we got sushi take-out and watched this week's Heroes, a show I'd never seen before. It seems pretty good.

I had bizarre, complex, detailed teaching dreams all through the night last night. You know, the kind where you show up for school without lesson plans, not knowing where your classroom is, not knowing when your planning period is, having never seen a map of the school, having not set up your classroom to your liking, where your students have faces and personalities that somehow your mind has made up and they tell you things like you should stop pacing so much and stop wearing skirts to school because you have ugly knees. In this dream classroom, there were curtains instead of walls so the students would slip in and out of class before I could really see what they were doing. And it was a private school so I assumed they would work really hard and be really well-behaved. But they weren't. They were just mean. Teaching dreams are terrifying. They really are.

In other news, I've decided that a bowl of grape nuts with banana slices might be the world's perfect food.

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.

Weekend

It's early on Saturday morning. I couldn't sleep anymore so I got up and came outside to sit on my patio wrapped in a blanket. It's sixty degrees outside but feels like downright winter compared to the ninety-five of this week. The dogs are finding sunny patches of grass to wrestle in. Somewhere, church bells are ringing to mark the hour. The dog nextdoor who looks like Charlotte's Elizabeth Taylor is yapping. It's a pleasant time. Just waiting for my boyfriend to wake up. Making a playlist for this weekend's 45-minute run. I lay in bed awake last night stressing about it. The longest I've ever run is 38 minutes. I skipped last weekend's 41-minute run because we were out of town. I know I can do it. I put Tracy Chapman singing "Don't you know you better run run run run run run run run run run run ru-un?" on there for the first time. Tracy and this cool air will help me along, I think.

:::

Now it's Sunday evening. The dogs are chowing down on some treats. I'm back on the patio. It's cool again. The birds are chirping. The puppies in the next yard are frolicking. It's nice to be outside and to be alive.

I had my 45-minute run yesterday. It felt surprisingly easy. I didn't know if it was the beautiful day or being outside or what but it wasn't nearly as difficult as running inside on the treadmill is. We went back in the car to clock the mileage of my route and it was 3.15 miles. Which explains why it didn't feel so difficult. Because I was taking, like, 15 minutes to run each mile. Which feels sort of pathetic, but it also felt great. I wasn't straining or feeling miserable. Maybe I should slow down on the treadmill, too. Who knows?

It was a nice, relaxing weekend. On Friday evening, we went to a restaurant written up in a local magazine to check it out. I'm glad to know there is such a restaurant (authentic Latin American food, not Tex-Mex) in town, but I don't think we'll be going back. It wasn't so tasty. On Saturday morning, we split an apple cinnamon scone and a blueberry muffin and went to the library. We played Scrabble outside at the coffee shop. I broke 300, and he scored ridiculously higher than that as usual. We checked out several Yucatan travel guides at the library, so I pored over those during the game. One of the books came with a map so we studied it and tried to figure out our route and how many nights we'll stay in each place and so forth. I'm really looking forward to it. (We're only spending one night in Cancun and want to stay somewhere fancy. Does anyone have any experience there with the Ritz, Le Meridien, J.W. Marriott, or the Fiesta Americana Grand Coral Beach?) For dinner, we got Thai take-out and then watched Thank You for Smoking. Which was good but not great. Katie Holmes was highly irritating. Joanie Stubbs was unrecognizable.

This morning, it was another scone and another muffin and the Sunday paper and last night's Ebert and Roeper, featuring a shockingly annoying guest reviewer. Richard Roeper possibly tried but ultimately failed to disguise his contempt for her idiocy. (Speaking of guest hosts, folks at The View, please do not hire Shon Gables full-time. She is very unlikeable. Her questions to Meg Tilly were jarring and downright insulting. She talks too much and comes across as totally fake. Bad move, The View! Please.)

This afternoon, I trimmed a bunch of bushes outside in the yard and scrubbed bathtub grout. It was not so fun. Then I watched Sorry Haters, which was disturbing but very good. Sometimes I can't believe how talented an actress Princess Buttercup turned out to be.

Oh, and Battlestar Galactica! Of course we watched the season premiere. (To follow: nothing super spoilery, but it's vaguely spoilery.) I am really having trouble not laughing every time Fat Apollo's giant head appears onscreen. I thought the season premiere was great. It's a big adjustment, though. The show has changed so much since the beginning. I'm not really used to the beards, the bloat, and all of the changes. I still love it, though, and I'm so glad to be finally watching it on actual TV for the first time.

I must now retire and read Introducing ... Sasha Abramowitz.

Caulking Chaos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.)

Weekend

Signs of Life
Originally uploaded by Elizalou.

It's late on Sunday afternoon. I'm doing laundry and watching The Comeback.

It was a lovely weekend. On Friday night, I arrived at my boyfriend's and was served a kick-ass dinner of pasta and homemade pesto and a salad full of things like sunflower seeds, bell peppers, onions, and dried cranberries and apricots with homemade salad dressing. YUM. For dessert, we had chocolate-covered cherry ice cream. We met one of his co-workers here for a beer, and I realized once again how intolerant I am of smoke. I am an old lady.

On Saturday, we went running around the bayou, and then we went to the library. It's probably the best library in the world. I want to spend more time there.

We also made a brief stop at the book store, which is a very neat place.

Then we had lunch at Babylon. Bread and vegetarian grape leaves and spinach pie. Excellent. We went to the hardware store and here, where I wanted to buy everything in the store, as usual.

We took a nap, went grocery shopping, played Scrabble, and watched Friends with Money. Out of the three movies I've seen by Nicole Holofcener -- this, Walking and Talking, and Lovely and Amazing, this was my least favorite, but it wasn't terrible or anything. It's just strange to slap Jennifer Aniston among Catherine Keener, Joan Cusack, and Frances McDormand and expect her to hold her own. Those three are like three spitting explosions of charisma, and she's like -- not. It had some interesting things to say, I think, and the other three actresses are so strong, but Jennifer Aniston does not do it for me on film. I liked her in The Object of My Affection, but I think that's mainly because Paul Rudd makes everyone in his atmosphere so great.

This morning we went to the market, and I loved the flowers nearby.

On my drive home, I stopped for a frozen Coke and called my friend because I was listening to the Bye Bye Birdie soundtrack and "Honestly Sincere" came on and that obviously merited discussion for the 500th time. I went to the gym and listened to the French Kicks while doing the weight machines. Then I went grocery shopping and came home to try and get my life in order.

Did you know that there are parrots in New Orleans? I never did, until today. There they were, perched on top of the telephone pole by my boyfriend's house, chirping away or making whatever sounds that parrots make. It was pretty stunning to see big green parrots hanging out on a telephone pole in the middle of a city.

Is it wrong that I am insanely excited about the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy?