Last Time In The Loo - Day 3

On our last day in The Loo, we spent a great portion of the early afternoon trying to decide what to do in The Loo.

Brother, who actually lives in Edwardsville, IL, is not overly familiar with the city. After hours of debate, we decided to go to The City Museumt prior to checking out the Wash U MFA gallery show.

First, though, Brother suggested that we have some authentic midwestern pizza at Imo's! Brother had described the pizza to us. For whatever reason, pizza in the midwest is made with Provel cheese instead of mozzarella. Rumor has it that this is because Provel cheese is made in IL or St. Louis or something. Sister, who worked at Panera bread (originally St. Louis Bread Co. - yes! I am SUCH a fan) said that she told customers that Provel is a combination of Provolone and American cheese, which actually sounds good, just not as a pizza topping. Brother kept saying "Look I'm not taking you there because it's going to be a good meal. It's just that you have to try it."

We got there and Father found a coupon for a free 2-liter bottle of Pepsi with a purchase of a pizza, so instead of my getting a small Pepsi, I was handed a 2-liter bottle. Yeah.

The pizza:



It was cut in squares and was edible. I'd never eat it again, unless I was utterly and completely starving, which I was when we ate this. It tasted like a microwave pizza. Namely, Celeste. Ewwww.

On our way into the city, Father said "We have to stop at the arch!" I've been to St. Louis four times and have never actually stopped at the Arch. I have millions of photos of it from afar, but never actually walked up to it. People resisted this idea, but thankfully father insisted.


Photo Credit: Sister

The Arch, The Gateway To The West, is spectacular. When you stand directly underneath it, it looks like its shaking and you feel dizzy.



People from the east call it The Asshole Of The East, which I think is funny. But now that I've seen it up close, I don't think its as funny. Apparently you can take a ride in the Arch, which is not something I ever want to do.



We headed into the city and parked near the City Museum, because there is a ton of parking in St. Louis. This is because there are very few people in St. Louis. When we got into the City Museum, we realized that not only is it quite expensive (Brother had only ever been at night - it is open until 1 am - when it is cheaper) but that it was populated by millions of children. The prices changed at 5:00, so we decided to not go and to perhaps come back at 5:00. I felt bad because my friend G was supposed to join us. I called him and said "Dude, there are a million kids. This is not a good idea. We may be back later."

It was about 3:00 at that point, so we had two hours to kill. We walked over to the MFA exhibit, which was actually in the middle of being taken down. Snap.

Ummmm.

We asked the kid who was taking it down "Are there any other good galleries around here?" He said "Blah blah blah gallery is around the corner."

"What are they showing?" I asked.

"Landscapes."

Snap.

Brother had no idea what to do. We stood in the lobby of the gallery for about 20 minutes just looking at Brother really hard, hoping that he'd have an idea. He kept saying "There's really nothing to do!" He suggested, after a while, that we head to Delmar, where there are nice shops. Brother and I hung out there during my last visit when we went to The Tivoli Theater to see "The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra," the best movie of all time. There are cute shops. It's scene-y. I said "Maybe I can buy stuff for my new apartment there!" Yay!

Only one problem - Brother didn't know where we were in relation to Delmar. We finally found two dudes on the street and asked them "How do we get to the Tivoli?" They said "That way." Turns out we were on Delmar. Sweet!

We drove down Delmar for about 20 minutes, getting the not-so-scenic tour of whatever part of St. Louis we were in. St. Louis is different from other cities because it doesn't seem to be a walking city. You can drive for an hour and not see a single person or a single business. You'll see nothing but abandoned and scary looking warehouses and then bam! Beautiful residences.

Delmar just ended amidst the beautiful residences. We looped back around, perplexed, and just headed back in the direction we came from. By then it was getting late, and Brother said "Look, even if we figure this out, we're going to get there and have to turn around to go to the City Museum."



We scrapped the plan and went back to the City Museum. When we got there, there were still a million kids. Brother said "The City Museum is effective birth control."

We debated for an eternity - should we go in? Should The Parents go in? What package should we get? Is this going to be at all fun with a million kids in there? Sister desperately wanted to go in, so we finally, after much much much debate, decided to go in. I didn't call G because I was afraid that the plan could change at any second, or that the City Museum would crumble just because that was the sort of luck we were having that day.



So! The City Museum is the best place ever. There was a chance I would hate it, but I ended up liking it. I didn't take many pictures because, well, its all caves and tight spaces and climbing through ceilings through steel/wire tubing and crawling through tunnels under the museum. It would have been easier had I not had my camera at all.



It's in this huge building where they've erected caves and scaffolds and 8-story slides (see above). Sister described it as being "very Terry Gilliam," which it was. There was a lot of climbing and darkness and getting lost and desperately searching for more slides. The kids in the museum were nuts. Little bodies can sneak through any crevice. The museum is basically just a huge playground and its yours for the taking. There are signs everywhere saying that the museum is not responsible for injuries. I imagine there are many.



There was also an outside portion of the museum, but we didn't play there because it was a little cold out and also it was more money. Plus, I think I'd have had a heart attack.



We all had bruises and soreness after our adventure. But it was worth it. Fun in St. Louis! YAY!

We went for dinner and then headed back to Edwardsville, where we hung out with Brother's roommate's for a bit and then spent time discussing my relationship insecurities. I have the best siblings of all time, and am lucky to know so many people who support me.

I headed back on Sunday and had amazing flight luck! We got to the airport a little before we'd planned. My flight had been delayed already, so I would miss the connecting flight in O'Hare and most likely be stranded for a while. The standby earlier flight was already booked, but because I got there so early, they were able to put me on a direct flight on another airline that got me to Laguardia 2 hours before the original flight!

YES!

I had to undergo the complete bag check, which is always demoralizing because I am such a terrible packer. After checking my bag, the dude said "Miss! You look like you're in fashion... could you please tell these women that my glasses are in style?" This guy was about 60 years old and had old-school brown plastic scientist glasses. I was like "Oh, yes, those are TOTALLY coming back in." "See? TOLD YOU!" he said to the ladies, and then turned to me and said "Miss, you've made my day" and I said "No, you have made MY day." Because he really did make my day. I love cute, little things with cute, new people. Awshummmm.

My last trip to St. Louis was amazing. Being with my entire family was lovely. I can't wait to do it again. And I can't wait to see Brother again, because when I next see him, he will be back on the east coast for good! YEAH!

A Very Boston Cab Ride

I went to a party on Saturday night during which occurred much Boston-bashing. What was said was mostly true, but it was said with venom and judgment and without sensitivity to my MA-upbringing.

I had much to say on the subjects at hand, but drunkenness prevented me from actually saying anything and caused me to literally just walk away.

D's tiredness prevented us from staying at the party as late as I'd have liked. D biked to the party after a show he attended, so he said "I'll race you to Williamsburg."

I waited for a cab for what seemed like an eternity and was thrilled when a van cab pulled up in front of me and said "I'm only going to Williamsburg!"

Sweet!

I jumped in and immediately knew it was going to be a Boston-like cab ride. In New York, cab drivers either talk on their cell phones or ignore you. If they do pay even the slightest of attention to you, they give you dirty looks that suggest "How DARE YOU have the audacity to ride in my cab?" In Boston I expected an interesting conversation (and the gathering of a good story) in a cab. In NY, I'm always scrambling to think of who I can call on my cell phone so as to not feel awkward for 20 minutes while being ignored.

For example, there was the time I got into a cab hysterically crying in Cambridge and received a wonderful, fatherly pep talk from the cab driver that actually made me feel better.

And there were discussions of evolution or religion or politics.

And life story exhanges.

Here - nothing. Well, I shouldn't say that. Maybe there's conversation 20% of the time.

Anyway, I got into the van and the dude was adorable. "How are you tonight, miss?" and "Are you going home or to a party?" and "What a night!"

About a minute into the drive, I received a drunk tag from former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. This was expected because former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was in the city and there was minor effort put into a meeting for drinks or meeting at the party. Former-favorite-ex-boyfriend was DRUNK. Obviously. Slurring, incoherent, not-making-much-sense. Ah! The old days!

When I finally got off the phone with him, the taxi driver was like "So, was that your ex?"

Heh. I briefly explained what was going on and gave a minor version of our history.

The cab driver proceeded to give me a pep talk about it! He said "This reminds me of my ex-girlfriend. She calls, but only when there's a problem. She'll say 'My husband is driving me crazy!'" but that's the only time I hear from her." I thought "Actually, that reminds me of me."

Amidst the pep talk, former-favorite-ex-boyfriend called again and I said "He's calling AGAIN!" "You're not going to answer it?" "No, I really don't want to." "But you should." "I don't think I should."

By this time, we were in front of my building and I'd already paid him.

He said "I really think you should call him. He probably just wants to talk to someone who knows him. I mean, you guys dated on and off for 5 years! Sometimes you just want to hear the voice of someone who knows you well."

"I don't know. I just don't think its a good idea."

"But why is he thinking of YOU when he's drinking? Why is it you? You should think about that."

"I really don't think this is a big deal."

"But really, he could call anyone. But he wants to talk to and see you."

"Yes, but neither of those things are a good idea."

Traffic appeared and the cab driver pulled over to continue his talk.

"You should give him a chance. See, sometimes, when things are bad, you want to talk to someone who knows you. As you get older, its harder and harder to be friends with girls. You know, just friends. You date, but you don't make new friends, and you don't have a lot of women who know you. I bet he just needs to talk to someone who knows him. I think he wants to talk to you because you guys used to be close. Come on, give the guy a chance. Call him back."

"Oh. Well, maybe I'll call him tomorrow when we're both sober."

"I feel bad for him. He probably just feels lonely."

"No, well, I just think he's drunk."

I wished him a good night and smiled as I got out of the cab.

How sweet.

It's funny, but I felt like, well, the cab driver exactly explained why it is that I sometimes call former-favorite-ex-boyfriend. I don't think he was right about the reasons for former-favorite-ex-boyfriend's calling me, but it felt nice to have someone understand what can motivate a good drunk tag.

I actually won the race but D got to my building's door before I did because I was sitting in the cab outside my building for 5 minutes receiving unsolicited advice from a very Boston cab driver in NYC.

Last Time In The Loo - Day 2

Our second day started off slowly, with Sister and I rather sluggishly getting ready while Brother ran some last-minute day-of-show errands.

We eventually met up with The Parents for lunch. We ate at a small coffee shop in Edwardsville, where my Father, like the last time we were all together, threw a minor fit about the menu. He refused to understand why he couldn't have a breakfast sandwich for lunch, and basically bullied our waitress into making one for him.

I don't even want to think about how much spit my father has ingested while eating out.

Our waitress was friendly and adorable. I couldn't quite place her accent. I was semi-certain, though, that she was Amish, based on my extensive experience with the Amish reality show last year. I finally asked her, and turns out that she's Swedish, and that her accent is basically midwestern Swedish, which is why it was hard to place. Brother asked her what she thinks of Edwardsville, and she said "I never knew racism until I moved here."

Yes.

Father was itching to get out of there - his patience for the chatty waitress growing obviously thin. I was embarrassed. At what age do you cease being embarrassed by your parents? At what age do you stop feeling 5 years old? At what age do their judgmental statements such as "You're new apartment couldn't possibly be 350 square feet. That's impossible. No, it just can't be" stop making you feel like a failure?

We left shortly after eating freshly baked wads of chocolate chip cookie and quickly learned why Father was so eager to dismiss actual conversation with an actual friendly person. He wanted to show us 1000 photos from The Parents' recent trip to France.

There were literally ONE THOUSAND PHOTOS.

I'm not kidding.

There were 1000 photos.

I believe this is when the stir craziness began.

The Parents soon left and Brother, Sister and I chilled for a while. Sister helped me with my unmanageable and ridiculous hair in preparation for Brother's big show. We were soon picked up by The Parents, and departed for the airport, where we would be picking up Brother's Girlfriend, AM.

AM's flight had been delayed, so we were uncertain as to when she'd be arriving. Regardless, Father, thinking he was above the law, said "I am just going to park in passenger pickup. Nobody can stop me." I said "Dad, but there are people whose passengers are actually here, and AM's flight is, at the earliest, getting here in half an hour." "I don't care." "Dad, you can't just stay here because you want to."

But he did. For a while. Until this vicious security person asked him to move. He became very cross with her, drove around, and parked again. This time she allowed him to stay for about 5 minutes, then asked him to move. On the third attempt, she said "Sir, drive around until your passenger gets here" and then rolled her eyes. I was proud of her, but Father was cross.

Heh.

We finally picked up AM and decided to grab something to eat prior to Brother's show. Brother had said "There's nowhere to eat around the show - you should probably just grab something at the airport." Refusing to believe that there would be nowhere to eat in a city, we opted to drive around looking for a place to eat.

Right. A place to eat in St. Louis. SILLY US! We literally drove around for an hour and there was nothing. I'm lying. There was one restaurant and it had, like, a three hour wait because it was the only restaurant in a 5-mile radius. Sister and I, at one point, decided to scope out a sketchy bar outside of which stood three flannel-wearing middle-aged men who literally spat a few times before saying to us "Hey ladies." Ewwww. The third place we found had nothing less than $30 a plate. We ended up at a sports bar sort of place with a confused waitress whose cleavage was, well, yeah. There was lots of it. And meat in the ravioli. Ewwwww. Worse meal of all time, but the "cook" was so enthusiastic that we kept lying and saying "Oh, uh, yes, its fine."

Weird city. It's like a city without the benefits of a city. More on this topic on Last Time In the Loo - Day 3. I know you can't wait!!!



When we finally arrived at the show it was packed. Yay Brother! The gallery was in a renovated police station, so it had a lot of character and a jail cell in which Sister and I did an extensive photo shoot. I was thrilled because my friend G, who lives in St. Louis and who I haven't seen in ages, came to the show with his wife K.



Brother's show was amazing. I couldn't believe how much work he'd generated. His prints focus on themes of racism and masculinity, two themes he will also deal with in his soon-to-be-published graphic novel! He sold three prints at the show. People were very impressed. I am so proud of him. And so thrilled that his time in Edwardsville is almost over. He has much to look forward to, but also much to say farewell to.



We stayed for about three hours, and by the end were exhausted. We made a brief appearance at a party in the city given by one of the ceramics students. We felt old and left about ten minutes after we arrived and had eaten all of the breadsticks they were serving.

Sister and I stayed in the hotel with The Parents that night so that Brother and AM could have some time alone and so that we could avoid the evil air mattress.

And so concluded Day 2 in the midwest.

Save The Green Planet

I saw this insane Korean movie last night at the Film Forum called Save the Green Planet.

I don't know if I should recommend this movie. I really enjoyed it but am not sure why, and felt as though I'd taken a physical, emotional, and pyschological beating after watching it.

Some words to describe it:

sentimental
hilarious
violent
bizarre
traumatic
graphic
beautiful
disturbing
deep
insane
crazy
gorgeous
tragic
funny
innovative

There is really no protagonist in this movie. All of the characters, at one point or another, are portrayed as awful. You have, though, sympathy for all of these characters at one point or another.

This movie is completely nuts. But in a good way that I can't articulate at all.

I'm not going to write about the plot (well, here's the basic premise: crazy, blue-collar dude is convinced that the CEO of a major company is an alien and takes it upon himself to kidnap him in order to save the earth). Better that you just read the website and see how insane this all is.

And then go see this movie if you can, because its marvelous.

Desperate Housewives

I did get almost 8 hours of sleep last night, and consequently had all sorts of lavish dreams involving things like sliding down a three-story slide of folding chairs erected by my friend A's husband, who owned a mall that specialized in dealing art and tuxedos.

I also had a dream in which some bratty 8-year old girl sat on my glasses, broke them, and then refused to be held responsible. I said "Look, kid, you broke these. I can't see a damn thing and they cost a lot of money. You have to pay for them." She said "Look, its your fault" and kept blaming me. I kept saying things like "Kids today!"

But, the reason I am blogging at all about this is because I had one of those dreams in which I was being played by someone else! I love when that happens. In this particular dream, I'd attended a high school reunion of sorts in my actual elementary school gym in a previous dream that night in which I was being played by myself. In this dream, I received a note from a "secret admirer" from the reunion. He refused to identify himself, and said that I'd receive another note at my place of business. I was very excited, trying to think of who it might be. At any rate, I was seated at my desk - apparently I had a desk job that involved an office and large desk with pictures of my children on it - and am handed a letter by my assistant. I knew immediately what the letter was, and winked coyly at my assistant.

This dream was cinematographically rich, and also in black and white. I opened the letter and started reading it. I was so involved that I didn't realize that this grey ash substance was falling from the inside of the letter. I was giggling - apparently I was excited about who it was from. My assistant came in and smiled at me, and asked who it was. I said "Oh, its from..." and then, close up on my assisant who said "OH! MY! GOD!!!!!! CLOSE THE LETTER!" and then a shot from the outside of my office - like picture from a row of cubicles - with a swift zoom-in of my horrified face when I realized what it was.

I screamed.

But mainly because I realized, during this close-up, that I was being played by the man-looking woman from Desperate Housewives.

Wtf? The horror.

Anyway, the ash-looking stuff, which in my dream-mind was originally some sort of weird mold, turned out to be an anthrax outbreak that ended up wiping out my entire office. Because in dreams you can see anthrax.

But really I am more concerned with why I was being played by Felicity Huffman.

"If You Think You're Enlightened, Spend a Week With Your Parents"

That's a quote from someone that was quoted by the filmmaker who visited my class last night.

We viewed an elegant documentary called "Tell Them Who You Are." It was about cinematographer Haskell Wexler. I had no idea who he was, but that made no difference. The documentary was made by his son, Mark, who painted an accurate (sometimes negative) portrait of his father as a cinematographer, as a political activist, as a man, and most importantly, as a father.

There was a moment in the film that will stay with me forever. I've never seen an entire audience weep during a documentary. It was a powerful, real moment, and you should all see this movie just to see this scene.

After seeing this movie, you are left contemplating the relationship between fathers and sons, especially sons from a generation in which fathers were discouraged from being emotionally intimate with their children. It was difficult to watch at times, especially when Mark, and accomplished filmmaker, was being criticized by his father, a more experienced and somewhat tyrannical cinematographer. During these moments, Mark would basically become a 5-year old.

It's interesting to see this on film. I think many of us experience this when around our parents. I know I do, and I have touched upon this in the blog. If you don't experience this with your parents and have no idea what I'm talking about, you should see this movie.

When asked about this during class, Mark explained that even the most stable and put-together of people basically "become a wreck" after spending a week with their parents. He said that he either had to make this documentary or go to therapy, and he thought that making the movie would be the cheaper alternative.

He also said that many people, immediately after seeing this movie, say things like "I haven't spoken to my father in 10 years and I am going to call him right now."

In addition to delving into the nature of father and son and discussing Wexler's career as a cinematographer and director (there's a fabulous interview with Michael Douglas, also the son of a celebrity, during which he says that working with Wexler on "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was the worst experience of his career), the film also investigates the nature of documentary - if you can really capture reality. Are people really being themselves when a camera is on them? How much is setup? How much is acting? Haskell Wexler claims that, after a day or so, unless someone is a professional actor, they will forget about the camera, which actually becomes evident during the unfolding of this documentary.

Overall, it is a sweet but difficult look at the relationship between a father and a son, albeit one under unique pressures of celebrity and politics.

I strongly recommend it. At the very least, rent it in 6 months.

I'm Miles Away

I didn't sleep much last night.

When I was actually fortunate enough to be granted sleep, I had the following two dreams:

1. I was in my bedroom in my apartment. My bed was littered with all sorts of things - this dream was very realistic. In fact, it wasn't very dreamlike at all. I suppose its just stress from not spending much time in my apartment at all. On my bed was my computer, and attached to it was my camera. As soon as I saw the camera, I remembered that I'd just seen Tiffani-Amber Thiessen at a bar! I was so excited, and immediately grabbed my camera to prove that I'd seen her. I found Roommate and said "Roommate, I saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen tonight at a bar!" Roommate refused to believe me. She was like "NO WAY you saw Tiffani-Amber Thiessen." This was very funny, because based on the way we were acting, it was as though Tiffani-Amber Thiessen was some sort of major celebrity. Roommate wouldn't believe me, no matter what I said. I was like "Dude, I swear I saw her. She had long blonde hair, though, and I think she might have fake boobs. And she is super hot. Like way hotter than when she was on 90210." "Yeah, whatever." I scanned my camera, looking for the photos I'd supposedly taken of Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. I finally found them. They were very sultry. Suggestive. Very much focused on her breasts. When I went to show Roommate, however, the photos had disappeared and Roommate looked at me condescendingly. That was the whole dream.

(Sidenote 1: Tiffany and Amber are redundant.)

(Sidenote 2: I have no idea where this dream come from. None.)

(Sidenote 3: I don't, consciously, think that Tiffani-Amber Thiessen is hot. I have no idea why I insisted so strongly that she is super hot.)

2. Brother and I had been offered jobs working on the Muppet Show! We were very excited and couldn't contain ourselves as we walked through the streets of NY to start our new jobs. When we got to "the studio," it was no longer NY and was, like, the MGM Muppets ride. It was an outdoor Disney-esque Muppet pavilion. We were semi-disappointed. Our future boss appeared from a very tall Disney-ized skyscraper and said "So, you know what you'll be doing, right?" I actually had no idea what we'd be doing, but I knew we'd each be paid $80,000 a year to do it. Hence the excitement. And, well, the Muppet Show! "Actually, we don't know" said Brother. Our boss then handed us each a broom and said "Your responsibility is to keep the grounds neat every day. You will sweep out here, and will also maintain the entire stairwell of Muppets Headquarters (which is in the skyscraper)." Hmmm. I hadn't realized that our position was janitorial. It suddenly made sense to me that this was the job I had at the Muppet Show. It seemed too good to be true, given that I had zero qualifications to work there. I was perplexed about Brother, though, as clearly he has talent and would be a great asset to the creative forces behind the show. The boss said "Is this not acceptable?" I asked to talk to Brother in private, and said to him "Aren't we above this?" He said "No, I'll take what I can get." I said "But Brother, you're soooooo talented. Why would you settle for this?" "I'll take what I can get." "Do you think there's an opportunity for upward mobility?" "No, but I don't care." I said "I am going to call M and ask her what she thinks" and then thought better of it, because I knew she would say "Leah! THE MUPPETS! SWEEP THE DAMN STAIRS!" Then I woke up.

(Sidenote 4: This is clearly a dream about selling out. I don't know if I think I am a sellout or I worry that Brother will have to take some sort of job that doesn't fully utilize his creative genius in order to make ends meet. I'm sure its the latter. I'm just not sure why I was involved.)

(Sidenote 5: Seriously, I'd do anything for $80,000 a year. I don't know what I was thinking.)

I really need some sleep. Lots. My goal is 10 hours tonight. Will it happen? Probably not, but I'm aiming high, because then 8 hours (blissful 8 hours of sleep!) will seem like a compromise but will, in fact, be awshummmmmm.

Because It Was Nothing Like We'd Ever Dreamt

Just got back from The Shins at Webster Hall.

Sigh.

The Shins are a prime example of bands who look nothing in person like they look in your mind.

This is an acceptable phenomenon when it comes to The Shins, though, because they put on a damn good show. I think it is, at the very least, in the top 10.



The show was fun. Typically, however, I shall now complain about the fact that nobody in NYC dances at shows. The Shins put on a fun show. I expected people to be bouncing around, bobbing their heads at the very least. But no. Everyone in NYC is too cool to dance. Damn you, hipsters and indie kids! Dancing is cool!

Man. I danced and I had on a coat, was carrying a heavy bag, had a camera around my neck in order to take 40 blurry photos and a movie without sound of my favorite Shins song, and was suffering from some sort of food poisoning that both R and I contracted from our dinner.

But the indie kids? Too cool to dance.

Hmph.

Regardless, a great show. The boy can sing. The set was crisp. The execution was flawless and the songs varied enough from the albums to maintain interest for the entire show. Exciting news: they are recording a new album this year. From the new songs they played, it promises to be good.

Blah. I still feel food poisoned. I love the awkwardness prior to the realization that everyone has food poisoning. On the way to the show, I kept thinking "Man, I am either about to have an alien baby or something from dinner does not want to stay down" but I didn't want to tell anyone that I wanted desperately to run to the show. I don't know why there is shame in inability to digest things. I waited in line for like 20 minutes when we got there and when I finally met up with R he said "Man, my stomach isn't feeling so great" and I was like "Mine too!" and we both heaved huge sighs of relief. Luckily I am paranoid about this sort of thing and carry the world's best over-the-counter pink tablet - "Yay! Pepto Bismol!" - which eased the poisoning until about 20 minutes before the show's ending. After the show R and I compared notes and realized we both started to feel ill at the same moment. He said "I started to feel a little sketchy when you bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street" and I was like "That's why I bumped into that girl when we were crossing the street!"

D, who ate with us, is fine. Hmmmm. This food poisoning must only affect Italian stomachs.

Regardless, the show was amazing and I am home now, thankfully.

And, in other exciting news, I learned tonight that Monday is recycling day for NYC when I passed about 12 million empty boxes strewn about the streets whilst walking through the city. I am hoping that these empty boxes are also magic and will pack themselves. Doubtful, but please, allow me to enjoy my fantasies. At the very least, if I am in a panic and need more boxes for the move, I know where to find them. I guess I can find them anywhere I want. Woo hoo!

OK. I am going to read mail now. Joy.

Last Time In The Loo - Day 1

The trip began rather uneventfully, with small flights from Laguardia to Dulles, and then Dulles to Lambert. The planes were the sort that granted me my very own aisle, which is always exciting but also slightly frightening, when people are required to move around so as to weight balance the plane. Here are some photos from my layover at Dulles:



I arrived in St. Louis 45 minutes sooner than expected, which meant that I got there well before the rest of my family. They were scheduled to arrive and then go to Enterprise Rent-A-Car to pick up Father's sweet deal of a rental. He somehow managed to rent the car for only $18 a day, which was the only reason he rented a car at all.

I spoke with Father the night before, and he said "Southwest Airlines is nowhere near the rest of the airport, so we'll have to take a shuttle to the rent-a-car place." He then said "Meet us at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car" and then said something about a shuttle, which I thought applied only to him because he was taking Southwest, the black sheep of the St. Louis airport. I walked to the Enterprise Rent-A-Car and waited for over an hour. During this hour, I spoke to Sister who said things like "We're on the shuttle!" and "We're just outside!" and "Where are you? We don't see you!" I said "I'm sitting at the Enterprise Rent-A-Car terminal" and Father got on and rather crossly said "Did you take the shuttle?"

Ah.

Apparently I too was supposed to take a shuttle to the actual Enterprise lot and not go to the Enterprise in the airport. Silly me. My family was in a mad panic. I jumped a shuttle and was there in about 3 minutes. It had taken them forever, because, again, they took Southwest which apparently has its own airport. But seriously. If someone told you to meet them at the car rental place after you got off a plane, would you not meet them at the car rental place at the airport? I didn't think this was so ridiculous, but Father did.

I don't know. I was perturbed and moody, but all was remedied when I saw my family. Yay!

We piled into the red jeep and made our way to Edwardsville, IL, where we met up with Brother at his house. It was lovely to be intact as a family for the first time since Christmas.

Shortly after our arrival, we piled back into the jeep and drove to the SIUE campus, where we attended BB's show. BB is not only Brother's roommate, but his hetero life partner. They've known each other since the glory days of UMass, and have lived and worked together for the entirety of their printmaking times at SIUE.



BB's show was amazing. His paintings are technically remarkable, but I prefer his prints. Visceral. Empty. Fabulous.



Upon our departure from the show, I forced Brother and Sister to do rural things such as frolic in grass and blow dandelions at each other and at the camera. I am fortunate that my siblings don't mind this sort of thing. I am thrilled with the adorable photos I took of them playing in the midwest.



After the show, we headed to The Pasta House for dinner. Southern Illinois Italian food. We were ravenously hungry so it seemed like the best meal we'd ever had. There was amazing thunder and lightening when we left, the kind that accompanies torrential downpours and the kind where you know the lightening struck two feet away from you because the thunder is instant. People in the midwest take this for granted because it happens all the time. I loved it. It was beautiful.



After dinner, The Parents headed to the only hotel in Edwardsville while Brother, Sister and I went back to Brother's apartment. Sister and I were exhausted from travelling, so we demanded that Brother rent us a movie. He rented Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which I'd been dying to see. Jude Law. 'Nuff said.

(Side note: One of my brother's roommates is Vietnamese. We'd originally hoped not to have to rent a movie, so I began perusing his videos and couldn't help but notice that he owned an alarming amount of Tom Cruise movies. I said "K, I couldn't help but notice that you have a lot of movies starring Tom Cruise. What's the deal?" He said "Asian men really love Tom Cruise. And Jude Law. They're both so good looking. Something about the facial structure, I guess." Who knew? I hate Tom Cruise. I guess its nice to know there's a whole set of men out there who love him.)

We were exhausted and couldn't quite conjure up the mental capacity to get rid of the closed captions, which insisted on being there no matter what we did. It was infuriating.

BB came home and assisted in our getting rid of the captioning, but by then Sister had fallen asleep in a chair and had started to sleep talk. Additionally, I just couldn't get into the movie. I felt a little bad about it. I imagine had I not just seen Sin City that I'd have been thoroughly impressed.

We retired to Brother's bedroom, where Sister and I would sleep on an air mattress. Brother inflated the mattress. It sounded like it was leaking. I said "Is it supposed to do that?" He said "Oh, no, there's a part missing." He found the part in BB's room (BB had been using it since his mother was in town for his show) and reinflated the mattress.

About two hours later, Sister woke me from a dead sleep by screaming "LEAH! MY BACK! It's ON. THE. FLOOR!!!! Is yours?" I woke up, startled, and said "Yeah, actually, it is."

The air mattress had mostly deflated while we were asleep, and we found ourselves on the floor. It is amazing to me that this didn't wake me up. I was truly exhausted.

Sister said "Well, hopefully that won't happen again, since its like the middle of the night."

I said "Wait, how do you know its the middle of the night?" since there were no clocks anywhere.

She said "Because we've been asleep forever."

"But how do you have any idea how long we've been asleep for? I don't think its the middle of the night."

Brother looked and said "It's only 11:30."

Shit.

Hoping that it wouldn't leak again, we immediately fell back asleep, only to be awoken, again, by our backs on the hardwood floor.

This time Sister said "Sorry," and automatically reinflated the mattress.

This happened a series of times, during which the three of us would utter nonsensical delirium-induced half asleep thoughts such as "It appears that this is happening every two hours" and "That's what you get for lending your stuff to people!" and "What an asshole!" and "I bet the missing part is in BB's room - why the f..."

In spite of all of this, I think we slept for over 12 hours.

Bliss.

Back From The Loo

I am back from The Loo with keys in hand to a new apartment. The lease has been signed. I am still suspicious of how devoid of drama this has been. I am expecting something awful to happen. Darn conditioning. It seems, however, that all is well and that I can start moving things in as soon as I feel so inclined.

Crazy.

Lots going on.

I have to start thinking about what needs to be bought and what needs to be sold and how I can convince D to spend his free time putting up curtain rods and building fabulous systems of shelving. Hopefully these sorts of projects will appeal to his nesting instincts, which, as of late, have been nonapparent.

He said "I have a power drill. I hope you realize how great my power drill is. If not, my power drill is going to seek out more grateful walls."

Yes. Lots of projects and irksome organizational activities such as packing and selling things I love and possibly subletting my room and transporting boxes magically and changing addresses and arranging for electricity and various other nonsense I have no interest in doing but will consume my life for the next few weeks.

That was grammatically atrocious. Please forgive me. Lots on my mind.

I will write about my St. Louis adventure (or, non-adventure, since it was St. Louis) when I have time to upload some photos.

In the meantime, I am off to see The Shins at Webster Hall tonight.

Yeah!

Things

Man. I feel like I've been out of touch. Cabin fever. General confusion.

Some things:

1. Apparently I have a thing for men with shaved legs. Who knew?

2. I am signing a lease for an apartment on Monday, assuming I can procure some gigantic certified checks this afternoon. I am excited/nervous/panicking/relieved. I need to measure things, buy things, sell things, pack things. I feel like I just finished unpacking. I can't believe I am collecting boxes again. I can't believe that I will be living somewhere else, on my own, in Manhattan, in one month's time. Details forthcoming.

3. I am heading to St. Louis tomorrow. I am going to my brother's thesis exhibition opening. I'm sure a far-too-long photo essay will be awaiting you next week on My Mundane Life In Song.

4. I got tickets for Star Wars Episode III! I could not get tickets for the midnight showing at the best theater in New York, so I will be seeing it, instead, on the night of 5/19 at the best theater in New York. I will not listen to or read anything on 5/19, and will pretend that I, with my hair fashioned like Princess Leia, am seeing it before anyone else.

5. I am starving. My body is still a mess from prep-for-non-surgery, so I should go eat. And sign over my first-born for this apartment. And scramble to finish everything at work so I can leave tomorrow feeling as though I accomplished something in the last two weeks.

Until Monday...

Celebrity Sighting!

Ah, New York.

In celebration of stonelessness and my potentially-awesome-apartment find yesterday, D and I went on a date. A friend of D's had recommended a vegetarian-friendly Mexican Place around St. Mark's and 2nd. We headed down there, but there was no such restaurant to be found.

I wasn't concerned. I was just happy to actually be happy. I was happy to be holding my boyfriend's hand while not being paranoid about his thoughts. Things seem ok again. Things seem normal. Things are back on track.

We meandered up and down St. Mark's looking for a place to eat. I think we were between 2nd and 3rd when we passed a large SUV with an open window.

After we passed it, D said "Was that who I think it was?"

"YES!" I exclaimed, giddy with excitement.

It was Russell Simmons !!!!

Giddy.

I was giddy for two reasons:

1. Russell Simmons! This was a great celebrity sighting because Russell Simmons is not only a celebrity, but is someone who commands respect. Russell Simmons has changed the face of the planet. He has had impact. And he is a good man.

2. It was an absurd celebrity sighting. I imagine hip hop related sightings always are. We were literally just walking down the street and Russell Simmons is sitting in the backseat of an armored SUV, looking out at the people on the sidewalk. Turns out one of his lackeys was going back and forth between the car window and this take-out restaurant, bringing food to him. The lackey would hand it to him through the window, and then Russell Simmons would eat it with the window open.

D said "Do you want to walk by again?" Of course I did. I tried to smile at him, to make eye contact, but Russell Simmons was far too involved with his falafel or burrito or whatever it was.

D said "You should ask him what he's eating."

I really wanted to know what Russell Simmons was doing downtown. What interest could he possibly have in that area?

I said "D, let's get in a cab and stalk Russell Simmons. I really want to see where he's going." I fantasized about following him. And then, his SUV would actually be some sort of Batmobile-like-vehicle that would sense its being followed and would launch missiles at us that had little LL Cool J's on them.

Yes.

Instead of following Russell Simmons, we found a little Italian restaurant and had a nice dinner.

And then we made a Snow Speeder out of Legos.

And felt completely normal.

Stone Has Passed

Tee hee.

I went in this morning for "the procedure" and there was no stone to be found!

I am freaking ecstatic.

My friend M had been saying "What is this procedure? You make it sound as though they're going to hit you with a mallet."

When I arrived at the office, I was handed a pamphlet that explained "the machine," and was then told by the anesthesiologist that he'd give you a narcotic with 10x the potency of morphine because essentially "the machine" beats your kidney 3600 times with electroconvulsive pulses. But, literally, it involves beating. And one can expect to piss blood due to kidney bleeding in response to the beating. And bruising up and down one's side. Fabulous.

I asked the anesthesiologist "What, exactly, does anesthesia do?" and he was like "We don't really know... it makes your forget." Then "Maybe something with calcium channels. Nobody really knows."

I'd suspected that the stone had passed or was, at the very least, in a very comfortable spot, because I hadn't felt anything for over 24 hours. This didn't stop me from preparing for the procedure, which caused me to lose about 3 pounds yesterday. Glamorous.

I kept saying "Look, it might not be there. Let's just not give me any anesthesia until we're sure."

They're not entirely sure, but the obstruction, if its there, is minimal, so its either passed or painlessly on its way out.

Sweet sweet sweet. So much better than gravel and bruising.

I am in such a good mood. It's a beautiful day and my kidneys are intact. And I get to eat, which is making me far too happy.

YAY!

Stones

So.

I am having some kidney stones obliterated on Monday, in hopes for a full recovery by the time I have to get on a plane on Thursday to attend my brother's senior thesis exhibit in St. Louis.

This is madness, folks.

The pain started on Tuesday morning. Convinced (deluded) that it was back pain, I proceeded as normal. When I got to work, the pain was excrutiating to the point where my boss was going in and out of focus as he talked to me.

I decided to leave. I had an ultrasound scheduled for the following day for something entirely unrelated. At the appointment, I convinced the technician to take a look at the ol' kidney, on the down-low. She agreed, but said it was not an official diagnosis. She showed me my cute stone on the monitor and said "I think you can pass it."

I thought "Think is not good enough!" I couldn't stand the idea of not knowing, of potentially being in pain for another two weeks, of not being able to attend my brother's show. Unacceptable. I briefly went to work and again couldn't concentrate. The pain was getting better, but I decided to make an appointment with a urologist for the following day.

The urology appointment was fabulous. "The office" was an old apartment, complete with wall-to-wall blood red carpet and hideous plaid couches. The receptionist was about 50 years old and no bigger than me, with bright orange lipstick and a zebra-print outfit. She was adorable and encouraging, and said things like "Where do you get your pants? They're short!" and "Your glasses - I too have a small face - where did you get them?" She asked that I sit beside her while she processed my paperwork ON A TYPEWRITER. Yes!

When the paperwork was over, I said "Umm... do you have a restroom? I have to, well, you know, I'm sorry, like every 5 minutes" and she said "We get a lot of that around here. Don't worry." She smiled and said "You should leave me a sample in one of these" and handed me a plastic cup. Literally. A white plastic cup that you'd drink beer from at a party. Heh.

After I collected my sample, I walked into the doctor's office, which was, well, an office. Huge brown desk, encyclopedias, and no fewer than 4000 owl knick-knacks decorating the room. There was even a four foot 3D cardboard owl that somebody had made. The doctor himself was older than dirt - he is at least 70 years old. Very nice, very zany, said things like "What are you - 92 pounds?" Yes! and "Have you done any travelling lately, to warmer climates, like Florida?" Yes! I handed him my sample and he was like "Just put it on the desk."

When he analyzed it, he didn't wear gloves. The "exam room" was pretty much in the office. He put the sample down and then said "Oh, wait, which one is yours?" Heh. The urinalysis was cool - he put a droplet on something that looked like a piece of pH tape. He fed it into a machine that printed out a little receipt with all of the data on it, including a blood urine level of 4. He gasped.

He said "You have a stone." We discussed options, and I said "Listen, I am supposed to go to Washington DC tomorrow. I need to know if this is going to pass. I need to know if this is going to be agony. It's very important that I go to DC because my boyfriend and I have been fighting. If there's any chance that this thing is going to pass while I'm there, I need to not go because it will make things worse between him and I."

The receptionist was alarmed and on my side, so she said "Honey, you can go right now to get a CT scan, go, NOW!" I headed back up to the same place I'd been the day before. It took about five minutes. The receptionist called about half an hour later and said "You have a 4 mm stone. It's not going to pass. You also have three other small ones still in the kidneys. We don't know what will happen with those. We're going to get you in on Monday for the procedure. You have to come in for bloodwork. Where are you now?"

Luckily I'd been heading back in that direction to go see "Sin City," so I changed my trajectory and walked back to the office, had my blood taken (which proved difficult - the doctor kept saying "Why don't you have any blood? Come on! COME ON, BLOOD!"), and scheduled the appointment.

Shit.

I was in a fabulous mood yesterday. Why? Knowledge. Knowledge is power. There's a great deal of uncertainty in my life right now - nowhere to live, financial ruin upcoming, other health-related issues looming, depressive episodes at work involving crying in the bathroom for no reason, loneliness, potential breakup with D on the horizon - but man. It felt good to have someone say "This is what's going on," and then present solutions. It felt good to be able to say "YES!" to something. It felt good to know that one of these sources of pain/uncertainty/stress is going to be removed.

Granted, this is going to cost me a $350 deductible as well as 20% of the cost of the procedure (which is awshummm given that my cost of living is soon going to increase by exorbitant amounts) as well as all of my sick days, but whatever. It's all funny at this point.

I was also in a fabulous mood because I met nice people. Really nice, quirky, wholesome people who talked to me and took interest in me and who collect owls. It was the first time since I've moved here that someone took interest in me. Yes, I paid them for this, but it still felt nice to have actual contact with people who are looking out for my well-being. Plus, it was like a sitcom. This doctor - man, he's been practicing medicine since before DNA was discovered. That's NUTS.

I then went to see "Sin City," which was amazing. I won't go on about it. Aside from a few lack-of-depth issues, it was phenomenol.

I have decided not to go to Washington DC. D doesn't seem to care, which makes me sad. I don't know what's going to happen with us. I'll probably spend the weekend watching movies, convincing myself that D is going to break up with me when he gets back. Well, he can't break up with me until 11am Monday because I asked him to meet me after the procedure because I am not allowed to go home by myself. I have to talk to him about this, because I feel like he might be put out by it. I guess I just wish, when I asked, that he'd said "Of course, and is there anything else I can do?" I guess I just wish that LBF or RR or M or Sister were here, because I'd have asked them instead.

In preparation for this, I get to drink Magnesium Citrate and not eat after 3pm on Sunday. This is going to be especially wonderful given my mood as of late, and given the stir-craziness I'll be experiencing after so much missed work and lack of human contact and kindness.

New York sucks.

Truth be told, readers, I am thinking of leaving. It doesn't make sense financially or emotionally, especially given what's going on with D and I. I am here for him. At times like these, when no immediate support system is available for me and I feel needy, which I rarely do, I realize that he is not here for me.

I think he doesn't want to be needed.

Which is sad, because is there really any better feeling than feeling like you are important to someone you supposedly love? I guess the conclusion to be drawn from this is that perhaps he doesn't really love me.

I don't even want to think about that.

Ummmmm.

So. I am going to transition my clothes and make a pile of clothes/shoes to sell to Beacon's Closet. I will put the cash towards pots and glasses and a broom and whatever other things I'll need for my new expensive and microscopic apartment.

I haven't been blogging because I've been so depressed. I swore this would be optimistic, but it is not.

It's because I talked to D and he was disinterested and said "Well, get some rest this weekend," and then hung up. I really wish he'd say "I wish you were coming" or "Give me a call if you need to" or "I miss you" or "I love you."

Wish me luck, kids! Maybe I'll blog post-anesthesia. That could be funny.

Yeah.

It's all just fucking funny.

Woe Is Me

I have a kidney stone.

Awshummmmmmmm.

Room Tone

Date: 4.12.05

Genre: Emo Piano


MP3 File

Description:

Haven't been in the best state of mind lately. Haven't really felt like blogging or really doing much of anything.

I ended up leaving work early today for reasons unrelated to my mood. On my way home, I managed to come up with an idea for the verse of this song, which I have been sitting on since early February.

The song is fairly obvious. It's about being insecure. It's not, well, all true.

When I started the song I felt really insecure.

That feeling went away shortly thereafter, and for the first time in my life I started feeling confident and felt like I had nothing to write about.

Of course this has all changed within the past few weeks, so , for your listening pleasure, a rarity - a song on My Mundane Life In Song!

I feel better after having been productive this afternoon.

This isn't the best recording or the best production. In fact, its terrible. Please keep in mind that I haven't really slept or ate in about two weeks.

I won't ever have time to make a good enough recording, so I am just going to throw this up so that I can feel like I've accomplished something today.

Hope you like it.

Lyrics:

I'm sick and tired of all of these things that distract
They prevent me from letting you be everything

My skin isn't thick enough, it's still painful to trust
I'm a baby
You are grown and you are known to everyone here

You have so many fans I can't quite understand
Why you talk to me
Or why you walk next to me
Or how you psychically say all the right things

I don't know how you do it
I don't know why you do it
I hate that I'm trained to doubt it

I'm sick and tired of myself, yes, I know
I'm so crazy
You are sane, you're so much better at this than I am

Staring at you completely convinced that you'll run
I have no reason
You are strong, you're better at everything than I am

You have so many fans I can't quite understand
What you see in me
Why you've chosen me to share in you silly and secret dreams

I don't know how you do it
I don't know why you do it
I hate that I'm trained to doubt it

Everyone Must See "Kung Fu Hustle" Immediately

Not feeling like I have much to say these days.

This is what Saturday looked like:

Waiting for Palindromes

While waiting in line for "Palindromes," I saw this:

Palindromes

The quarterly company party was last evening.

Nostalgia was rampant. You might remember the first company party attended by MyMundaneLifeInSong as being responsible for the catch-phrase "Awshummmm...."

It's amazing how much has changed since that first party.

And how much hasn't. I felt no more comfortable at this party than the party I attended a mere two weeks after moving to NYC. My eyes weren't as bright this time, so I was pleased that D and I had a backup plan in effect.

I randomly found out on Tuesday that Todd Solondz's new film, Palindromes, was showing last night at the MOMA. The film would be introduced by Solondz, and there would be a Q & A with him and the actors afterwards.

I mentioned this to D, as more of a travesty than an option. D said "I think we should go to the movie instead of the company party."

We decided that the best thing to do would be to get tickets and then make a last minute decision.

It was, of course, sold out, but D, being a genius with little work to do, found out that more tickets would be released yesterday at noon. He was able to go to the MOMA and miraculously managed to get two free tickets. Free, you ask? Yes. A perk of being a MOMA member. This is interesting given our failed attempt at seeing a movie as part of the New Director's Series, which was $10 for members. Weird.

Anyway, the party was boring so we went to the movie.

On our way to the movie, we passed Radio City Music Hall, where many people from New Jersey were formingn crowds. Turns out Maroon 5 was playing. Awshummmm.

We waited in line outside of the MOMA with hundreds of people. I was happy to be outside on a beautiful night while buzzed with my fabulous boyfriend.

Everyone is a Todd Solondz fan. I've seen Welcome to the Dollhouse (which I don't remember well) and Happiness (which I will never forget), but did not see Storytelling, because it was released at a time when I was in, well, a bad mental state and didn't quite feel up to Todd Solondz.

In my opinion, this one is the least provocative. I'm still not sure what to think. It's interesting and challenging storytelling, but I didn't feel connected to it in the same way that I felt connected to Dollhouse and Happiness.

The jury's still out on this one, but that's generally the sign of a good movie. If you see it, let me know what you think.

Todd Solondz was nothing like I expected. I guess I expected him to be meak and morbid and dreary and monotone. He's quite animated and talkative. He's nerdy in the most endearing of ways. His Q & A session helped me to appreciate the movie.



Ellen Barkin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and a bunch of the other actors were on-hand to discuss the film. With each of these interview-type-things I attend, I gain more of an appreciation for writing/directing and less of an appreciation for acting.

Not that I don't appreciate acting. It's hard. For me, it would be much harder than either writing or directing. In fact, it would be the worst of tortures. Acting is a talent, and I appreciate that.

I guess I just don't find actors and actors' stories/techniques as interesting or relevant as those of a writer or director.

Everyone in my class gasps when an actor appears. For example, when Daniel Day-Lewis was in class I thought people were going to faint. A murmer literally went through the audience. I found the discussion with his wife, who wrote and directed The Ballad of Jack and Rose, much more valuable. Then again, I didn't like the movie all that much (aside from Daniel Day-Lewis' performance), so maybe I just wanted to leave.

I don't know.

I found myself not caring what Ellen Barkin had to say, unless she was talking about the way Todd Solondz directed her.

Celebrity is a weird thing, especially here. Why are people famous? Because we've seen their face projected really hugely on a movie screen?

It's understandable to respect people for being good at their craft. Yes.

But why the murmer? Why was my initial response "Oooh! Ellen Barkin!!!! WOW!"

She did say something really true, though. She pointed out that Todd Solondz's movies and characters are appealing because he doesn't judge. His lack of judgment makes things complicated, but in a sentimental and sympathetic way that results in amazing filmmaking.

OK.

I ought to work.

Until tomorrow, dear readers.

My Mundane Life in Song...goes to Philly! or Steve Perry Litmus Test or Amish Fantasy - DENIED!

Hello readers.

It's another special occasion that merits a guest writer! This is from NR, who I visited this past weekend in Philthy, one of my favorite cities. The text is NR's, the photos and occasional commentary are mine. Enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This weekend, the awesome Leah and D -who was celebrating his B-day- made a visit to the recently declared most overweight *AND* most depressed city in America (can't help but think the two go hand in hand...) We all lived up to both these honors by Sunday morning.

The dynamic duo arrived late Friday night after dealing with train delays; and since there was a lot planned for the next day, we headed straight back to my place for some rest and drinks. After catching up for a bit and Leah playing with the make-your-own Lego site, we called it a night. Before they could, however, Leah and D had to partake in a household tradition that I strictly enforce on all and any of my overnight guests: The viewing of the Journey DVD. Yes, Journey the band. Yes, Journey as in "Open Arms." Yes, Journey as in the band with THE greatest lead singer ever. The DVD has become a great tool to guage the level of friendship/compatability with my overnight guests. The range of reactions it gets is very wide. Either people get it or they don't. Leah and D are people I think very highly of and therefore, want their respect. So it was with some trepidation that I popped in the video. To my pleasant surprise, D was also a Journey
fan. Moreover a STEVE PERRY fan. Leah, however, was scared. Very, very scared of our, as she put it, non-ironic love for this band. Anyway, Steve
closed the night. Glorious!

The next day, we took our time getting up and after some breakfast we hit Reading Terminal Market. The market is best known for it's Amish establishments (although you can get/buy just about any kind of food that your hearts desire.) I was endeared by Leah and D's excitement of being there. The amount of goods was insane!

Pretty yellow candy that I didn't try:


Pretty orange and pink candy that I didn't try:


Leah, D and I walked around and sampled, bought and ate lots of goodies including blue raspberry licorice, flavored bagel chips, cheese and pretzels.

Preserves:


Cookie Cutter Metropolis:


Leah took lots of great pictures of the visit and wanted to make friends with a cute, little Amish boy who sold her some apple butter (we even contemplated kidnapping him.)

Potential Amish friend who sold me apple butter:


When we arrived at the market, it was slightly raining. When we left, it was
POURING. It sucked and prevented us from doing other cool Philly stuff. (Go
figure, when Leah and D decide come to Philly, the Gods of Weather
decide to screw us. Damn you, Gods, DAMN YOOOOOUUUUU!!!)

This is what most of our trip looked like:


Our next stop was the Mutter Museum. This museum is famous for housing and exhibiting medical oddities. It is a must-see if you're ever in Philly. Conjoined twins? Gross tumors? Death? Skulls? Gigantic colons? Weird diseases? Old-timey medical equipment? Done and done! This place has it all and then some! Actually, jokes aside, it really is some deeply disturbing and depressing stuff. Although they did find it very interesting, Leah and D were adequately depressed by the museum. (I'm a *fun* host!)

(Sidenote: the weekend in Philly was particularly wonderful because I got to indulge three of my obsessions - the Amish, Conjoined Twins, and Cereal!)

We left the museum, still in the pouring rain and headed to South Philly to get a bite to eat. D got himself an authentic Philly Cheesesteak from one of Philly's best sammich joints. (Twas good he said!) Leah and I decided to check out the bakery a few doors down. Oh mah gawd. Too many options and everything looked unbelievable. I got a canolli and Leah got the greatest frickin' chocolate covered banana ever (as usual, she makes the bestestestest choice.) It wasn't just any chocolate covered banana, my friends. It was a banana on a long cinnamon biscuit, with raspberry jam and creme covered in chocolate. We almost died. So rich and oh so yummy. I'm sure Leah and I could go on and on and on about this damn banana...

(Sidenote: the BEST thing about the chocolate covered banana was that it was masquerading as a chocolate covered banana. When I bit into it, I was pleasantly surprised by the amazing dessert experience that greeted me!)

So then, we went home, relaxed, listened to some tunes, watched "Strangers with Candy" and headed off to, yup, eat more food.

What I did in Philly:


We went to Jones, which specializes in upscale comfort food. Leah felt like after the hilarity that was the Mutter Museum and the pouring rain, we could all use a little comforting. Again, good call. The meal did not disappoint. Potato latkes, onion rings, dumplings, tacos, mac and cheese, dessert-themed cocktails. My lovelies, we packed in it.

Because the people at Jones did not indulge NR's celebrity status, NR looked quite noire while drinking Bug Juice:


Then, we did the unthinkable. Despite being filled to the brim with food, we ordered the dessert nachos. Oohh what's that, you say? Dessert nachos: cinnamon chips, hot fudge, brownie bits, melted marshmallow all topped with strawberry salsa. (Yes, that's you salivating.)

Dessert Nachos - yes!:


We had a few bites and started to slip into a food coma. Luckily, I managed to get us home safe. By then, the museum depression had worn off and the Philly over-eating had taken over.

(Sidenote: NR is not giving herself enough credit, folks! She is a celebrity at Jones, as she was featured in an episode of MTV's Real World Philadelphia during which she stabbed at her meal at Jones in the foreground while Willie was on a date with some boy who wasn't as cute as his boyfriend. The people at Jones didn't give her much credit for this, which prompted her to exclaim, diva-like, "Don't you people KNOW WHO I AM!??!?" Not really, but that would have been awesome.)

Sunday didn't rain too much, but one of the main things Leah and D came to Philly for was to see the Salvador Dali exhibit at the Phila Museum of Art (the one Rocky ran up the stairs at.) Alas, the tickets were all sold-out. For the next month. D'OH!

Cool or Weird Dali steps:


So, instead D suggested checking out an exhibit at UPenn's Institute for Contemporary Art. (D, by the way, knows more about the goings-on in Philly than this host. The dude knows, the dude knows.) The exhibit was interesting...but more exciting was our meal prior to it.

(Sidenote: I wouldn't even call the exhibit interesting. D called it "inpenetrable." I didn't like it.)

Folks, I've known Leah for years, and I don't think I've seen her this excited and giddy ever. Like a kid going to her first concert. Seriously, she was just *radiating* with excitement and anticipation. (It was so damn cute.) What such thing brought this on? A little establishment called "Cereality." It is what is sounds like. A cafe that serves a variety of cereal.




Leah's eyes were as wide as they could be taking in everything about the place. She got the Strawberry Fields (oatmeal made with strawberry milk and topped with strawberries.) Thumbs up. D got a blueberry cereal shake and I got Life cereal with almonds, honey and bananas. Damn good stuff. Leah took many pictures of this historic visit.

And now Leah and D's weekend in Philly came to an end. Despite the crummy weather and no Dali, their visit to the City of Brotherly Love was fun. You guys are welcome to visit ANYTIME!!! (Um, that's to Leah, not to YOU reading, I don't know you...unless Leah says you're cool. Then, yeah, it's cool, come on down! High fives.)

Guest blogging was f-u-n -thanks, Leah!

(...dammit, that stupid chocolate banana...)

Send Me Your Lego-Selves

Hey kids!

I have been enjoying getting your Lego-self submissions!

If you wouldn't mind, please send me your Lego selves so I can make a collage. That would be a fun project, and I am in desperate need of a project right now.

If you do not send me your Lego self, I will design one for you.

Or, if you do not want to send me your Lego self, please feel free to design a Lego Anonymous. Ummm... some sort of prize will be awarded to the best design.

I Remember Marching

People complain about the NYC subways.

But.

There is one great thing.

You can sing at the top of your lungs and nobody will think you insane. It's loud underground, and most people are crazy, so nobody thinks twice about singing.

I didn't know what it feels like to be depressed when one should be happy until recently.

Singing really loudly to bad, old, guilty-pleasure-songs in tunnels really helps.

If I had any free time I swear I'd be writing songs. Seriously. I would be.

Lego-ize

While in Philly this weekend, I have spent far too much time playing with this.

WARNING: this is a big time-suck. You will be making Lego versions of everyone you know.

Here is me:

The Results Are In

D tried the Chocolate Lucky Charms this morning. Verdict?

"Well, um, they just taste like regular Lucky Charms. Or maybe, at best, marshmallows mixed with, like, low grade store brand Cocoa Puffs."

Heh.

Talk of Cocoa Puffs (which I don't really like, but which remind of Cookie Crisps, which rule!) only convinced me further that D and I will be going here while we are in Philly this weekend.

Which reminds me - Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Awesome. Newly released French Toast Crunch? Pointless and vile.

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I just saw Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson walking their baby outside of the building. They were very cute. I actually had my camera with me (long story) and momentarily thought of snapping a photo, but then thought better of becoming paparazzi.

I find this precious because for some reason it is heartwarming to see them acting like regular parents. Well, regular parents who don't have to work on a Friday afternoon. I guess I just assumed that a rockstar type would have better things to do, such as being "in the studio" or "with another woman."

Cute.

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I am wearing black today to honor the passing of Mitch Hedberg.

I'm still upset. We just saw him - not even two weeks ago. I am so glad I had the opportunity to see him. I blame the catty (thanks for editing, E.Pi) bachelorettes who caused him to be paranoid at the show. They drove him back to drugs, or whatever it was that caused his heart attack. Stupid bachelorettes. They probably don't even know that he's dead.

I'm trying to understand why I'm so distressed, and I think its because Mitch Hedberg was so innocent. His comedy was never offensive or charged or distasteful. He was observational and light and fabulous.

I also credit him with being one of the only things that helped my mood a few years back. I hit a rough patch a few years ago, during which I was a mess and couldn't be consoled by anything. Sister said "Dude, you need to listen to Mitch Hedberg." She then launched into an impression and I was like "I don't know, man, I don't know if I can just sit and listen to something right now" and she insisted, saying "Seriously, Leah, he's the funniest guy ever."

I proceeded to sit on the floor of her bedroom in Medway and laugh until the tears transformed from sad tears into the kind that flow in response to uncontrollable laughter. My parents and brother, who heard us laughing, appeared in Sister's room and soon joined us. It was awesome.

I am going to buy a Quadruple Tree Hotel t-shirt in Mitch's honor, and will wear it with pride.

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It is weird how people are dying.

Johnnie Cochran, Terry Schiavo, Mitch Hedberg... I just heard that Frank Purdue died (I thought he was already dead?) and probably soon The Pope.

Weird.

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Mitch Hedberg is dead.

Fuck.

I don't even know what to say.

I am shaking.

Polka Chic

I think the key to becoming rich is to take something that already exists, and has existed for quite some time, and make it fashionable.

An example - poker. Why is poker a new fad? Suddenly everyone is obsessed with poker. Poker reality shows. Poker internet pop-ups. Radio ads for classes that will teach you how to play poker.

I don't understand.

I mean, I understand, because poker is awesome. It's always been awesome.

I'm sure there are millions of other examples of this that I can't think of right now.

I said to D "You know what we should do? Make like an Uno version of poker... like for kids... people would go nuts for that right now.... you know, like how Uno is CRAZY EIGHTS (thank you, Mo, for editing) but with Draw Fours and Skips."

Turns out that this has already been invented, and is called Phase 10. I was playing Phase 10 shortly before I suggested this. Apparently I hadn't consciously realized that Phase 10 is a combination of Poker and Rummy 500. I was too fixated on the Rummy 500 similarties.

The task of the week is to think of something that's always been cool and to start a crusade to convince people that this thing is NOW the coolest thing.

This might involve a reality TV show. I'm not happy about that, but if it makes me rich, I won't mind selling out.

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In other news a third Shins show has been added! I couldn't attend either of the original shows as I will be in The South. A third show was just added and I will be at it, thanks to a blog that just announced that tickets went on sale.

Blogs are good.

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D came back from FL last night. I called him as he was boarding the plane in FL, and he said "I have surprises. You are going to be so excited. You won't be able to sleep tonight."

When he arrived, before saying anything to me, he threw his bag on my bedroom floor and pulled from it a box of Lucky Charms. "Can you stand it?" he said.

"Ummm...."

D thinks that food can only be purchased in Florida. (Which is sort of true - its hard to find what you want in NYC, but I don't think you really need to go to FL to go grocery shopping). He also thinks that Target only exists in FL, even though there is now one in Times Square and has always been one in Brooklyn. Then again, the Target in Brooklyn is actually Scary Target, at which you have to put your shopping cart on an escalator in order to get it to the second floor, thus causing anxious people like myself to carry all sorts of awkwardly shaped objects instead of risking losing potential purchases to an unpredictable escalator with notches in it. I'm sure D would like me to tell you that the Target in FL is a Super Target. I'm not sure how much more super Target could be. Sadly I was not able to experience its Super-ocity firsthand due to its being closed on Easter.

I digress.

"CHOCOLATE LUCKY CHARMS!" he said. "This combines two of your favorite things - Lucky Charms and CHOCOLATE!"

Now.

D knows that variations on food that is already good is a pet peeve of mine. I've always been like this - for example, when I was little, I just adored My Little Ponies and loved all of the ones that I had. Then, as soon as little girls had all of the My Little Ponies, they'd come out with NEW My Little Ponies. Baby ones, ones with wings, ones with glitter, ones with fluorescent hair. I was always torn between loyalty to the original and enthusiasm for the new. It was the same with Cabbage Patch Kids. I finally got one, but then they came out with the premie ones, the animal ones (which now horrifies me - I haven't thought about those since elementary school), but I always remained loyal to Sandy, my original doll.

I just don't understand why there has to be flavored Pringles. Pringles RULE. Why do they need to have barbecue flavored ones when the original flavor is perfectly adequate? And Cheez-Its - Cheez-Its are the best thing ever, so why do they now have flavored ones? And pizza-flavored Golfish? WHY!?!?? Why can't we ever just be happy with what we have?

D is an experimenter. He likes the variants. I always say "D, what if you met a bunch of new people who were slight variants on all the people you know? With all else being equal, I guess you'd try? You'd just try new people?!?!? WHY SHOULD I TRY FREAKING WHITE CHEDDAR PRINGLES WHEN THE ORIGINAL IS AWESOME?!?!? WHY SHOULD I WANT SOMETHING ELSE WHEN WHAT I HAVE IS GOOD? WHY WOULD YOU BUY THESE!??! TRAITOR!!!"

Food remixes.

Lame.

Anyway, I didn't launch into my food diatribe because he was so excited, but now I am torn, because I have to try the Lucky Charms even though I hate them just because they exist. I love original Lucky Charms. I never thought "You know, this could be better."

But, more importantly, D has purchased more Star Wars legos for us to play with!!! Now we will have ships for our TIE fighter to play with. Weeee!!!!

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I listened to my friend's radio show this morning. I was torn, because I was listening to Howard Stern prior to his show's beginning and Howard Stern said "How long is the Mitch Hedberg bit? Should we play it now or... well... let's go to ads..."

Torn.

The reason I mention this is because I can rarely find anything on the radio worth listening to, and there I was, for the first time in my life, with a radio conflict!

Mitch Hedberg never came on and I couldn't get a good stream of my friend's show, so there wasn't much of a conflict in the end.

Oh well.

It was, for a moment, cool to be excited about radio.

My Trip To Florida - An Essay by Leah Lar

It is sunny and gorgeous in NYC today. Because I did not have to wear a coat today, I am not as wistful as I was yesterday.

At any rate.

We arrived at Laguardia 1.5 hours prior to our scheduled departure on Friday afternoon, only to learn that our flight had been delayed for an hour. This became two hours, then four. Without announcement, the flight was cancelled due to severe weather in Florida.

We spent an hour in line awaiting our fate, and were able to reschedule for Saturday at 3:00 pm. I changed my return flight to Monday at 2:00 pm. I was pissed about this - hence my post on Friday night - as I did not go home to visit my family for Easter because I didn't want to use a precious vacation day. I hadn’t realized I was homesick until Friday, confronted with the idea of visiting someone else’s family when I haven’t seen my own in quite some time. When I did see them last, it was at a funeral and everyone was a mess. D was mad at me when I initially suggested taking a 7am flight on Monday so as not to miss an entire day of work. In order to appease him, I consented to the 2:00, but spent the majority of the night feeling cross without giving him an explanation.

We took a cab back to Brooklyn because I was moody. D is adamantly anti-cab because he is pro-public transit and pro-saving money. I suspect he didn't want to spend two hours trapped on public transit with my being vicious. The cab ride gave me the opportunity to talk to RR, who calmed me down about all things because she is an old friend and therefore understands.

D and I went on "a date" once I was able to make a decision on what to eat. I had a drink and became honest and things were fine.

We headed to JFK the following afternoon. D insisted that we sit at the front of the JFK-transit-train-thing (which costs $5! who knew?) because he is a giddy child about trains.



Check-in was a labor as we no longer had e-tickets. Slightly panicked about missing our flight, we were pleased and annoyed to learn that our flight had, again, been delayed by two hours due to weather in FL. This time it was hail.



Song Airlines rules. They have in-flight trivia and TV, as well as half-decent food for sale. They also have “Song of the Day” safety instructions. It was “Flamenco!” on this particular occasion, and the rules were read by a sultry woman who made arbitrary analogies involving flying and flamenco dancing. I was hoping for “Gangsta Rap!” on my return flight, with the rules for evacuation being read by Snoop Dogg. I was, sadly, disappointed.

Seeing the person you love in a different context for the first time is a powerful experience. I realized, the moment that we stepped outside into the warm and thick Orlando air, that I was going to leave Florida feeling differently about the relationship than when we arrived.

D’s father and niece, who adores D, picked us up. Little Niece 1, who is 3 and a half years old, flipped out when she saw D. D insisted that I sit in the back with Little Niece 1. I tried to insist, without actually saying anything, that this was the worst idea ever, but D wouldn’t have it. His desire for Little Niece 1 to adore me was a little greater than my convictions that Niece 1 would destroy me in a jealous rage or hate me for being unfamiliar or rip my glasses from my face. Little Niece 1 was just in love with Uncle D and therefore suspicious of Uncle D’s friend. She looked me up and down judgmentally at first, causing me to want to jump out of the car. Eventually she warmed up to me, and held both of our hands as we walked into the restaurant to “meet the family.”

Aunts, uncles by marriage, brother, sister-in-law, Little Niece 2, mother. I instantly forgot all names and smiled brightly and hugged his mother and wanted to hide in the fish pool at the entrance to the restaurant.

Dinner was nice. I can’t remember what was said as I was in high stress mode. I was actually in high stress mode for the entire time I was there.

We headed back to D’s parents’ house after dinner. I was ill-prepared for their house. D never mentioned that they lived in a gigantic, sparkly, new and pristine home. I felt like I was on an episode of Cribs. I’ve never set foot in a house like this. It’s gorgeous. This is the view from their kitchen window:



We drank wine and nobody asked me questions. I sat back and observed.

Observation. Amidst an already established family unit, I found myself taking photos of them non-stop. For the first time I understood my father. I wonder if he never feels involved, and that’s why he hides behind the camera. Or, if because he’s hidden behind the camera for so long, he no longer knows how to be involved.

Either way, I got some amazing photos of D’s family. I wonder if, years from now, somebody will find these photos and wonder who took them. I wonder if there will ever be pictures of me. I hope not.
I took about 100 photos of the Nieces and the family and D, who I love to photograph, and also spent a great deal of time taking pictures like this, because I really didn’t know what else to do with myself.



His family is very nice. And photogenic. They told me their life stories when I asked questions, and D said “I’ve never seen either of my parents talk this much.”

I’d never seen D talk so little.

It’s amazing how much you can learn about someone when you see him with his family. On top of the precious and dirty childhood secrets they reveal, they inadvertently shed light onto why he is the way he is. Seeing a person interact with his family is the best data you can gather.

It’s also interesting to compare and contrast families. I can’t read families that are not like my own. I feel comfortable in some families and uncomfortable in others. When you’re growing up, you assume that all families are like yours because you don’t know anything else. I have no idea what they thought of me. None. I have nothing to work with. My family is outgoing and obvious. They have endless amounts of affection to give and life stories to absorb.

I described his family to Roommate and the first thing she said was “Wow, that must have been so weird for you considering what your Mom is like.”

Yes.

I liked them. A lot. By the end of the weekend Little Nieces 1 and 2 were attached to me. Kids are easy to read, and once you have them in your corner they are loyal until the end of time.

We took a ferry to Disney World but didn’t go in. Sister-in-law made fondue. We drank wine and played cards. We tried to go to supermarkets that were closed on Easter. D talked like Mitch Hedberg all weekend and said things like “Wait – what was that Mitch Hedberg joke about the future?” and “Tell them about the rice joke!” I walked around awkwardly and uninvolved, smiling and uttering words nonsensically every now and then. It’s difficult to use words when they are a rarity.

D said “It’s amazing how comfortable this feels. It’s like, so natural. It’s like your being here isn’t a big deal at all.”

I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

After the Disney World ferry/monorail adventure, D and I went for a walk around his parents’ neighborhood, which is a gated community that is still being developed. We played in the foundation of one of the future-houses.



It felt more like something that had been destroyed than something being built. The light was romantic. It was like playing on giant legos. D was blissful and atypically cooperative, and thus granted me permission to take millions of photos of him.



While battling mosquitoes and running around the neighborhood, we learned more about each other. Things are getting better, and I don’t understand how that is possible. I guess this comes with getting to know someone better, and getting to know someone differently.



On our way back to D’s parents’ house, we walked past mounds of dirt that had been dug up for foundations. It reminded me of being a child. The house that I grew up in was designed by my parents, so we were able to play in the foundation and climb the mounds of dirt, which seemed like mountains, before we moved in. I took pictures of the mounds, but instead of looking like mounds of dirt leaking nostalgia, they looked like the surface of Mars.



After dinner we walked again and talked about things like the relationship and photography and personalities and neuroscience and timeframes. We sat by a lake and listened to nothing. We sat on grass, which is something we’ve not done together. We played the “who can spot the most toads” game. We talked about the likelihood of D’s tent still being at his parents’ house and our camping out in their yard that night.

D is prone to asking questions like “What is your happiest memory?” and I never know what to say. Is your happiest memory supposed to be from childhood? Is it sad that I don’t have one? I have vague memories – running around the foundation of my future home, playing restaurant in my grandparents’ pantry, making up dance routines with Sara because we were certain we’d get on Star Search if we practiced enough.

I think the happiest memory has to come from childhood, because it doesn’t risk being tainted. A lot of my happy memories have been brutalized by things that happen afterwards.

Point being, I hope that sitting by the lake with D will remain one of my happiest memories.



I got back on Monday night at around 6:00. My flight was, again, delayed due to weather in northern Florida. People clapped at the end of the flight. This happens every 1 out of 5 flights, and I love when it does. I think people should always clap when people do their job. “Well done! You didn’t kill us! You’ve gone above and beyond and we will therefore clap for you!” Perhaps I’ll start clapping every time I get off the subway successfully, or every time someone at work fills the water bath.

This is the longest and most melodramatic post ever.

If you made it this far, I am clapping for you right now, because you have really gone above and beyond and I am super appreciative of your reading my blog.

Disoriented

What is it about travelling that convinces me that I haven't figured anything out?

I suppose its natural to have no desire to return to one's actual life when one is away from it. I suppose that's the point of taking time away.

Perhaps the key is to take enough time away. Then, presumably, one starts missing one's actual life.

Is that how it's supposed to work?

When I first arrived in Florida, I said things like "I can't believe that people live like this!" and "Why would anyone want this?" and "What if you want to go to a different supermarket?" and "Why does anyone need a three car garage?"

After a day and a half, I instead was saying things like "If I lived here, I'd be so relaxed" and "I'd stare out at this lake and maybe even fish and not think of anything but the stars" and "I'd be giddy watching those construction workers all day" and "Perhaps my snow-builds-character-theory is misinformed."

I am back from the orange-grove painted and perfectly landscaped world of sunny and sparkly Florida. I am disoriented by New York City's dark skies and the rain and the city sounds I'd quickly forgotten.

It's amazing how quickly you can get used to something that is nothing like your life.

It's amazing how quickly you can forget science, and how quickly you can get wrapped
up in fantasies involving everything but what you actually have.

It's amazing how much it saddened me to receive D's voicemail just now that said "Hi - insert secret affectionate and terribly cute pet name here - its beautiful and sunny and we're going to Disney World today so hopefully I'll talk to you tonight." My sadness didn't come from missing him or the sun. I thought "Man, I'd love to go to Disney World." Wtf!? I don't like Disney World! I thought the overabundance of Disney knick-knacks and wall adornments that cluttered my first post-college apartment and annoyed the hell out of me had cured me of any nostalgia that could ever make its way to the surface, but no! I want to go to Disney World.

Damn you, perfect Florida, for making me want to retire right now.

Weather

I am currently in Brooklyn. I did not just step off a plane into the warm Florida sun. I will not be able to go to Orlando until late tomorrow afternoon. This change of plans requires my taking a vacation day on Monday.

I am on the verge of a meltdown, because not only did I receive potentially bad/annoying news today, spend approximately four hours in the airport, spend two hours in transit to and from the airport, not really eat (I am starving to death but my mood has rendered me incapable of making a decision on if/what to eat), but I am pissed because I want to use my vacation days to visit *my* family.

I have used 1.5 precious vacation days for this, and I am not happy. I'm not blaming anyone or anything. I'm merely responding rather intensely to my first moment of homesickness since I left MA.

Easter

Easter is apparently this weekend.

People keep asking me "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Going to FL."

"To celebrate Easter?"

"No, to meet my future in-laws," who I hope will not be celebrating Easter as I did not pack my Easter bonnet, nor did I pack anything that I would feel comfortable wearing in a church. I also forgot to pack dyes with which to make Easter eggs because I also forgot to buy the dye. Drat. I bet my future nieces-in-law would have liked to dye eggs, but probably not as much as I'd have liked it.

Easter nostalgia is fierce right now. Competing in the neighborhood egg hunt (I will never forget this - we were running around hunting for eggs and I found this hideous egg that was dyed a light green and had on it a big black dot; the neighborhood posse ridiculed me for having found the mutant egg, until we were informed that the finder of said egg would be the proud recipient of a kite! and then I was much resented), looking forward to charming pink dresses and little white gloves and little white hats, colorful baskets full of candy and other goodness, dying millions of eggs over at Aunty Peggy and Uncle Tommy's house, running around like a lunatic in my grandparents' fenced-in backyard in Roslindale hoping to find the plastic egg with the dollar bill. Sigh.

At any rate, in celebration of Easter, please enjoy reading Fellowship of the Peeps.

Until next time....