$80,000.

That's approximately how much I owe Sallie Mae & Her Minions for my college education. That's depressing.

But.

Sitting here thinking on this last day of the year, I've realized how rich I really am.

I have incredible parents who are wise and fun and crazy about each other. They (generally) don't exasperate me and they are loving and incredibly supportive of all my endeavors. I have grown up under the love and influence of my grandmother, who is the godliest woman I've ever known. I have a family who is dysfunctional, but knows how to band together when it all hits the fan. I have fantastic roommates, who I can trust and walk/laugh through life with, never worrying about being stabbed in the back. I don't have a boyfriend, but I do have phenomenal men in my life who love me and advise me and encourage me and remind me that one day, it will all make sense. And there's Stephen; my dear Stephen, who makes me think and makes me smile and fills my stomach with amazing food and has driven me into more quiet times and prayer sessions than I can count this year.

I go to an incredible church, grounded in truth, alive with the Spirit, brimming with freedom and joy and purpose. I am surrounded by a compassionate community of Christ followers, epically generous, and dedicated to spreading hope in every form of godly outreach. I also have a church back in Texas filled with old friends who I occasionally forget to remember—but who continue to pray for my present and my future on a regular basis. I have a set of adopted grandparents with an amazing love story and a burning fire for God who pray for me and encourage me every time I come home to Texas. And I live in a country where I still have the freedom to worship without any real persecution.

I have a job that is not perfect, but gives me a LOT of freedom. I work with people I care about, who teach me new things and give me new things to write about every day. And more often than not, I get to eat really amazing food for cheap or free. Plus, we are blessed with great clientele who usually still tip 20% despite the state of the economy.

I make enough money to eat, pay my bills and occasionally buy things that I want. I don't have a dog—but a lot of my friends do and they send me pictures and tell me stories about their pets and every now and then, I get to pretend. I have a car, a feisty little car, with heat, AC and a stereo, who doesn't give me any real, costly trouble, only costs me $15 to fill up and takes me everywhere I need to go. I live in a cute, clean, warm/cool, safe apartment, in a city filled with music and opportunity and tons of really creative people. I'm never really bored.

I'm not addicted to cigarettes, alcohol, any illicit substances, pills, stealing things, sex, coffee, coca-cola, reality tv, designer purses, shoes or jewelry. I'm healthy. I'm not allergic to anything that I love (dogs, chocolate, wheat/gluten products, peanut butter, etc). I don't have to take any pills on a daily basis. I rarely EVER get sick and I've never had surgery. And in three weeks, I'm flying to Orange County, California to stand with my college roommates and witness one of our best friends marry the love of her life.

I really could not ask for more.

2009? Bring it.

Happy New Year, blogosphere.

I <3 P.S. 115

Tonight, I watched this great documentary called Mad Hot Ballroom. It came out a couple years ago, but I liked the name and I'd heard it was good, so I picked it up at Blockbuster (yes, Netflixers... some people still do that. :)

This film is like So You Think You Can Dance: Elementary School Edition. I loved it. It was funny and charming and the kids were hilarious. There's no scary stage moms or little girls in scary outfits wearing tons of makeup. Just these 11 year old kids from various public schools around NYC who take this ballroom dancing class for 10 weeks as part of their PE curriculum and then compete against each other. It's adorable.

I can't get over how mature and well-spoken some of these 5th graders were. It really surprised me! And of course it's NY, so it's this beautiful melting pot of ethnicities. A LOT of the kids were Dominican, but there were Blacks, Italians, Asians, Indians, Puerto Ricans, Filipinos, Irish-- all together. So awesome. :)



There's this one little boy though, who COMPLETELY hijacked my heart the moment I laid eyes on him. His name is Wilson and I don't think he spoke a lick of English during the entire film. But when I saw him, I literally paused the movie and ran into Jo's room and was like, "Jo. My SON is in this movie. I'm serious. The boy I adopt one day? Might look exactly like him." He is the cutest thing ever. And he was SO good! He and Jatnna, one of my favorite girls, also happen to be on the cover of the film. But you can't see him very good on there, so here he is:

So. Freaking. Cute. And he was so into it! He danced the rumba and he was just awesome. They all were! They do such a good job, I loved the Indigo Team :) And their teacher, Ms. Reynso is awesome and so freaking proud of them the whole time. Its precious.


Anyway-- 105 minutes well spent. Add it to your Netflix queue, if you're into that sorta thing. Annnnnd here's Wilson and Jatnna again at the Tribeca Film Festival...

Next up? Spellbound.

Parallels

I tend to be rather impatient.

I want to know what's next, I want to know what's going to happen so that if anyone asks me, I can tell them. I think that's why I write stories, so I can know and decide what's going to happen and shape and craft all the different scenes accordingly.

But yesterday, during worship at Grace, I had a revelation.

God invented creativity and wit and mystery and suspense. He is the force behind the creation of all of those things. He made JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. They function the way they function because of HIM-- because of several fantastic pieces that he placed into them. Pieces of Himself.

It's no secret that LOST is my favorite show. For a lot of reasons, I view it as a pinnacle of storytelling. They way the characters are so well-developed and intertwined, the adventurous, mysterious, intense and intricate nature of the plot, and the boldly meticulous unfolding of the entire series just blows my mind. Over a period of 4 seasons, I've (mostly) stopped being frustrated by the endless rounds of jaw dropping cliffhangers and plot twists and just come to love them. I always tune in again the next week. And while they've still got 3 seasons to go (Is it 2 or 3? I just know it's over in 2010.) I know I'll be along for the ride. I've come to trust the creators of this tale, and subsequently believe that through all the twists and turns, it will all make sense and come together by the final episode. When it's over, I'll think all the way back to the first episode and go "Wow. It all makes sense now! That was a great ride."

So, at church, I realized how stupid I am. For trusting so completely in some nerdy dudes in Hollywood to craft a story-- while most of the time, if I'm really honest, I don't trust the God who made them-- the God who made me-- to work my life out in the same way.

The boldness of that unapologetically deliberate storytelling that I love so much, the kind that doesn't care how frustrated I am about the questions they left unanswered in whatever episode, the kind that makes me respect the show so much-- is exactly the fashion in which God is unfolding my life.

That might sound stupid to you, but you can't even imagine how that put things in perspective for me. I love when He does that. Tailors it for my mind, so I can understand. He knows me SO well-- how little it takes to ease my mind and make me aware of the parts of my heart that still need work. I love Him for that.

So even though I have plenty of unanswered questions concerning the various Where's and Who's and When's and How's in my own life, I don't want to be in such a hurry for "2010" to arrive. I just want to keep breathing, keep walking and savoring the drama of every season as it unfolds.

"I can't tell what happens next,
Just what I've seen,
I don't know what it means...
But I'm holding on the edge of my seat..."
-switchfoot

"I can't believe my eyes, I must be dreaming, wake up Jack, this isn't fair!"

Wow, today was eventful. This week, young as it may be, has been eventful!

I have a new Christmas CD. Where else can you find Mariah Carey and the Temptations and Frank Sinatra and Chris Brown and Ray Charles and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and Relient K and Jack Skellington all together but in my cd player? Nowhere, that's where.

Yesterday, I saw Australia. It was epic, and mystical and romantic and adventurous and very, very Baz Lurhman. I thought it was beautiful.

I also found a new drink at Starbucks: the London Fog. It consists of steamed vanilla soymilk and Earl Grey tea. Delicious. Especially with a side of Christmas music and a handsome boy across the table.

Also, this week, I am a vegetarian. I know. Yes. I'm serious. It's only for a week. Two weeks ago, Joanna and I decided that we don't eat enough fruits and veggies. So last night, after eating steak and potatoes, we agreed that until next Monday, all we're eating is fruits and veggies.

Actually that's not true at all. This week will be more like an exercise in searching for non-meat protein sources. Today I ate peanut butter crackers and a black bean sub with tomatoes and avocados and provolone cheese and some pasta with s'ghetti saus. I can totally do this.

Actually this shouldn't be dificil at all... but my body tends to crave/run on mostly red meat and sugar/carbs so... this is a bit of a stretch for me. Probably a good one though. It won't hurt.

I also found out today that I'm in a fashion show tomorrow. I got fitted today and tried on three things from this couture boutique-y place on West End. First there was this horrible white tulle "dress" which had a deconstructed Japanese flag on the side of it, and required a lace bodysuit underneath it. Blech.

Then, there was a beautiful, $1700 old Hollywood-looking, salmon pink gown that was almost completely backless, with a train and some Jimmy Choo pumps. Yes. Please. My feet have never known such a wonder. The dress was amazing too. But alas, everyone else was wearing formalish gowns and they wanted me in something else, so...

I'm wearing some $500 stovepipe motorcycle pants with bronze zippers and a black and white corset with some six inch black heels. I am SO rock-n-roll. ;)

Anyway, I should go to bed, as tomorrow will be long.

Oh! But next week? I'm-- well... I'll tell you next week. :)

I Made A Pumpkin Cheesecake.

And I'm so excited about it. :)

I spent part of this morning smashing/grinding up an entire box of Nilla Wafers and one whole package of honey graham crackers. Then I added (a little too much?) cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves to the crumbs and some butter and mixed it all up, then tried to remember the any crust shaping techniques I've seen Lorraine (pastry chef at work) using when she makes our amazing key lime pie.

For not doing this every day? I did okay. :)

Then the filling! Lots of cream cheese and sugar (brown and white) and vanilla extract and eggs and sour cream and a whole can of pumpkin. I'm so grateful to have Robert's nice Kitchenaid mixer! One day, I will buy my own.

And it's in the oven!!! Right now!! I'm so excited. I think I'll take a picture of it when-- ooo! Timer!

***FANFARE***

YAAAAAAAY!!! I'm so excited! I want to eat it! But it has to cool now. And then sit in the fridge till like... tomorrow. But then I'll get to eat it! Yay!!!!

Speaking of eating, you should really check this out. Or just go to freerice.com and start playing. It's awesome. Especially if you're addicted to Word Twist or something like that. :)

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!

Iron & Wine

I just made a grilled cheese sandwich. For the first time in maybe... 3 or 4 years?

Man, I've been missing out.

I bought some of that V8 Tomato soup in a box, added some herbs to it, then topped it with mozzarella. Then I made a grilled cheddar cheese sandwich, amped up with some Mesquite smoked turkey breast and voila! (Ha! First I typed "Viola!")

C'est si bon! I imagine I'll be eating that on many more rainy winter evenings. Mmmm.

Last night was good too. I went to see Iron & Wine at the Ryman. I drank cabernet out of a plastic cup and sat next to the boy who stole my heart away this summer with his saute pans and one-dimpled smile. We had great seats in the second row of the balcony and Sam Beam's voice made me wonder if his children realize how fortunate they are (assuming he sang them to sleep when they were babies).* The show was the loveliest kind of mellow-- fantastically comfortable.

While listening to one of the songs, (sorry, can't remember the name for once) I had this Fantasia kind of moment when I realized how much it sounded like rain. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined this scene with all the pitter patter of the plucked guitar strings and the gentle sporadic percussion cadence of the larger drops and then violin strings adding the harmony of all those droplets running downstream into pools. It was beautiful! But before my thought had even ended, I was struck by the beauty of my current state.

By the fact that I wasn't huddled in a ravine in some war torn country, running from explosions, or fending off hunger pangs with my mind so focused on survival that there's no room for anything else.

In that moment, I was humbled and grateful to be a such a "rich" American, with a job and money to pay for a ticket to an experience that enabled me to hear what rain would sound like if it were music.


*Apparently he did.

I Concur.

I just pulled this off my friend's husband's facebook page.

"God is like Wikipedia;
We think we know what is truth and we contribute to the discussion amongst ourselves, but we aren't 100% positive it is ever going to be right - sometimes we are just left with questions."

Silly, but it's true for me.

Thing is, I'm okay with questions and mysteries, with the supernatural and the unknown intricacies of God... but I've realized so much in the past few months that some people are really tripped up by all that. And I can't really blame them. It's frustrating. Especially when it's brand new. It's mind-blowing. It doesn't seem right. It's crazy and ridiculous and terrifying and what if I'm wrong? and what if it's real?

Denial is hedonistic, but acceptance is-- a new brand of passion, responsibility and freedom. It's the lightest burden and the deepest comfort. It is brand new perspective; eyes without cataracts that see every morning pregnant with potential that screams out to be acknowledged and ferociously embraced. It is the most fulfilling, all-compassing challenge you'll ever love.

Engaging. Provocative. Steadfast.
And deep as you're willing to go.

That's faith.

(FFWD to 2:00)

Win A Free iPod!!!

I asked off from my normal job today in order to be an Rockwell Automation Siren. Gotta mix things up, you know? $20/hr to stand around at this Automation Trade Show all day in the Convention Center of the Opryland Hotel with 6 other girls in yellow t-shirts and skirts. Our mission: encourage all the wide-eyed, wandering info tech (IT) guys (and a few girls) from ALL OVER THE WORLD to step up to our thickly carpeted, giant, plasma touch-screen littered, house music thumping display booth and help them sign up to win an iPod touch. To register, they each endured a 30 second "Factory Talk" presentation, typed in their cell number on one of the giant touch screens and we texted them throughout the day with chances to "win amazing prizes".

Now for those of you like me who are like "Automation Trade Show? Is that like... cars? Or robots? Or what?" Sort of. It's a trade show for manufacturers and IT people who own, run, design and work in plants, factories and all that jazz. Factory Talk is a line of software to help regulate/monitor/program the machines that put stuff together.

So this show was huge. Like several thousand people in attendance. You should have seen the cafeteria. I can't imagine catering something like that. Makes me tired just thinking about it! There were people from everywhere stopping by our booth. (I say booth-- it was a huge area, just slightly smaller than 1/2 a basketball court.) I talked to people from Venezuela, Bolivia, India, Denmark, England, Switzerland, Canada, China, Australia, France, Belgium, Germany, not to mention people from ALL over the US. It was insane.

It was a long day (I had to leave the house at 6:35 AM. My motivation? Chikin Biskit.) and I didn't make it home till almost 6PM, but it was easy and pretty entertaining. I do it again tomorrow. And I'm supposed to carry my phone on me all day so please feel free to write me lots of fun facebook messages so I'm not bored out of my mind all day...

Japanese. Burmese. Spanish. And Christmas.

So i've been watching-- well more like, checking in on-- THIS all day. I can't stop. They're adorable. The feisty little instigator/bully in the lime green collar Val and I have christened Chewy. He's like a little furry tank. Although Ol Yeller (Little Baby Yeller?) has some fight in him as well. Pretty positive they're Akitas? Which makes one of them Evita... but I haven't paid close enough attention to decide who.

Also, for the few hours I've been out of the house today, I've been bombarded by Christmas. It's like 55 degrees outside. I can't get behind it.

But I must say, that while I was walking through Target, I did pass through the Christmas ornaments and I started thinking about my misfit tree... and I got sort of excited. :) I think I'll write a whole post about that at some point. I gotta take some pictures first though.

Oh and-- guess what I did last night? I helped my buddy Omar transport some Burmese refugees back to Nashville from their job at a Tyson Chicken factory in Shelbyville, TN (which is an hour away). It was kind of amazing. Omar works for an organization called World Relief that helps place/reunite refugees in TN. So it was me and him in the front seat of this red Windstar minivan, driving through a rainstorm with 8 Burmese guys in green rubber boots smashed into the backseats. They didn't really speak English, so they just talked amongst themselves while Omar and I traded stories and talked about music and politics and NPR and world news and God and revolutions. Yes, me. I talked about politics and NPR. Crazy, right? But I actually really enjoyed it. And the Burmese were really sweet and very grateful for the ride. It was an adventure and an evening well-spent. :)

Tonight? Trabiendo.

Peace!

Naked Is Not The Answer.

So I'm watching Oprah's "Clean Up Your Messy House Tour". I'm a sucker for makeovers-- people, houses, cars, it doesn't really matter. I always get sucked in.

Looking at all the crap in people's closets makes me think though...

Do you know how packed most Goodwill stores and thrift stores are? Don't get me wrong, donating is awesome, but where does it all go? Where has it all gone all these years? When you consider to vast quantities of clothes and shoes being produced all over the world? There should not be any naked people ANYWHERE.

I mean, forget about what's in style, what's trendy-- have you ever thought about just the sheer amount of clothes in the world? Places like Kohl's and Sam's and Wal-Mart and K-Mart and Target carry gobs of mass-produced, relatively low-quality clothing. Not to mention all the mall stores like Gap and Abercrombie and Express and Osh-Kosh and Dillards and American Eagle and Wet Seal and Charlotte Russe that have more crap in their clearance racks than they do on the sales floor. Ever wonder what happens to all that crap when it leaves the store? I mean AFTER it leaves TJ Maxx and Marshall's? Where does all that stuff go? Is it sold or given away? Why are there still naked people? Why are there sweatshops?! That's another post.

And in addition to all our regular people clothes, there are still gobs and gobs of designer clothes piling up in the closets of the rich and famous! Garments that get worn once or twice and then junked because they aren't in style? But we feel bad throwing things away or we have emotional attachment to things... so we just build bigger closets!!!

Point: There are too many clothes. Why do we keep making so many?

I know that there are some styles of things that a LOT of people want. But something needs to change. I mean... aren't we always strving to be (or at least appear) unique anyway?

Why don't manufacturers just set an alotted quantity of each style, based on whatever purchasing numbers they have. Once they're out? They're out. You really want another one? $1000.00. Or get over it. Something like that.

Also don't release 57 styles of shirt in the same color all at once. Spread them out-- we don't need that many choices! We have a hard enough time deciding as it is! Then, not only do manufacturers not have to work as hard coming up with 4 dozen designs to release every 2 months, but consumers are purchasing pieces that are a little more original, instead 40 girls showing up in the same $39.99 dress. People might even step up and start buying things off the sales floor because they know it won't make it to a clearance rack! Appeal to America's competative spirit!

(Even though I realize that this would get out of hand and most likely result in dept. store rioting.)

We should just... make less.

It all ends up in the garbage eventually anyway.

Why do we think we need so much?

Transitions

Summer nights and fall mornings have the same effect on me.

Summer nights are when the unapologetic burn of the day finally gives way to clouds and shadow. The tyrannical warm air lingers, but inescapably charmed by the gentle coolness of the evening, grudgingly shifts to share the space. Nights of bright summer constellations, warm breezes and cricket symphonies create a lush oasis for lonely hearts fresh out of a winter solstice. Nights like that drive you desire touch, to seek company, even just a hand to hold, as nobody should trek through such beauty unaccompanied.

Fall mornings are the same.

They offer the bright clarity of summer with the crisp nose of winter. That whiff of chilliness starts you thinking about hoodie sweatshirts and Friday night football. You realized that Starbucks has purchased their weight in Pumpkin Spice syrup and you know that Christmas will be here before you can blink again. There's enough of a chill in the first few hours of daytime that you don't want to get out of bed, and certainly don't want to leave the house. When it's slightly cold, you wish it was colder, and that you had no place to be. You wish that your only appointments were with a book and a cup of cocoa, and even them, not till early afternoon. Most of all, you wish that the most fantastic creature God ever created was in bed next to you, really believing that you look perfect when you wake up in the morning, wanting to do nothing but be beside you until you both of you feel like getting out of bed.

At least that's what I wish.

Where I Stand.

Psalm 146

1 Praise the LORD. ^[a]

Praise the LORD, O my soul.

2 I will praise the LORD all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

3 Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.

4 When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.

5 Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD his God,

6 the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
the LORD, who remains faithful forever.

7 He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets prisoners free,

8 the LORD gives sight to the blind,
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down,
the LORD loves the righteous.

9 The LORD watches over the alien
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but he frustrates the ways of the wicked.

10 The LORD reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the LORD.

The LORD. Still the only One worthy of our hope, our adoration, our praise.

***

My heartfelt congratulations to President-Elect Obama.

My prayers for him, his family and for our country as a whole will continue daily.

Seven Things I've Never Written About

1. In our old house, our beta fish, Boca, got used to sitting in the window all day long. He was perched there for over a year. And apparently, he loved it. But now that we're in our new place, his bowl is near the kitchen on our granite bar, all the way across the room from the nearest window. And now he wants to die. Seriously. He's been laying on his side on the glass beads at the bottom of his vase. It's pathetic. My friend Lauren told me that betas do that when they're cold. I moved him to the windowsill behind the couch today and he was happy and swimmy all day. Then the sun went down. He's back on the counter, all mopey and suicidal. We don't know what to do, except... leave him on the windowsill behind the couch??? Weird fish.

2. I've decided to try and connect my 7 things*. So... I did not listen to "cool music" when I was growing up. I wasn't really allowed to. I used to sneak and listen to KISS FM on my walkman when I woke up in the morning. Because of this, I did not really know ANYTHING about Radiohead until last year. It's not like they're my "#1 LA fave rave" but they are nice and moody sometimes and I've heard they're phenomenal in concert and I'm happy to not be ignorant of them anymore.

3. I love quoting lines from movies. A lot of times I'll do it even when nobody gets it. I taught my mother this game and she's actually become quite good at it. Once, she left the sink on in my bathroom and flooded the countertop but I forgave her immediately because she flipped a coin into my hands and said "Sorry bout the mess."

4. I am a huge Star Wars fan, but I do not own all six movies. In fact, I only own ONE on dvd. (And I have the 20th anniversary re-release of the original trilogy on VHS. In the gold Vader box.)  For the longest time, they were just too expensive. And then when the prequels were released, I figured I'd wait for the newfangled,  special-feature ridden set of six to come out. (And I think they're actually selling that now... as two sets? At Target? Maybe?) The past few years, if I feel like watching the movies when they aren't on tv, I borrow them from someone. I continue in this manner because I'm utterly convinced that my future husband already owns the movies. It would be pretty absurd if I married someone who didn't. It's a running joke now, but if you've known me for any grand length of time, this makes sense to you. In fact, you've probably heard me say it.

5. Lately, I'm pretty stressed out by the high numbers of engaged and married and pregnant people on my facebook list. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me or like I'm running behind or something. I know that's not true on either count. Those people are just on a totally different track than I am right now. And most of the time I'm okay with that. But every now and then I find myself pausing to watch their race and wondering furiously... (furious like intense, not angry.)

6. Things that make me angry include: slow drivers, cigarette smoke in my face/lungs, drug abuse, child abuse, losing things, when people get so calloused that they're content to laugh at things that aren't funny, blinking lights in a room where I'm trying to sleep, Hummers, racism, "religious people", gum stuck to plates, cold dirty water, skanks who throw themselves at guys, parents who try to be bffs with their kids instead of parenting them, The Hills and other reality shows about rich people and most popular hip-hop music of the past 3 years.

7. I've lived in Nashville for three years this June. Annnnd I'm still figuring out what I'm supposed to be doing. Crazy. But I figure as long as I figure it out in 5 years, I'm okay.

Though it would be nice to begin my second quarter of life with some direction...

Dani tagged me. I tag Joey, Brandi and Annie.

* If you totally lost me in the first few connections: Weird Fish is on the Radiohead album "In Rainbows". "#1 LA fave rave" is a That Thing You Do! reference, and "Sorry bout the mess." is a Han Solo line from Episode 4.

Truth To Power

This ficticious newspaper article is the "prologue" of the graphic novel "The Dark Knight Returns". I like it so much, I wish it was real and I had written it for the Daily Planet myself. :) Enjoy!

---

TRUTH TO POWER
by James Olson

There's this little saloon you'll find up and running and packed with patrons before most of us are ready for our morning coffee.

The joint's two subway levels beneath the streets of downtown Metropolis.

Step out at the Schuster stop on the southbound side, take two lefts, walk maybe fifteen feet and you're right on top of it.

But you could just as easily walk right past it and never know it was there.

There's no sign up. Not even a door. Just a dark hallway that looks like a good place for a murder.

Take a breath. Follow the cigarette stink and the bluesy jukebox sounds inside.

It's a tolerable little gin mill. Get there before the morning rush and you're likely to find a stool.

Your first clue that something is wrong about the place is the bartender. You'll never forget his face. He's a hulk of a guy who's seen way too much. A broken man with laser-red eyes. His forehead's a fractured cantilever, an avalanche waiting to happen. His skin's gone a little gray from its natural chartreuse.

He's got a voice like Coke bottles getting ground up under a door.

His name is Jones.

He says he's from Mars.

And nobody tells him he's nuts, not one of these sad, old barflies. It's not that they're scared of him, either.

They've seen and done things that are supposed to be impossible.

They're not the kind to out-and-out brag about being able to bench-press cars or run faster than a speeding bullet of jump up into the air and stay there. Nah. Not these guys.

These guys, they've got nothing to prove. Been there. Done that.

Except for old "Snapper" always at the same stool at the end, living up to his nickname, snapping his fingers in time to the music and rattling on and on about mighty powers, globe-spanning adventures, nefarious world conquerors, you name it.

He never stops snapping his damn fingers. And he never stops sucking back the sauce and jabbering about the old days. The glory days.

The "Golden Age" he calls it.
The age of heroes.

And all the other old farts, they grunt and nod and grumble at each other, swapping old jokes they've swapped a thousand times. Even fat, beet-red old "Penguin" chirps out a curse or two before bursting into tears.

Then they get talking. And if you've got half a brain, you listen.

They talk about amazing adventures, sounding like a bunch of retired car mechanics the whole time.

They talk about a Man of Steel. An Amazon Princess.

But they never talk about the mean one. The cruel one. The one who couldn't fly or bend steel in his bare hands. The one who scared the crap out of everybody and laughed at all the rest of us for being the envious cowards we were.

No, they never talk about him. Say his name and watch Dibny's face sag so bad his jaw hits the bar.

Not a man among them wants to hear about Batman.

Was he quietly assassinated? Or did he just decide we weren't worth the grief? The question hangs in the air for a moment or two, then Jones springs for a round for everybody and himself.

They get talking again. About the old days. The glory days.

They remember.

They were right there. In the thick of it.

Back then.

It wasn't so long ago.

We had heroes.

####

Raaawr-publican. De-meh-crat.

Can I just say that it absolutely makes my skin crawl to think of being affiliated with a political party?

I want NOTHING to do with it. Either one.*

Let me clarify.

I'm still going to vote in a couple days. But I'm just saying that in terms of everyday life, I am not, nor will I ever be, a Republican OR a Democrat. I just-- I can't think of a worse way to define myself. I know for a lot of people their affiliation is very important to them, or it's at least a part of their life that they take some pride in or find at least a pinch of identity-- but for me it's just not. I'm sorry.

I mean, I'm not sorry. I just think the whole operation is vile. It has NOTHING to do with who I am.

I believe what I believe and behave how I behave because of Jesus in my life. And I don't think my personal convictions don't have anything to do with power struggles and peer-pressure and obscene amounts of money and grown men bashing each other like savage children. I do think it's important to know where you stand on major issues. I'm actually in the process of working out in detail my personal opinions on the major controversial issues, so I can contribute to the banter whenever I come upon it. But I have a feeling, that even when I come to the end of all my discovering and locate my X&Y on the conservative-to-liberal spectrum-- I will still not be able to classify myself as a donkey or an elephant.

I'm just...

(sigh)

I am a leaf on the wind.**

I'm kidding. But seriously... call me a woman. Call me a Texan (even though I'll fight you on it. Sometimes.). Call me a writer and a font snob. Call me a biracial person. Call me a single twenty-something. Call me a Christian! (Even though I really feel like even that term has become a problem and a just casual blanket word for both hardcore followers of God as well as the gross majority of the church-going or used to go to church community... but that's another blog.) Anyway, throw me in the club with the Tall People, the Daydreamers, the Chocolate Eaters, the Occasionally Unsafe Drivers, the Sci-Fi Nerds, the Restaurant Industry People, the Bondservants Of Sallie Mae and ACS, the Only Children or the Wannabe Broadway Showfolk.

I'll own all of that.

But do not call me a Republican.
And do not ask me to define myself as a Democrat.
It's just not me.


*I know there are more than those two. But really? Come on now. Let's be serious.

**Just watch from 1:50-2:50. Or the whole thing. There's actually no spoiler.

Adele Just Slapped Me In The Face With A Piano.

Oh my goodness.

First of all, God bless iTunes celebrity playlists. I got three songs from Alicia Keys' "Secret Life of Bees" playlist tonight and they are all phenomenal. A little haunting Nina Simone (and I though Feist was the original artist of See-Line Woman. Ha!) and a little Duffy (I want her whole album now!).

But the most astonishing is this girl ADELE. 

Holy. Cow.

Her album is called 19 because she's 19. It should be called 19 and genius. Her voice is a little Norah Jones and a little Amy Winehouse... maybe even a tic Lauryn Hill. But cleaner. Lovelier. Fuller. Heartbreakingly so.

I have not been so surprised by a song since I was driving in my car and first heard John Mayer's "Dreaming With A Broken Heart". Before the song was even over, I started it over just to hear him say "Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone..." again.

Even that was a different kind of move.

This? This... I can't talk about it yet. It's too new. I'm only listening to it the third time in my life as I type this.

Just go to iTunes right now and buy the song "Make You Feel My Love" by ADELE.

Then turn it up and just-- listen. 

So. Beautiful. On so many levels. Just let it hit you where ever you are.

p.s. also, she's apparently the musical guest on SNL this weekend.

Hopefully she'll play this song. I but recommend listening to the song first, without pic or video, no anything. Just music. Go. Now.

*Learned tonight that this song is a actually a Bob Dylan cover. Also, 2 country covers of  it were featured in the movie Hope Floats. Good on all that-- but I still like this one a LOT.

Seventeen-Year Old Angst Is So Hot Right Now...

I always liked this one.

Alone With Night

(written 6-26-2001)

For disenchanted lovers

Unresolved since a bitter fight

For shattered dream and broken hearts,

It's always worst at night.

There alone, you contemplate

The flaws of humankind

You foster fears and hopeless thoughts

In a weary, lonely mind.

Distractions are invaluable

When your head is doused with worry

Dear friends and soothing music

Cast out sadness in a hurry...

But close your eyes and there he is

Not far away, yet hazy

And once again you're solitary

Making yourself crazy.

He's the same and you remember

Whether you wish to or not

You agreed that things were gonna change

But they haven't... and he's still hot.

*sigh*

Distressed minds detest the dark

From Milwaukee to Dallas

And lonely hearts wish for nights

Under *Aurora Borealis

See with the moon, comes time to think

And musings drive out sleep

Imagination rides the sky

And quiet angst flows deep.

But never should you feel alone

When the sun has ceased to light

For all lovers know, that when lovers go--

It's always worst at night.

*I think at this time, I had also just discovered and fallen in love with the movie Frequency.

Vintage Poetry

I went and got a new driver's license today. It only took me about 45 minutes, which is definitely something I would toast to if I was holding a glass of wine.

In honor/commemoration of my new DL, I present to you some vintage poetry (I discovered a whole binder full yesterday) written in frustration on the day I got my very first license. I used to write poetry when I got upset. That muse has since abandoned me.

On Attempting To Obtain A Texas Driver's License (or Mos Eisley II)

Written August 8, 2001

The DMV, The DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Take a number, wait in line.

You're 85! They're on 39.

Plastic chairs that smell like-- plastic.

People's children running spastic

Bored of the colorless, dreary fort

Filled with drivers of every sort.

Or non-drivers, who long to be,

Waiting with members of their family,

But no one tells ME they had to come!

So I show up and wait and then feel dumb.

Anyway...

This place must have been here since Abe Lincoln.

Green chairs in the bathroom? What were they thinkin?

But the seats in the lobby are blueish-teal.

And connected together. So they're harder to steal?

The clerks have all been there three hours too long

They just stamp you and sign you and move you along

But there's always one chick who thinks she runs the place

And she's snippy and obnoxiously up in your face.

You think they'd hang a sign;

"Doesn't play well with others!

Keep out solo teens and expectant mothers!"

But that'd be too nice, so they let her run free

Chewing out poor civilians, who just want some ID.

Of the years in your life, waiting takes up three,

And I bet at least one's at the DMV.

The numbers glow on the talking sign;

"Now serving 46 at counter 9."

"Please watch for your number."

"An Army Of One."

A Wanted poster.

Oh wow, this is fun.

Cell phones are ringing.

Look, no more chairs!

"Join the "REAL" Texas Rangers."

NOBODY CARES!

We all just came by to get an ID,

And to take a bad picture that no one should see.

Just in case we get sirened for running a light

The cop will have proof that we wasted daylight

Standing here in this office,

the DMV,

Wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Bat-Pack Hugs

You know how babies get fussy and you pat their backs to try and make them burp?

I HATE it when people hug me like that. With little pats in rapid succession on my back. It really makes me uncomfortable.

The only people I know who do this are older people, mostly aunts or maybe somebody's mom who you don't know very well. 

Also, people who aren't used to/don't enjoy giving and receiving hugs.

Or people who are really nervous about hugging you for whatever reason.

But I am not a fussy baby. A regular embrace will do just fine. Even just a quick one. If you're that nervous about it, you should definitely opt out of the pat-back hug and just give me a secret-handshake-style high five. 

I'm not meaning to offend bat-pack huggers-- I just don't get it. It's awkward. Can anyone explain this to me? If I've just missed something, I want to understand.

"Standing In The Shadows Of Motown"

Okay so... it's really hard for me to remember to watch things. Or be motivated to watch things.

And a lot of times, when I do get around to watching things, they still aren't worth recommending.

This is an exception. :)

I just finished this fantastic documentary. It's about a group of musicians, hand-selected by Berry Gordy (the founder of Motown Records) who became The Funk Brothers-- aka the driving force behind every major hit during the golden age of Motown.

These guys were so together, so en pointe from having played in a group for so many years, that when you listen to their tracks, you barely notice them. It's easy to take their artistry for granted because they were SO good at what they did-- being the accompaniment. They're like a machine. And they were, really. A hit machine, utilized by every major Motown artist.

Together, these 16 men are the heartbeat behind such classics as:

Do You Love Me

Heard It Through The Grapevine

Heatwave

Please, Mr. Postman

You've Really Got A Hold On Me

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Stop (In the Name of Love)

My Girl

The Way You Do The Things You Do

What's Goin On

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Ain't Too Proud To Beg

Uptight

Dancin In The Street

Shop Around

Shotgun

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted

My Guy

Jimmy Mack

Tears of A Clown

Come See About Me

Baby I Need Your Lovin

Ain't Nothin Like The Real Thing, Baby

Ain't That Peculiar

Reach Out, I'll Be There

Just My Imagination

Get Ready

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours

And many others. A lot of these hits were written in one or two hours and recorded in ONE TAKE by these incredible musicians in a studio nicknamed the Snake Pit. And you know the craziest thing???

The Funk Brothers played on more number one hits than The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys and Elvis Presley-- COMBINED.

Yet most people have never even heard of them.

Get your name OFF that list.

"Standing In The Shadows of Motown" is the documentary that tells their story. If you've ever bobbed your head to any of the songs listed above, you should check it out. It's not just a really entertaining history lesson-- the film also features are some excellent live covers performed by artists like Ben Harper, Joan Osborne, Bootsy Collins & Chaka Chan, accompanied by the Funk Bros.

So... find it and  watch it! You really should. 

It's better than most of the crap that's at Blockbuster right now.

Numbers vs. Numeros

Curious what it's like inside my mind sometimes?

This occurred to me when I woke up this morning.

When you say them in English, I feel like the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 & 10 are in the equivalent of a bicycle gang. 

One's the leader, of course. Two's the sidekick. Three is the kind, lanky kid. Four and Five are fraternal twins; one wears glasses and the other has terrible handwriting. But they both play soccer. Six is the hot chick. Eight is her bff, who's pretty and sweet, but doesn't talk as much. Nine is the smart kid. And Ten is the muscle.

But Seven is out of the loop. Seven is the outcast. Less Allison Reynolds and more John Bender-- but not as cool. Seven also talks to himself and doesn't wash his hair. Maybe he's really not a bad dude-- but the other numbers just won't give him the time of day. Dirty looks abound. Because he's different. I'd even go as far as to say that Seven is Six's little brother. But he's a liability. An annoyance. A yawning pothole in the middle of an interstate. 

But in Spanish? Different story entirely. Uno, Dos are twin boys of the Weasley variety. Amusing troublemakers.  Tres, Seis & Diez are the pretty girls who go everywhere together and laugh all the time.  Quatro, Cinco & Ocho drive fast cars and play cards, gambling their lunch money away. Siete & Nueve are artistic. They write poetry. And they probably smoke.

None of the Spanish numbers are lonely though. They might not be bff's, but they can all stand to be around each other. They're more balanced. They get along and accept that they all make each other more interesting. They don't leave anyone hanging out to dry.

I think that I've unconsciously felt this way my whole life.  

Or at least since I learned how to count in Spanish.

How did I reach these conclusions? 

I unconsciously organize numbers by how many syllables are in their names.

Does that make sense?

No wonder I suck at math.

Shoofly Shenanigans

Two weeks ago I waited on a party of two Southern ladies, aged near 50, who wanted a bottle of wine with dinner.

Well, they thought they did.

We had some summer wines on clearance for really cheap, so after they asked me what we had in terms of white zinfandel, I directed them to the clearance list. More specifically, I directed them toward a lovely, slightly sweet Australian white blend called Shoofly Buzzcut. $13 a bottle, you can't go wrong.

They went for it.  So I bring them the bottle, do my wine service thing and pour a taste for the hostess. Despite their love of *PDW, these ladies appeared to be fairly sweet and respectable and filled with common sense. Which is why I was understandably startled when upon tasting the wine, the hostess uttered, "Well, it's not really very sweet, but we could just put some sweetener in it." 

She was grinning at me... 

Surely you jest, lady. SURELY. You jest.

I laughed it off.

Please tell me why 10 minutes later, this woman has the AUDACITY to flag down one of the other servers and ask for a sugar caddy.

I caught her right in the act, inches from the Sweet & Low and took the caddy right out of MaryKate (the other server)'s hand.

"Ma'am," I began, as Disgusted, Wildly Amused and Bewildered waged a full scale war in my head, "I can bring you a big glass of Sprite and some ice cubes and make a spritzer for you, but this will absolutely ruin your wine."

"Oh... okay, that'll be nice. That's fine."

*smile* "Mmhmm."

I brought them a huge glass of Sprite and another of ice and mixed drinks right at the table. They still barely touched them, throughout dinner. At the end of the meal, they asked to take the rest of the bottle home-- probably to do horrible, ungodly things to the contents.

Never. In my life.

I am NO wine snob.

But NEVER in my life.

And hopefully never again.

Though it is a damn funny story.  :)

*PDW- Pink Disco Wine. Saffire's bar abbreviation for White Zinfandel.

When Did I Become Grown Up Enough To...

... have friends in jail?

... decide to buy organic bread and vegetables?

... owe $80,000?!?!?

... worry about how much gasoline costs?

... call an exterminator?

... say cuss words in appropriate context?

... have two married exes and friends with children?

... stay on a budget?

... be given charge over a friend's important personal business while he is away?

... see my Grandmother begin to forget?

... be a bridesmaid?

... buy a plane ticket and fly across the country by myself?

... not come home until 2 in the morning?

... babysit drunk people?

... know, love and or work alongside a bunch of gypsies, tramps and thieves?

... vote?

... realize that I don't really want to vote... but know that I should anyway?

Things That Make Me Lame

(Thanks, Brandi.)

I can't ever watch Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey without crying.

I have written fanfiction. More than once.

*I'm currently collaborating with a very talented artist on an original comic book/graphic novel.

I love dressing up. Not in nice clothes, in costumes. I would do it all the time if I could. I get really disappointed when people don't want to be anything for Halloween.

Every now and then, in my car (or my house) I conduct along with film scores so intensely that you'd think I composed the piece myself.

Despite my general apathy toward the "series"-- I really think I want to see High School Musical 3 in the theater. Because somehow, I understand the hype and the madness. Completely. And I'm pretty sure that if I was 14, I'd have a wild, mad obsession with Zac Efron.

*This only makes me SEEM lame to some people. Anyone with sense understands that because the story is such a good idea, this actually makes me awesome.

Day-By-Day Play-By-Play

Today, I spent my entire morning doing silly grown up things; Rearranging bank accounts, cutting off water service, changing my address on things, tending to my vile student loans, figuring out where to get my oil changed and emailing people who are supposed to give me writing work.

As I made my way through the tyranny of forms and deadlines, I listened to the baby triceratopses thundering about. (apparently there are 2 of them. male. both 18. and a mother as well who works at the police station. Last night, we waited, shrouded in hoodies and frustration, and confronted her when she finished walking the dog. She was surprisingly not surprised to hear the complaint and promised she'd get onto them for being noisy when they play their video games... AT 3AM.) But they're rather silent tonight, thank the Lord.

*"WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?!?!"

(*This is Holly's new catchphrase. She rolls down her window and yells it at teenagers who are in her way while she's driving. I mean, sometimes they're not even in the way... but it's still really funny.)

After the grown up things... well, really before them, I read a book. Sold by Patricia McCormick. Very realistic and relevant YA Fic Lit. It's about a 13 year old Nepalese girl who is sold by her stepfather into the sex trade in India. The whole heartbreaking story is written from her perspective, in tiny chapters that are more like diary entries. I knocked it out in about two hours. Excellent book, very well written and story captivatingly told. I hope they're actually reading it in schools and talking about it, making kids aware that people their own age are living across the world, going through unimaginable horrors.

Finishing the book made me late in finishing my writing, which made me late getting ready for work, but... oh well! It was worth it.

Got to work at 4 and before shift started, Stephen made a pasta that I wasn't super keen to try because it was wicked spicy. But he brought it up to the bar where I was, and when I inquired what it was, he nudged it toward me. "No, it's okay..." I said. He nudged it closer. "Try it," he says "I'd push it with my nose, but that could get messy... and there aren't any meatballs in it anyway."

Outwardly, I grinned. Inwardly, I melted. Just a little.  :) Oh, and the pasta was good. But spicy.

Tonight was the weekly wine tasting and it went well. Holly brought part of her cast from the ship and they had a good time. The wines were meh but the company was good.

THEN, after snagging some Wendy's on the way home, I walked into my darkened room, turned the light on, walked around for 10 minutes before coming face to face with the biggest cricket/grasshopper hybrid abomination I have ever seen. I usually have an eye for stuff like that, but this thing was perched on my wall for at least ten minutes before I noticed him. With his legs all spread out and his giant antennae all tweeched, he would barely have fit inside a Livestrong bracelet. Freaking huge nasty thing.

I'm really girly about bugs, y'all. I do NOT play. [Bugs--] Do not come in my house and force me to deal with you, it will be SO ugly for both of us.

I don't mind creeping bugs as much as I mind jumping/flying bugs that could zoom into your face if you try to sneak up and smash them. It's the not knowing that freaks me out! You cannot anticipate which way they'll dart or fly into your mouth or jump onto you and bite you or taint you or have babies on your skin.

Y'all. I spent 15 minutes. Staring at this bug. For part of the time, I had a Converse in one hand and a flip flop in the other. The rest of the time, (when I decided that smashing would be far too messy and scary) I had a plastic tupperware container and a hardback book, ready to deal with this creature somewhat humanely.

But then... I couldn't get close to it. And I knew if it jumped I would scream and wake up Jo... so I figured it'd be okay to go and wake her up anyway. She'd only been sleeping for like... maybe an hour?

:) "It's okay." I told myself. "You need her. She'll understand."

I crept over to her door.

"Jo?" I said quietly. 

"Jo!" I whispered sharply. 

"Mmmf."

"Jo?!"

No reply.

I opened the door. Jo is mostly passed out. At least an hour's drive through dreamland.

"Jo... there's a giant bug in my room. I'm going to kill it, but I'm probably going to make a lot of noise so... I'm sorry."

"What?!"

I repeated myself... and Jo, like the fabulous roommate she is, rolled out of bed and tromped down to my room to be moral support. She laughed at my tupperware and my book and my shoes and told me to just catch the thing and put it outside.

Ooo, I was scared. But I did it! Sort of.

I covered the bug with the tupperware. I did. But as soon as I did, he jumped-- and I thought I'd missed him and therefore thought he was gonna get ON me and so promptly shrieked and dropped the entire operation on the ground, freeing the abomination. It cozied up next to my printer cable on the ground.

My whole back hurt for a second from the adrenaline release. Not kidding.

(I've been laughing out loud as I'm writing this, just so you know. I'm aware of the fact that I'm ridiculous.)

But this actually created a fairly advantageous situation for me. I poked the bug with a coat hanger until it moved far enough away from the cables for me to spray it with Raid. Yup! "I fogged his Yeti ass!" Sure did! :) Then the cleanup. My other least favorite part. I hate seeing the freshly dead bug and I hate if I have to feel it crunch between my fingers. No sir. So forcing myself to look at his little corpse, I finally scooped him up on a piece of cardboard, and carried him gingerly to a swirly watery grave. 

And this whole process? Half an hour. Easy.

Hope YOUR day is awesome.  :)

Casa Nuevo!!!

I am in my new apartment.

I'm writing this tucked away in the corner of the master bedroom. MY bedroom. I've not had the big room in two years, it's a nice change. Everything's organized, I know exactly what I have, it's a good feeling.

Our kitchen appliances are new. Black. Shiny. Pristine. They smell like plastic. They are lovely and fantastic and convienient and I am highly protective of them. And the whole kitchen was broken in properly by a talented saute chef, who made brunch for me and Jo the morning after the move. :)

There's a car washing station down the block. 

Our pool/hot tub are open year round. 

Our street is called Ambiance Way.

And we're literally 4 minutes from the highway, as opposed to the 20 we were at the other place. Steak N Shake, Publix, Starbucks, Backyard Burger-- all at our fingertips. Cool Springs? Just down the interstate. It's all really quite lovely.

Except our upstairs neighbor is... how do I say this politely...

Like a triceratops. 

A very restless, potato chip filled one, covered in concrete and tied to a trailer filled with rabid cattle who paces his apartment DAILY until the wee small horas de la dia. If I had a potato gun, I'd probably shoot him with it. He is at the top of a list I never wanted to make: People I Have Never Met Who I Cannot Stand.

Other than that? It's fantastic.

I'm gonna go make some spaghetti. :)

I know it's VAL'S birthday and not mine...

But I'm just saying... someone should probably buy me this shirt.

I don't even care that it's yellow. :)

Vague

There's nothing quite so frustrating as being misunderstood.

Fortunately, today was a really good remedy for that. :)

Also, I've been co-working on a new project that I'm really getting infatuated with. 

I hope one day to tell you all about it. :)

"It's not in my nature to be mysterious... but I can't talk about it, and I can't talk about why."

Swaggers & Such

You know you're really getting to know someone when you can barely make out their face and form in your periphery, but you recognize their stride. It's really pretty cool. I've worked at my restaurant for over a year now and we do quite a bit of striding, especially down the main aisle. Sometimes I'm focused on one thing, like polishing glasses, but I'll see someone coming-- even sort of feel their approach. And we're all-- kitchen and front of house staff alike-- dressed in black, so the past few months, I've been averting my eyes to their footsteps and their pace and the way they carry themselves, and trying to guess who's coming up behind me or passing me before I look up. Some are easier than others to distinguish... maybe because there are some that I watch more than others... but it keeps me somewhat entertained anyway.

Currently Reading: The Screwtape Letters & The Dark Knight Returns

Currently Listening: Consolers of the Lonely- The Raconteurs & the Newsies soundtrack

Currently Watching: Finished Firefly & Serenity and thinking it's high time I caught up with *Smallville.

*I was speaking of the tv show, Dr. B. But I hope you're doing splendidly as well. :)

Things That Would Be Oddly Satisfying That Probably Will Not Happen

• Going to a nice restaurant where the table is set for dinner, complete with wine and water glasses and six kinds of flatware... then pretending to be really appalled by the meal, jumping up and turning the table over. Like flipping. The entire table. Then storming out.

• Playing a character who dies heroically (right after admitting to true love and singing a killer "death ballad") on a Broadway stage.

• Slapping a really obnoxious person on a power trip with a huge, cold, disgusting fish. (Seriously. Take a moment. Choose a person. And imagine how incredible this would be.)

• Reading everything ever written by C.S. Lewis. (This will probably take up at least half of my life.)

• Dating a superhero. Long term.

• Writing a blog entry everyday. (But I might really try this. At least for a month.)

Walt Disney Set Me All Askew.

Ariel never faced a moral dilemma about whether or not to date Prince Eric based on his religious views. Hell, she dated one dude and got married after like 5 days. There wasn't even time for inter-relationship drama to occur.

Charming didn't have to deal with any of Cinderella's co-workers or ex-boyfriends comin around and gettin in their business. Also Charming wasn't an alcoholic. Nor did he have a gambling problem.

Jasmine didn't have to worry about Aladdin's mother putting words in his mouth or poisoning him against her. Granted, his mom was dead... but there were also no older brothers or sisters or estranged fathers to deal with either.

The Beast had a lot of bad habits... but none of them involved illegal, mind-altering substances.

In fact, none of the Disney princes had ever been married before. None of them had crazy exes or superfluous children lolling about from past failed relationships. They were pristine. And for ranging in age from about 17 to 25, also all appeared to be incredibly level-headed multi-taskers.

Not to mention the fact that they actually went after the women they wanted... and the fact that NONE of them went to university, and therefore NONE of them had to deal with their fiancee's ever-accruing student loans.

Someone should make a fairy tale for now. One where the Princess is 27 and single, still freaking paying off her semester abroad. Trying to live right, but keeps getting caught up in dead end relationships, so she doesn't know how to maintain or even recognize one with true lasting potential. And the Prince is like 32, and divorced. A good guy-- just a little misguided and unmotivated from lack of accountability in his life. But then they meet and they hit it off, and she burns him some cd's and he gets her to quit smoking, and THEN-- after she gets doubtful and tries to leave before she gets hurt, and after he fights past his fear of falling in love-- they have a giant fight, and then there's a giant apology and a fantastic kiss and the last wedding either of them will ever have.

Or something like that.

Space Cowboys

Wash: Psychic? Really? That sounds like something out of science fiction!

Zoe: We live on a spaceship, dear.

Wash: Yeah. So?

Today, I finished watching Firefly. And like every other fan, I can't for the life of me figure out why that show got canceled. Even if it couldn't pull a mainstream audience, SciFi or somebody should have picked it up!

The writing is rutting fantastic. :)

And I have the movie too, no worries. I'll be watching it as soon as I have 2 hours.

If you're nerdy at all, I highly recommend it. Just make sure you watch at least 3 episodes before you give up on it. Two should do the trick. But three for sure.

Raindrops of Conciousness

Please go see Hancock. It's brilliant. I loved it.

Hulk was good too. But I liked Hancock better. 

I really want to be a superhero. Or marry one.

Also, there's a squirrel in my house. Living. In the wall between me and Holly's room.

Not. Right.

I have a developed a penchant for blended wine. South African and South American, specifically.

And I've decided that when I finally get to cast my musical, I'm not just going to cast good singers. I'm going to cast storytellers. People who can get completely caught up in the world I've written, become the characters and tell their stories passionately and genuinely. 

Also, I love my Hurley hoodie, and I want to get my teeth cleaned.

"Been away for awhile now..."

What can I say? I've been a little preoccupied.

To catch you up a bit, a few weeks ago, I went to California. I stayed with Emily, one of my bff's from high school. I went to the San Diego Zoo & The Wild Animal Park. I went to Encinitas for the switchfoot Bro-Am Surfing competition. I heard my favorite band play on the Moonlight Beach... and then at the Belly-Up Tavern where I was delighted to watch them again from the front row (there are an obscene number of pictures on facebook). I went to Old Town. I ate really good pizza and fish and Mexican food. I bought a hat that I love and wore a hoodie and flip flops pretty much every day. I went surfing in La Jolla and loved every chilly, salty, overwhelming moment of it. I even got to wear my Roxy rashguard*(which I bought like maybe 4 years ago, just in case) under my wetsuit and break it in properly. I went to Orange County. I stayed with my roommate and met her fiance. I ate awesome sushi in Laguna Beach. I frequented the same lovely coffeeshop for 5 days. I laid on the beach in San Clemente. I went to LA and stood in Gene Kelly & Harrison Ford's footprints. I went to the biggest music store I've ever seen. I saw Turk Molloy walking down the street on his cell phone. I went kayaking and it was amazing. I took Dani & Adam's engagement pictures at the Mission in San Juan Capistrano.

Also, I went surfing. Did i mention that? Because I did. :)

In short-- as far as inland living goes, I still love Nashvegas. But for the coastal way of life? I don't think the Pacific Ocean can be beat. Glorious. I'm excited for our reunion in January. :)

*just learned, while in Cali, what it was called and now I'm being a snob about it. ;)

Life Canon

Like ten polaroids in a line. No labels, no explanations. Just ten snapshots of ten paradigm shaping works, significant to you as an individual. They'll take the form of albums, stories, film and words. Just no people. No sacred texts. And no specific hierarchy.

Think about it long (or short) enough and the works will occur to you. 

I found the idea, via Brandi on The River Merchant blog.

I thought that was interesting.

So I gave it a shot.

Since it must speak for itself, here it is, as of today, in the order it occurred to me, off the top of my head.

Rent

Johnathan Larson 

Jesus Freak

dcTalk 

Mere Christianity

C.S. Lewis

Lord of the Rings 

J.R.R. Tolkien / Peter Jackson

Star Wars 

George Lucas

Wild At Heart

John Eldredge

Nothing Is Sound

switchfoot

Les Miserables

Victor Hugo/Cameron Mackintosh

LOST

JJ Abrahams, Damon Lindelof, Carlton Cuse

The Beautiful Letdown

switchfoot

Three Things

Today was the Main Street Festival in Franklin. There was nowhere to park, tons of carnie food and puppies and wee children and booths full of things that no one really needs, but are fun to look at. It was fabulous. I ate funnel cake and got a henna tattoo on my hand.

Also, I've recently noticed that my life is ruled by post-it notes. There are 13 in the vicinity of where I am, here on my bed. They are my GPS, my PDA and my address book. They are also all over my car. Every time I write down directions to a new place, I keep the post-it in the car in case I need to go there again. (I usually don't.)

When I was in about 9th grade? I think? My best friend introduced me to a movie that has seriously impacted my life. In addition to being my second favorite movie of all time, That Thing You Do is maybe the *second most quotable movie of all time. I love it. It is so incredibly happy and amazing. I've seen it about eleventybillion times and I'm horrible to watch it with because I can quote it front to back-- and usually do.

But the best part about this particular flick is the fact that somehow, through the past 10 years of my life (It's been ten years since I started high school... weird!) God has placed people IN my life in very close proximity who understand the greatness of this movie and want to quote it with me all the time. Chelsea started it (well, I suppose Brandi really started it), Jordan (and Taylor) joined in, Val picked it up after I moved to Abilene, and now? There's my roommate, Joanna.

I'm so grateful for those guys. 

Even though I'm not here with 'em. 

I've got a pig in competition over at the livestock pavilion, 

and I am gonna win that blue ribbon!

"Come on, pretty baby! Put your little hand in mine..."

*This could be heavily debated, but I'm putting it second only to The Princess Bride. Mostly because I don't feel like thinking about it any further right now.