Waiting

It's nearly 6pm. After a day of baking, wrapping, listening to Lessons and Carols from Kings College, Cambridge, and not getting out of pajamas (save for a last-second run to the grocery store--mayday! where are the tomatoes for the minestrone soup?!), we're in the quiet hours before everything begins.

It's our usual Christmas Eve routine. Dad is at the church for the early family service. Mom and G are napping.  In an hour or so, Dad will get home, we'll have our traditional Christmas Eve supper of soup, salad, and bread, and we'll get dressed for the church--my favorite service, my favorite two hours of the whole year.

But for now, it's quiet in the house. The presents are wrapped. The fire is lit. The table is set. We're ready.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Thursday miscellany

So. Hi. I'm recovering from a cold.  I'm sniffly and rather...gurgly? I guess that's the word I'd use.  Gross, but descriptive.  


*****
How awesome was Gwyneth on Glee the other night? I was impressed. For someone so seemingly aloof and unrelatable (have you SEEN her website, Goop? She says things like, "Now if you're unsure where to get powdered truffles for this recipe, I recommend popping on down to your local organic French food market.  My favorite is on the corner of Rue du Blah blah and the Champs-Elysees."), she was an utterly hilarious guest star--with a surprisingly excellent voice. It was the inclusion of the timeless "Conjunction Junction" and her Mary Todd Lincoln impression that put it over the edge for me.


*****
Well, Wills is getting married. Another dream crushed. I received a text message from Monica, my high school best friend (with whom I reconnected over the summer), on Tuesday night, saying "I wish we could be together at this devastating time."

*****

One week from now, I'll be visiting the DeJ side of the family in Georgia for Thanksgiving. Can. Not. Wait.

Autumn in New York

So. I literally started this post a month ago. At that point, we had just had SEVEN CONCERTS in EIGHT DAYS for work, oh my aching head, and the week before that I had made a quick getaway to visit Jules and Michael in Ithaca, NY. It was a whirlwind trip, and I had two requests: apples and fall leaves.

History repeating

My five-year college reunion was last night, and I got suckered into going by some passive-aggressive peer pressure and, most importantly, the fact that it was at the pub directly across the street from my apartment. I had absolutely no excuse to avoid it, and – as one is – I was mildly interested to see who showed up. Alumni events have a tradition of being sparsely attended, but a respectable number of people had RSVP’d, so I girded my proverbial loins and registered.


Judging by this one – being my first reunion and all – these things are fun for about the first hour. You see people you haven’t seen in five years, meet a few “new” ones (or, well, you’re apparently new to them, despite the fact that you saw them at the dining hall daily for four years), track down the few people you do care about seeing, and reminisce with the smattering of fellow Londoners from your semester abroad. That all takes an hour or so. And then suddenly it’s nearly three hours since you arrived and you’re with your usual friends at your usual table at your neighborhood pub with the musician playing his usual lineup of songs (various Irish tunes, “Hey Jude,” “Sweet Caroline,” “Country Roads,” and that one Irish song that you’ve never quite learned the words to, but it involves clapping and gets your London friends hollering, all “Hey! Guys! Remember this from Killarney?!"). And then you’re ready to go home.


The thing about reunions is that nothing has changed. The Mean Girls (specifically, a Bert-and-Ernie pair with the same first name and last names both beginning with “McK”) are still the Mean Girls. The old social groups start to reemerge, separating like oil and water, once the novelty of “Hey, I remember you!” has worn off. The two guys who wrote point/counterpoint pieces for the campus paper are in intense discussion at the bar, one with a beer and the other with a martini (dirty, two olives), one now writing for the Washington Post and the other a former Giuliani staffer. The clingy guy you tried desperately to avoid for four years (and still do, occasionally, when you spot him on the Metro) inevitably appears at your elbow, and one by one, people around you “spot friends across the room” or “need another drink” and flee. It’s all weirdly, yet unsurprisingly, the same.


Except that Mean Girl #2 has gained 15 pounds. So, you know, small victories.

Um....thanks? I think?

On Friday evening I was out to dinner with my grandparents, who were in town for a short visit.  We were having a lovely discussion about the arts or our family or the memorial service at which my grandfather was to eulogize the next day, when, out of the blue, I received a text message from my friend Ashley.  Ash's husband Jason is....well, I don't think it's a stretch to say that he's a fan of me.  As evidenced by this:


So Jason and I were just discussing the new show on TLC, "Sister Wives,"** and he says to me 'I wish Hannah could just move to Saint Louis and I would become a polygamist.'


How do you resume talking about funerals after that?


After some thought, I decided to take it as flattery, rather than a sign that I should invest in some Mace. And after further thought, I decided to share it with all of you, because it cracked me the heck up.


**This show looks horrifying, by the way.  

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did any of you read the old design/lifestyle magazine Blueprint? Or, when it (sadly) went out of print, Domino? Which then folded itself, after only a year or so? Well, I did, and I adooored them. I don't think I looked forward to any other magazine before or since the way I anticipated those. I saved all of them and still pull them off the shelf occasionally --where they are lovingly filed in a magazine box covered carefully with decorative paper (the editors would be so proud!)--when I need inspiration.


But today, this momentous day of days, I found something. that made my heart leap with glee (or "leep," as I first typed it in a delirious fervor of joy):


www.anthologymag.com


It's NEW. It's a PRINT publication. (I love my blogs, but there's just something about that glossy paper....) It looks SO MUCH like it's in the vein of Blueprint and Domino. I could not be more excited. And, yes, it's quarterly and kind of unbelievably expensive for a magazine, but I don't care! I am subscribing straightaway, forthwith, immediately! Or whatever.

100 cats in IKEA (not a metaphor)

Like cats? (Perhaps.) Like IKEA?  (Obviously. Who doesn't like IKEA?)  Then please enjoy this utterly pointless and yet completely awesome video.

The most wonderful time of the year

No, not Christmas, though that's pretty excellent, too. I'm talking about fall. I love fall. Looooovvvvve. For a number of reasons, among them mild days, crisp nights, Tennessee football, scarves and sweaters, pumpkin spice lattes (which, not caring for lattes, I've never actually tried, but they SOUND delicious), and the onset of boot weather. I bought new fall boots three weeks ago, and it's killing me that I can't wear them yet.


But last week, the weather started to turn here in DC. It was over 90 degrees again this week, but instead of the oppression of summer, the humidity remained at bay, and it still felt as though the end was in sight.  Fall is, indeed, imminent.


I've spent the last couple of weeks wrestling my calendar in an attempt to shoehorn a few weekend trips in amongst the work-related symphony concerts, jazz shows, and piano recitals. Among the destinations: home to Tennessee for a football game at my high school alma mater's brand new stadium; a quick trip to upstate New York to glimpse the autumn leaves and perhaps go apple pickin' with Jules; and a solo jaunt to New York City to catch a few shows and maybe see an old high school friend. Last weekend was spent in West Virginia with my sister, featuring a bit of shopping, visiting with my cousin and grandparents, and watching hours and hours of Sports Night episodes and DVD extras.  (However, despite the fact that the US Open was on, we watched NO tennis, much to G's great joy.)


Hopefully all these trips will work out, but if not, I'll be content here in DC.  The summers are brutal, but Washingtonians are rewarded by beautiful, glorious falls. Stay tuned...

Gotta cut loose, footloose

In my first life (or, well, until I turned ten), I was a dancer. Not a particularly good one, mind you, but I did my best.  I no longer harbor dreams of dancing with Baryshnikov on the Metropolitan Opera House stage, but I do still like to shake my tailfeathers now and again, usually within the confines of my living room, and occasionally while watching the "Shake and Shimmy Edition" DVD of Hairspray. (They teach you the choreography! It's awesome!  I'll do "Ladies' Choice" right now, if you want to see it.)


Anyway, if you like dancing and/or dance-related movies, as I do, then I bet you'll like this.







After two viewings I've identified clips from:


Flashdance
Dirty Dancing
White Nights
Footloose
Saturday Night Fever
Singin' in the Rain (and several other Gene Kelly-related clips)
Step Up
Step Up 2: The Streets
Mary Poppins
Kill Bill
West Side Story
Moulin Rouge
Jay and Silent Bob
A movie featuring Jamie Lee Curtis, John Travolta, and terrible 80s leotards, which I've identified as a film called Perfect
American Pie
Grease
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
Billy Elliot
What I think is Titanic
Strictly Ballroom
Phantom of the Opera
Something with Michael Jackson
High School Musical
Happy Feet
Save the Last Dance
Honey
Mamma Mia!
What I think is The Mask of Zorro
Coyote Ugly
Austin Powers
A Knight's Tale


Most surprising? The recent Steve Carell-starring remake of Get Smart.
Most surprising omission: Where the heck is Center Stage?!


There are a number of clips I couldn't identify, but take a look, folks. What did I miss?

He's baaa-aaack!

$%&*%#$!! 

It's back.

The mouse, that is. 

It want scampering across the living room floor, straight into the closet, as I watched The Closer last night.  The closet WHERE A TRAP IS ALREADY SET, WITH PEANUT BUTTER AND EVERYTHING.  JUST IN CASE.  The trap did not catch it. (Me, aloud: "What kind of cheap-ass trap IS this?!")

This time, however, I stayed calm.  I was only paralyzed for maybe two minutes, rather than twenty.  I did not summon reinforcements.  I did not hightail it to get traps.  (I did, however, put on my boots.  The calmness would've promptly disappeared if the interloper had gone dashing across my foot.)

This time, it wasn't so gross.  Having more of a profile view of the mouse, rather than birds-eye, it looked more like Stuart Little than a yicky gray rodent.  It was more of a gleeful scamper than a surreptitious scurry.

Then I started wondering whether this was the same mouse who made the brief appearance last fall or a different one.  Which would be better, less creepy/gross?  Is my apartment just a waystation on a rarely-used rodent Underground Railroad?  Or is one mouse (ONE MOUSE.  Not a family of mice.) residing in a cozy mouse-house under the floor somewhere?  I can't decide which I'd prefer.

Anyway, at some point I shall go retrieve more traps and set them all over the damn apartment.  But for now, I may be residing with a mouse.  God help us all.  

Friday roundup

I'm on deadline and consequently just a tad busy today, but I thought you might enjoy these two excellent posts popped up in my Google Reader:

Over at Finejulery, Jules reflects on what we were up to four years ago yesterday--marrying off our bestie Ash out in yonder Missouri.

At Camels and Chocolate, intrepid travel writer Kristin's weekly Photo Friday post explores one of my favorite parts of East Tennessee: historic Jonesborough, where our family first lived when we moved to Tennessee 25 or so years ago.  

Happy Friday, everyone!

Old friends, bookends...

June was a busy month, beginning with my cousin Carissa's high school graduation and ending with a week in the North Carolina mountains and my cousin Elliott's wedding near Atlanta, plus a whole lot of work-related stuff thrown in there in the middle.  And aside from all the festivities with both sides of my extended family, I managed to shoehorn in some quick visits with some old friends.

**********

In North Carolina, I reconnected, pretty much by accident, with my old pal Sarah Ellen.  We were camp friends who saw each other for exactly six days each year during a church music week we attended with our families from the time we were tiny until we graduated from high school.  We kept in touch for a while, but as life progressed, we lost touch.  In recent years I scoured Facebook--no luck--and Googled her periodically, but got nowhere.  But I ran into her sister at music week this year, and lo and behold, Sarah Ellen was coming up later in the week!  And wow, was it good to see her--reunited after a full ten years.

Reunited, and it feels so good

**********

Mo was my best friend in high school.  She was a year older, and when she graduated and headed off to the University of Tennessee--along with a sizable majority of my other good friends--I was a bit lost.  Her family moved to New York City partway through college, making visiting opportunities limited, but we were a regular presence in each other's email and voicemail boxes, I was her maid of honor when she married her awesome husband Justin, and we remained close.  A few years ago, Mo and Justin had a baby, and somehow our friendship sort of....fizzled.  I don't remember exactly how or why. Suddenly, it had been nearly four years since we'd had any contact, though I'd thought about her many times in the interim, and it just seemed stupid.  

I have this theory that there comes a point in your life where you sort of stop making new friends. Not stop entirely, as though you suddenly become a hermit and don't meet new people, but there comes a point where you're done making those BEST friend kinds of people--the ones who remember when you cracked a raw egg on your head in front of 60 of your sixth grade peers, or with whom you spent an evening rinsing orange juice out of an entire suitcase of clothing in your hotel room at senior band clinic, or who suffered through countless nights of fire alarms with you in college.  The ones for whose weddings you'll travel to random midwestern towns, requiring a layover, a rental car, and multi-night hotel stays. Those are the people with whom you develop a friendship shorthand, and there comes a point where starting those kinds of relationships becomes rare. (Or maybe it's only me.  If so and I'm just antisocial, please, let me live with this delusion. It'll be better for everyone.)

Anyway, based on this theory, it seemed like letting one of those people go without a fight was a pretty dumb idea.  Mo lives a mere four hours away from me.  In a city where part of my family lives.  There was no excuse. This could not, nay, WOULD not, go on.

So, a few days before I went to Pittsburgh for Carissa's graduation, I sent an exploratory Facebook message.  How about, say, lunch?  She was game.  And so, on my way back to DC after graduation events, I made a detour.  And voila!

Old friends, plus one

Mo and Justin met me for brunch, I met their hilarious son, and we caught up on as much of the last few years as we could cover over a two-hour meal.  A month later, I got a two-word response to some comment on my Facebook page and burst into laughter.  It wasn't anything outwardly funny, but there was that friendship shorthand again, sending me straight back to high school and our hijinks in the French horn section of the wind ensemble.

How I spent my summer vacation

Home sweet beach house

View from the porch

Sun, sand, somethin' to read

Stormy weather

Sebastian?

Pity the fool who tries to breach those defenses.  (We did not build this.)

Cousin Caroline came down for the day from Charleston.

No caption needed

Beach. Books. (Battlestar Galactica.)

Last night, I commenced my official pre-beach countdown, because as of next Sunday evening, that is where I will be for a week, along with my parents, grandparents, G, and G’s boyfriend Ryan.   It can’t come soon enough. 

For many people, a week at the beach includes activities like spending hours in the sun, perhaps some fishing, maybe the consumption of quantities of frosty beverages.  Mom, Grandma, and G usually have some sort of project going on—painting or necklace-making or knitting or what-have-you.  My dad and my grandfather nap a lot.  As Dad says, “The biggest decision I have to make today is whether I should read now and nap later, or nap now and read later.”  Many books are read.  Many games of Michigan rummy are played.  Many of Dad's made-to-order milkshakes are consumed.

I, however, take the reading thing to a whole other level.  The whole point of the beach is to see how many books I can devour in a week, and a highlight of my summer is the careful cultivation of my beach-reading pile, stocked through leisurely ambles through the stacks at the library and the perusal of summer reading lists compiled by everyone from the New York Times to NPR to Entertainment Weekly to Glamour.  Unless Harry Potter is involved (or, God help me, A Suitable Boy), I tend to average one book a day. 

As such, I’ve been assembling on my beach-reading pile for the last two weeks, requesting books from the library; monitoring waiting lists in the hopes that the 17 other people in D.C. who are ahead of me on the list for The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake will, I don’t know, get tired of waiting and buy it (which I refuse to do) or for SOMEONE to return How Did You Get This Number, because I’ve been #1 on the waiting list for three weeks; perusing the catalog for audio books on cassette (because Lola is old school and doesn’t have a CD player) for the endless hours on I-81.  But that’s necessary when I spend an entire week moving from here...

… to here … 

... to here … 

...to here … 

... to here. 

Usually with this ...

or this.

It is glorious. 

Anyway, suffice to say that the countdown has begun, the book pile currently numbers 11, and I’m itching to load up Lola and hit the road.  Unless… does anybody know of a flight from D.C. to Charleston, SC that doesn’t cost $500?  Or some frequent flyer miles that they’d like to unload?  Because that would be excellent, too.

Let's talk about babies!

Apparently many women experience this thing where they have a sort of, I don't know, yearning for a baby.  Like they see babies and feel their biological clocks ticking or whatever.  While I would like children someday, I do not have that Baby Need.  


Show me a golden retriever, however, or any commercial involving dogs, and I immediately start googling animal shelters.  I want every big dog I see, all the time.  I nearly ran a red light on Monday because I was distracted by a pair of Great Danes walking down Wisconsin Ave.  And I cannot get enough of this commercial, which I tried to embed, but it's showing up ginormous: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krBOmq7c4BI&feature=player_embedded


I LOVE IT.  Anyway. To recap: I want a dog now.  I want babies later.  


But then today, I did this: 

That's Emma, brand new daughter of my dear friends Ryan and Becky.  She was born yesterday at noon, and I went to the hospital over my lunch break today to visit.  And I tell ya what, I could hold her all day long.  I considered smuggling her out in my purse, though I would've been caught, because the nurses check visitors' bags on the way out.


So I've amended my previous statement: I want a dog now, but I am available to snuggle or otherwise entertain your baby any time.  Dogs, too.  You know where to find me.

Having my (Fabergé egg) cake and eating it, too

So.  A month or so ago I promised to tell you about Opera Ball, so I suppose it’s about time I do that, eh?


Anyway, Opera Ball was on May 21.  It was my sixth one, which…I KNOW, right?  Six seems like so long ago, like, I used to be able to say “Six years ago I had braces,” or “Six years ago I fell off the carousel at Six Flags and broke my camera.” Those occurred in 1994-95 and 2000 respectively, thus no longer fitting the “six years” requirement…. Where was I?  Oh yes.  My point is that although I only worked for the Opera for three of those balls, for some reason they keep inviting me back.  Possibly because I am Reliable and A Hard Worker.  Also Very Fun To Have Around, as well as a Kick-Ass Dancer.  And modest, obviously.


This year, though, I didn’t attend as a volunteer.  I was a guest!  On the list and everything!  Technically, yes, I was the plus-one of one of my old coworkers, Ryan, who as a member of the company’s senior staff was an invited guest.  I was not required to guard a punchbowl or anything for the evening, so I considered it a win nonetheless.


Opera Ball is always an unbelievable, over-the-top amazing event, but this year took the proverbial cake.  The Russian ambassador hosted, and there was an old world glamour this year that the previous five, at least, lacked.  On the outside, the embassy is an austere, gray block, but inside it looks like the Winter Palace (I mean, I would imagine, not having been to Russia), with tall ceilings, sweeping staircases, and a huge, tapestry-laden ballroom.  It was magnificent.  Most years a huge tent is erected out behind the embassy residence to accommodate the main ball venue, but not so at the Russian embassy—because it has a BALLROOM.  For, you know, balls. Like this one. 

Gleek!

It's a rare occasion when I miss Glee in its regularly-aired time slot, and not only because it's my #1 Appointment Television program (how else will I have my Glee quote-of-the-week ready for Facebook the next day? People depend on me!).  No, the problem is that once I've missed it, I can barely accomplish anything the next day until I've seen it.  Plus, I have to institute a personal media blackout in the intervening hours so as not to spoil any key twists or plot points.  (Imagine having glimpsed Brittany's hilarious lobster headpiece before seeing it in action on the Gaga episode.  Inconceivable!)  And then I count down the hours until lunch, when I can hunker down in my office and get my fix on Hulu.

All this is to say that I missed Glee last night because I was at the opera (Hamlet, by Ambroise Thomas), which reminds me that I still need to write about Opera Ball, which was the weekend before last at the Russian Embassy.  And holy vodka and caviar, Batmansky!  It was ah-mazing.

So anyway....more to come!  Probably next week when I've returned from Pittsburgh and cousin C's graduation.

Daunted

These are next on my to-read list.  I am slightly freaked out by their sheer size, especially the top one. Neither qualifies as light reading.(Ha! Ha! See what i did there?)

Backassward

I've never been much of a follower.  I cannot stand American Idol.  I lost interest (heh) in Lost somewhere around the third season.  Coffee makes me twitchy.  I don't understand the appeal of Justin Bieber.  I mean, sure, I'm predictably obsessed with Harry Potter, Glee, and Gustavo Dudamel, and there were also a few instances in my teens where "fashion" trumped "better judgment" (one particularly heinous pair of sandals comes to mind), but we all have our crosses to bear.  In general, though, I'm often so obstinately NOT a follower that I nearly miss out on some of the Great Inventions of Our Time, like Facebook, smartphones, and Lady GaGa.   

[Exception: the iPad.  I had one in my hands for approximately four seconds before shouting "I MUST HAVE ONE!" and causing my friends to jump six feet in the air.  I do not yet own one, however, so if you'd like to gift me with an iPad, I would not turn it down, and if it was the 3G-enabled version, I might even kiss you.  Or bake for you.  My chocolate pecan pie is the stuff of legends.]

So anyway, I'm stubborn, and I generally sort of do things my own way, but in recent years, even my body has said, "Well, fine, if you're so intent on being different, HERE."  At the age of 20, after a lifetime of clear skin, I suddenly started breaking out.  I was studying in London at the time, and I assumed that perhaps my skin wasn't used to, I don't know, the weird English air? Or the water? It was too sudden to be a coincidence, but then I returned from abroad and the breakouts continued.  So that was unfortunate.

About three weeks ago, however, I developed this rather entertaining condition wherein I kind of couldn't breathe periodically. I wasn't suffocating or anything.  It was just an occasional tightness in my chest and an inability to take a deep breath.  So I ended up at the urgent care place, as you know, where I was reassured that I wasn't dying and given a super-classy inhaler.  But it didn't go away, so I went to see the nurse practitioner in my neighborhood, and, whadya know: asthma, triggered by seasonal allergies, neither of which I've had before.  At the ripe old age of 26. 

OF COURSE it's asthma.  So now I'm armed with two separate inhalers and Zyrtec, and I can breathe again.  But I'm still without an iPad, so anything you can do to remedy THAT situation would be awesome.

Oh, and also...

I got an email from Amazon today, suggesting that, as someone who has purchased or rated books by Louisa May Alcott, perhaps I would like to preorder....Little Vampire Women.  Which is apparently the latest in the "turn classic literature into horror novels" craze begun by Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  Don't get me started.  So I emailed Ash, who had left an Ash-shaped hole in the ceiling when she heard about the first one (I believe the email she sent me that time was titled "Blasphemy"), to see if she had heard about this latest development.


Me: ...and then Louisa May Alcott rolled over in her grave. Pun intended.
Ash: Do you think Jo gives up her teeth?  After all, in this version that may be her one true beauty. 

Things That Happened Yesterday

~ Homeless man complemented my "Mary J. Blige shades"

~Thought I might be dying.**  A little. Maybe.  Probably not. 

~Against better judgement, visited WebMD.  Convinced myself I was actually dying.  

~Took COO's car*** and went to urgent care facility in the middle of the afternoon.  

~Inadvertently left book at home.  Consequently, achieved level 20 on Brick Breaker on my BlackBerry while sitting in the doctor's office.

~Got an EKG (breaking news: my heart works!), a diagnosis of bronchospasms, and an inhaler.  (Now feel like a six-year-old again.) 

~Saw a dude on the Metro with a tuba.  No instrument case, just a guy with a tuba.

~Bought a pineapple.

**Gross exaggeration.  

***Borrowed (not hot-wired, obviously).  She offered it, probably because she didn't want me dying on the clock.

Smurfs, Ugly Betty, and the NEA

I had sort of hoped that if I put those three things in a title together, some sort of theme would come to me.  It didn't.  Consequently, this post is kind of all over the place.  As, by the way, am I.

So. Life is proceeding, now that I have a chance to experience the world outside my office again. Various things are going on here. I dug my desk out from underneath All The Piles of Paper, which was refreshing. Glee returned. The Capitals lost their first playoff game. I'm reading Game Change, about the 2008 election, and it is seriously excellent. I'm not normally much of a non-fiction reader, but I highly recommend it.

Hm, what else. My apartment is starting to look like I live with a Smurf, because there's blue fuzz everywhere from the towels I recently bought at IKEA. They are wonderfully soft and fluffy, but I swear it looks like I'm molting.  Washing them hasn't helped.  The problem is compounded by the fact that my dust buster is, ahem, busted (or it needs to be charged...one of the two), so the fuzz is accumulating.  

Huh. This isn't very interesting. Instead, how about a list? I like lists. We'll call it "Things That Are Currently Thrilling The Pants Off Me." Without further ado: 

Things That Are Currently Thrilling the Pants Off Me

She &Him, "Volume 2." And everything they contributed to the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack. Actually, the entire (500) Days of Summer soundtrack....Okay, FINE, if we're being honest here, I have a girl crush on Zooey Deschanel. I confess. 

Vaughan-Williams' "The Lark Ascending," specifically as performed by Hilary Hahn 

Neil Patrick Harris on Glee. This hasn't actually happened yet, but the anticipation is nearly as good as the event. 

These cookies from IKEA. HOLY PETE, I cannot get enough of them. 

My new(ish) yellow bag. J'adore, ya'll. 

Real Simple 

Lady Gaga, unless I have to look at her, which weirds me out. But the "Recently Played" playlist on my iPod doesn't lie.  Girlfriend's got pipes, yo.

Google Reader. Yeah, I know this is not new. It's not new to me either. But to say it revolutionized my life (or the 80-odd times per day when I click over to see what new posts have appeared) would be an understatement. 

My ATL cords, which I should've bought in lighter colors so I could wear them into spring. Live and learn. 

The Ugly Betty series finale. I stopped watching the show about two seasons ago, but I tuned in for the finale. My reactions were twofold: 1) Betty and Daniel? Really? Huh....Okay, maybe. 2) It's time for me to move back to London. 

Rosemary & Olive Oil Triscuits 

That Capital One commercial with the vacationing vikings and the goat on skis. Cracks me up every time. I mean, a goat on skis?! That shit is funny. 

New red shoes 


Things That Have Me Worked Into a Lather, and Not In a Good Way 
(or, Hold On While I Get My Soapbox...) 
Arts Advocacy Day was on Tuesday, and my coworker Scott saw this video and forwarded it around the office. A Senior Fellow at the Cato Institute called for zero funding for the arts, stating that all public funding for the arts should come literally from the public in the form of ticket sales or private donations. He called the National Endowment for the Arts a government-run “racket” that “extorts” money from taxpayers to give to “politically well-connected artists.” (After I calmed down, I asked Scott if he really expected any less from Fox News, and what the hell were you doing watching that anyway?!) 




Anyway. What a tool.

Heartbreak hotel

I was home in Tennessee for Easter this weekend.  It was delightful and relaxing, but also a bit odd because I was sleeping in the guest bedroom with my sister.  My grandparents are currently staying with my parents as my grandfather recovers from his knee replacement, and they are occupying both my old room and G's.  So we were in the guest room, and G's boyfriend was on the air mattress in the den, and WOW, that made for a whole lot of showers to coordinate on Easter morning.  Also, G and I are not the most amiable co-sleepers, AND she had a cold, so that was interesting.

The big event of the weekend, though (aside from Jesus, you know, rising from the dead, which is a notable event, and also my acquisition of the Most Awesome Red Shoes Ever--pictures to come!), was the West Virginia/Duke Final Four game.  And since four of the seven of us LIVE in the great state of West Virginia, there were, shall we say, some emotions about how the game went.

It didn't go well, in case you missed it.  It was pretty tragic. And so we all desperately wanted Butler to win the championship on Monday night.  Which they didn't. 

But that's okay.  It was a beautiful weekend, and we ate many eggs and large quantities of jelly beans, and I bought shoes, and a good time was had by all.  The end.