I know everyone's making fun of Britney for looking like a hot mess, but come one. I look at her and I see myself almost every single day. Outside of like, church and parties, this is what I look like. I get splotchy and only occasionally brush my hair, and i'll throw on a sweatshirt which makes my outfit look terrible. I would be so humiliated if there were like, a billion pictures of me on the internet doing this sort of thing.

The only difference is her body is way better than mine. I kid you not--Have you seen her lately? She's dropped like 30 pounds. She looks rad. Except for that whole, you know, "crazy eye" thing.

I've been on this soup diet for like the last week in an attempt to lose the Christmas weight that has rendered all denim to sausage-casing on my legs. I remember Mark did it the summer of his senior year and lost like 40lbs on it, so I figured it'd be worth a shot. This is the first diet I've been on in my whole life--Usually when I go on "diets" I switch to diet Pepsi and restrict my calorie intake, but there isn't a change in what I eat. I still survive on quesadillas and cheeseburgers, only I have like, one a day instead of 3. My fridge is full of vegetables and fruit, and I've been basically living like a vegan for 4 days. Despite the diets promise that you will have renewed energy by day 3, it isn't true. My energy is becoming more and more sapped, and it's harder and harder to get out of bed without the temptations of lucky charms and bacon.

But today, day 5, I drag myself weekly out of bed only to remember: My gosh. It's chicken day.

Yes, today is the first day of the reintegration of protein into my diet. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I had chicken for breakfast and it was so good I almost cried.

The thing is, most people who eat very restrictive diets will tell you that "feeling good" and "looking good" are worth eating nothing but vegetables, salmon, and water. As someone who has lived on nothing but vegetables and water, let me tell you--those people are insane. Sure I've lost almost 7 pounds in 4 days (probably only 4 when you adjust for water weight), sure my skin looks amazing, sure I'm sleeping better, BUT MY WAKING LIFE IS A LIVING HELL. All I do is think about different combinations of dairy, meat, and carbs (none of which I've been able to have). When I start to panic about all the food I can't have, I write down my cravings and "promise" myself if I can just wait until Friday, I can have anything on the list. So far, the list includes:

quesadillas, pizza, fried chicken, chips and salsa, raspberry danish, tzitziki and pita, Pepsi, rice crispies treats, chick-fil-a breakfast biscuit, double cheeseburger, sweet potato fries, grilled cheese from 'Witchcraft.

It's like you can't get through the business of living because you're so obsessed with the business of how you're not living. Once I finish this diet/detox, will I incorporate more veg into my diet? Probably. But will I ever be able to do the kind of "healthy living" celebrity lifestyle where I cut out carbs and animal products? No, I will not. I seriously don't know how you people do it.

Amy Barr's Wedding

To know a little bit about Amy Barr's wedding, you would probably need to know a little bit about Amy Barr. Amy was one of those rare creatures who managed to navigate high school being good at most things, excellent at all things math and science, and liked by everyone. She was musical and played for the Orchestra; she was in choir and still maintains the reputation of having the most perfect pitch in Hockaday history. She was in JETS (Junior Engineering and Technical Society), Computer Club, and various student council roles. She went off to Rice to get her engineering degree and play in the band, and quickly met Joseph Patrick, another engineer who just happened to play in the band. They dated for most of college, and even afterwards when Amy got a job working at a prestigious architecture firm. The wedding was in fact squeezed in between various design projects Amy had on board.

Both of them Catholic, or from Catholic heritage, they did the traditional church ceremony. The church was much more modern than the church Monica had booked for her wedding--it looked much more like a synagogue. The priest was also on the nontraditional side, interweaving his own college experiences with references to music and composition. I'm from a very stoic, very serious brand of Christianity, so I'm not necessarily comfortable with the buddy-Jesus school of mass, but I think he listened to Amy and Joe and got the sense of what they were about.

After the ceremony, Bonnie and Monica and I stopped by Taco Bell to get cheesy gordita crunches because it was just that sort of day. Weddings like Amy's tend to bring together social groups that haven't really been together in some time, so there was gossiping to do.

A few wrong turns later, we arrived at the building where the reception had taken place, which looked a bit like a combination of a trial court and a hotel. We went upstairs and hung out with some of the people we hadn't seen in forever, who were almost all happy and successful, though not too happy or too successful to make me feel bad about my life choices.

Dinner was in the reception hall, and Amy had the good sense to seat me with Monica, Bonnie, and Khris Jackson, isolating us from former school colleagues with whom we had various degrees of social tension. The only bad thing about our dinner was the fact that we seemed to have gotten the only mean server at the party.

Amy and Joe had left bags of Legos as wedding gifts--a celebration of their engineering geekiness. We started to open them, and the server--a very small latina with a super tight ponytail and a hard mouth--told us the favors were for later and we couldn't open them now. Of course, we look around, and every other table has their Legos out and are beginning their constructions. But oooooohhhhhh nooooooo, not Table P. We weren't allowed.

The first dish was asparagus and mozzarella, and before we were even done with the last bite, the server would come around, ask if we were done, then wisk away the plate from underneath us as we remained still holding our fork. Then, before the main course arrived, she put down a basket of bread. I reached for a roll, and she snapped at me, "You can't have those now. Those rolls are for later." I look around at the table, and everyone's eyes are kind of big, so I broke off a piece of my roll and began to butter it. I'll eat my roll when I want to, woman--step off my dick.

On top of that, she had set our table improperly. The line up was: salad, asparagus, meat, then cake. Yet we had only 2 forks at the side of our plate, 2 knives, and one spoon and one desert fork at the top of the plate. So she had no right to go getting snippity as if she was the bastion of good taste, because she clearly didn't know what she was doing.

Amy had decorated the dining hall beautifully. Her colors were taken from Monet's "waterlilies" series, so everything was pastel and various shades of blue. Her cakes was painted like "waterlilies" was well--it was really stunning. As was her dress, I might add. She went with various tiers of lace; the skirt looked very Edwardian. I was impressed.

Then came speech time. Meg Weathers got up and gave a toast, which she had written out, as opposed to my speech at Bonnie's wedding, which was like, a 30 second impromptu "hey, cheers!" Amy and Joe looked very happy, and their first dance was quite charming. They had clearly taken dance lessons, as there was much spinning and dipping.

Bonnie and Monica and I then went and engaged in a 30 minute Supermodel Documentary Hour for no other reason than we were killing time before the cake was cut and none of us felt like dancing. For those of you who did not see "Superstar" a million times in highschool like we did, Supermodel Documentary Hour is how Mary-Catherine Gallagher and her best friend keep themselves entertained while they're in chapel. I'm pretty sure the staff was totally sick of pushing us to the side as we posed in the kitchen and bathroom hallways, but hey, we were being glamorous and glamorous people don't move for anybody.

After Amy and Joe cut the cake, Monica and I decided to go home. I had family bingo night, she was due to meet up with Michael to go bar hopping. I drove back to my house and Monica came in to chat with my mom for a bit, and the night ended up devolving into another 30 minute SDH in my parents bathroom and on the living room floor.

I'm not quite sure why my mouth is open in this photo. I guess that's what "Supermodel" means to me

Things I learned from the Bloomberg article on President Hinckley's death:

1) Mormon prophets are old men, usually decrepit, and almost always in poor health
2) President Hinckley's legacy is making Mormons look less weird
3) The Book of Mormon is a hodgepodge of bible passages and Joseph Smith's personal revelations
4) Mormons believe in super crazy things like Jesus visiting the American Indians and that the Garden of Eden is near Independence Missouri.

It's not even entirely accurate--the Book of Mormon has some passages from the Book of Isaiah, but it is a translation of a separate set of records. Joseph Smith's personal revelations are the Doctrine and Covenants. I'm usually not overly sensitive to the game of poke-the-zealous-christian, but come on. The man just died, this is supposed to be an obit in a reputable news source, and instead it comes across as a tongue-in-cheek, subtle chance to make fun of all the ways the Church looks ridiculous. Which has it's moment, sure, but that moment is not the day after your much-beloved church leader dies.

Bonnie's Wedding

You know, I'm sitting here watching "The Real Housewives of Orange County," and I'm watching this single housewife go on a date with a guy she's been seeing for 3 months. She asks if he wants to have kids, if he wants to get married, and he says "no." She asks if it wouldn't be better then, if they were both 'buddies,' since they want such different things. "I honestly don't think we have enough in common to be buddies." He responds. In that whole horrible reality show (writers strike! leave me alone!), that was the line I found the most shocking--they could go out, have sex, date, but they didn't have enough in common to actually be friends. My gosh, is that how most people view dating? You hook up with someone who's hot, who has enough money, or who says the right things, and then you have sex and kids and a mortgage together until you get bored because, you know, you have NOTHING IN COMMON? If so, I am completely unsurprised by the divorce statistics.

My friend Bonnie was lucky enough to marry her best friend, Alan Varney. She asked me back last winter to be her maid of honor, and of course I was freaking out, because I had never done that sort of thing before, and because Katherine Solomon did such a cute job on Monica's bridal shower that I felt all of this pressure to live up to it, and oh my gosh I live in New York and oh my gosh Bonnie lives in Dallas how will I ever make this work?

As usual, I made it work with a cavalry of amazing friends and family who--as they always do--save my incompetent self from messing things up. I couldn't really plan a bridal shower, as Bonnie and Alan's respective moms had already planned them, and as a result, certain unnamed individuals kept "joking" about what a joke I was as a maid of honor. And that just horrified and humiliated me beyond belief, because Bonnie has been the most important friend in my life since 14, and I didn't want her to think I didn't care about her, or wasn't taking her wedding seriously. And even though she was perhaps the most easy going, affable, and generous bride ever, I was going to bring my A-game to this gig, dang it. As a result, the one thing I could actually plan--the Bachelorette Party--I took to task with up-turned sleeves.

Bachelorette Party

However, being in New York, and being in the middle of midterms, was not conducive to that plan. Because the wedding was on Saturday, and Bonnie's rehearsal dinner was on Friday, she didn't want to do the bar crawl thing, so we had to come up with an idea that could still be fun. Mom then called me and suggested a sleep-over, and told me she and dad would take the kids to a hotel so we would have free reign of the house. I called Monica, and she loved the idea of an old-school sleepover, and the idea kind of snowballed from there. One wing of the house became "The Past," and I decorated it with old Hockaday memorabilia and set up pillows and blankets in my parents' room so we could all curl up and watch "Superstar" (perhaps the most accurate depiction of what our adolescence was like ever put to celluloid). Then I hired my friend Tiffany Foulger to cater "The Present"--she made all sorts of Greek- and Spanish-inspired light dishes so we wouldn't destroy our diets (we were all starving ourselves to fit into our dresses). Monica bought some wine ("Bon-Bon") which shared Bonnie's nickname, and I tried to find a psychic for "the Future" room.

The psychic was difficult, because it is nearly impossible to get one for under $250 for a party, and my budget was only $150. Luckily, just as I was near despair, I called Monica to see if she could maybe pay for half. I don't usually ask people for help, as I am used to the way my sisters respond when I need help (sighing, evasion, complaining, anger). But I almost burst into tears when Monica offered to pay for half with enthusiasm. She was just as short on money as I was, and told me it would take hr a few days to get the money, but she had no problem chipping in. I still can't get over how amazing she was to help out.

I still needed party favors, and breakfast for the day after the sleepover, and I put my mom on this assignment while I finished my papers. I don't know if you're aware, but my mother is a GENIUS for presents and gifts. I am not exaggerating when I say genius. She's one of those people who not only pays attention to what you say you want, but she pays attention to who you are and anticipates what things you will need or will want. For example, Christmas. I received Japanese tupperware and a wool coat from Paris with a gigantic button at the top of it which looks unbelievably chic when I wear it. Now, I would never, ever, ever think to buy either of those things for myself, but they were things that I actually needed and wanted, but never knew I did. So of course, my mother just happened to stumble across the perfect website for bachelorette party favors, and she bought some of the cutest things I had ever seen--lingerie bags, personalized candles, measuring cups with hearts on them, manicure kits shaped like purses. I managed to contribute personalized m&m's (that said Bonnie & Alan), but of course the one thing I bought came out wrong--they sent them in the wrong colors. I can't win for losing. As far as breakfast, I told mom to just pick up some bagels on her way back to the house, but oh no, my mother wasn't going to let me do something that cheap. She had an order shipped in from Dean and Deluca (luckily, it has a flat shipping fee so it was very affordable) of croissant dough and New York Bagels. Then she bought some mixed fruit and hot chocolate, so everything would be perfect. When I got into Dallas, my mom and I went to Party City and picked up balloons, glitter, cake candles, heart chains, etc. Becky Kaplan came over early to help me set up--and thank heavens she did, as I couldn't do it without her.

The hitch of course was me. I still haven't thrown very many parties, and fewer still where there were actually events to do. We had from 8pm-11pm to fill, so I had budgeted it like so:

8-9pm: Mingle, eat

9-10pm: psychic, lingerie shower
10-11pm: Voodoo cookies, doily wedding dress
11pm-onward: "Superstar", sleeping

Valentina showed right on time and set up her tarot card table in the library, where the lights were dim and we had a fire roaring. Valentina was a complete delight--she specialized in New Orleans tarot, so she had special cards, special trinkets and candles and everything. She was really stunningly beautiful, and was incredibly sweet and accommodating. Once everyone arrived, she gave Bonnie a New Orleans voodoo box, which had all sorts of Cajun, Creole, and Voodoo love remedies for a happy marriage and future. Bonnie was the first one to get a reading, and hers was the longest--roughly 30 minutes. Everyone chatted while she was in: there was me and Monica, Bonnie's friend Tiffany from college, her sisters Kenzie and Tracy, Ib, Becky, and Meg. I was expecting more, but most out-of-towners weren't flying in until Friday. Still, it wasn't like, 3 people, which is always my worst-case scenario.

So one by one, everyone goes in and talks to Valentina. Since I was hiring her by the hour, I thought she'd be done by 10, 10:30, so I wasn't going to start "game time" until everyone was done with their 10-minute reading. But it turns out, Valentina was used to doing readings at her regular gig, where often the clients are less than stellar (a lot of golddiggers and dumb women, she says). So given a chance to do readings for like, you know, confident, educated women, she really went all out, and everyone got a 20-30 minute reading. Which wasn't a problem really--it was above and beyond for her, but it meant A LOT of waiting around. And once the presents for the lingerie shower were opened, we all kind of sat and awkwardly swirled our drinks and kept picking at (my) Tiffany's food. Around 11, Valentina still had 2 people to do, so we decided to cut our losses and move on to the Voodoo cookie part of the evening.

The premise of voodoo cookie decorating is to decorate man-shaped cookies like Alan, and the two closest replicas of his "essence" and his "appearance" won prizes. The girls did very well, and that portion went smoothly. Then I left Monica in charge of the Project Runway Wedding Dress challenge (winning designer gets to make their dress on Bonnie out of doilies and ribbon) while I went to have my reading done. When I came back, the girls were lying on the floor, ribbons discarded, just being lazy. So clearly that game was not a success. But by then it was 11:30, so I sent those who were going home home, and those that were staying I showed their room. Finally, we started "Superstar", and everyone was in bed by 1 (miraculously).

So despite all the anxiety and the awkward pacing, the party went off very well, in no small part do to all the hard work Monica and my mother put into it.

Rehearsal Dinner:

Friday was the day of the rehearsal dinner. After the very, very good breakfast provided by mom, Monica, Bonnie, and I drove up to Lover's Lane to get our nails did. I've never had a manicure or a pedicure in my whole life, so I was annoying everyone by asking what everything did. They put you in a giant massage chair with a hot jacuzzi bubble bath for your feet. Then they like, scrape and pumice and polish and cut everything (no easy task considering the calluses on my feet), then they dip your extremities into paraffin, wrap it in Saran wrap, and let you cook for a bit before peeling it off ONLY TO REVEAL THE MOST SILKY SMOOTH SKIN EVER. Then I got base coated and color coated and top coated and while all of it was drying, my eyebrows got waxed. Again, typical mary style, I touched some things when I was only partially dry and smudged my thumb and big toe. But I mean, come on! I waited 15 minutes. How long does it bloody take for nails to try anyway?

Then lunch, then we got our dresses, then drove to downtown Dallas to go through the runthrough at the building. Bonnie got the top floor of a really swank office building, which was decorated in a very tasteful sort of early 60's minimalism. After a quick meet up with the grooms party (perhaps the most Boston-looking dudes I had ever seen) we went across the street to the Iron Cactus for dinner. I got to bring Benjamin with me, as he was the "date" of the maid of honor, which totally tickled me. I had a date to the wedding! And he actually had to stand next to me and talk to my friends, and he totally did. We ate waaaaaaaaaay too much, as it was buffet style. I felt bad because as maid of honor it was sort of my job to mingle with the Boston crowd (who I'd met at Bonnie's Boston shower) and act as interloper between the Dallas side and the Boston side. But Michael was there and so was Monica, so the four of us kind of just acted all exclusionary and had a really, really good time. Bonnie gave us these sweet gifts as thanks--a little Peruvian pig and some earrings--and everyone was kind of breaking down and crying, though just as much with emotion as with stress.

Ceremony

(I will start off by saying most of these photos were taken from Bonnie's wedding photographer's site. I didn't bring a camera because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it with me all night.)Saturday the 17th I had to go get my hair done. This was a completely novel experience for me--the last time I got anything resembling a professional hairdo I was going to prom, and even then it was mostly just to get the green out. This time I actually brought pictures (Kate Winslet in Sense and Sensibility) and ribbon. The chick did a good job, but she did err a little on the side of quincinera.

Monica had booked a hotel room for herself, Michael, Benjamin and me across the street from where the wedding took place, so I drove down at 4, as we were suppose to all meet at 5 in the bridal suite. I get in, do my makeup, change into my dress, put on all my jewelry (borrowed from mom, natch), and Monica and I sprint over to the bridal suite only to find out...they moved the rendez-vous to 6. This is part of a larger battle against Monica and me that I won't get into here, but suffice to say there were a lot of slights, and all seemed to originate from the same source. But as Monica was doing makeup and I had an hour to kill, I went over to CVS and bought some tabloids.

Then the rest of the party arrived. Bonnie had the most gorgeous hair I had ever seen--should I get married, I am totally stealing it. Her makeup was perfect, she had Christian LeBoutains--she looked like a model. I was completely blown away. We zipped her up, Monica popped some champagne...the atmosphere was really positive and celebratory, like it should be.

The actually ceremony went pretty well. I didn't fall down with my high heels, I handed off the bouquet at the right moments, the vows were super cute and endearing, and most importantly, it wasn't too long. When you're standing there holding a bouquet up teetering on little heels (which is easy when you're, say 90 pounds, and much more difficult when you're 170), short is better than long. Always. Afterwards there were more photos, and I got to sign the wedding certificate as a witness.

While the altar was being taken down, I went into the bar and said hello to Benjamin, my parents, and Julia. There were also from friends from Hockaday there, and in typical fashion, they were all pretty cold to me. I so happy for Bonnie, though, I didn't really try to figure it out. I'll probably never figure it out. It's probably a combination of things they've read on this blog, things I said in high school, or things they think i've said through the grapevine. And unless they're willing to actually talk to me like an adult (which Meg Weathers was kind enough to do), I won't be able to get to the bottom of it.

Reception

The dinner was delicious--chicken, salad, the usual--but all presented very well. Benjamin got to sit next to me, which was so sweet of Bonnie and Alan to do. After dinner, there was cake cutting. Look, I've had a fair bit of wedding cake in my time, and it's always so-so. Fondant is super, super heavy and sticky and not very tasty, no matter how good it looks. Bonnie and Alan brought the game to the next level-each layer had a different flavor, either carrot cake or lemon-poppy seed, and on top of that was a cream-cheese frosting. OH MY GOSH CREAM CHEESE FROSTING. It was sooooo good. And the groom's cake was red velvet--not my thing, but the kids seemed to love it, and it was decorated with a Boston "B."

Then was speech time. The groom gave his speech, which in typical groom fashion was more of a roast than a toast. I was going to talk about the first time I met Alan, but Monica and Michael said "For the love of heaven, keep it short, and don't mention yourself at all." So instead of getting all poetic and writerly, I mostly talked about what Alan had told me about Bonnie the first night he met her ("She's the most beautiful girl in the world") and I said I agreed, and I couldn't part with her to anyone less than James Hetfield, though Alan would do in a pinch. It didn't embarrass me, it was short, and my mom and dad said it was classy. And honestly, my parents don't say that very often.

After the toasts, Monica, Julia, Benjamin and I snuck over to Bonnie and Alan's hotel room (20 floors above ours, same hotel) and spread out rose petals all over the bed and floor, and wrote messages on the mirror in soap, put the leftover personalized m&m's on the table, and I put the scrapbook Bonnie's friends had made for her next to her side of the bed. Then we snuck back into the party.

The DJ mos def played all the right songs--lot of Bon Jovi and Spice Girls and Ludacris. My parents went home early and Julia decided to stay in the Party Suit with Monica and me. In between dancing spells, Benjamin and I would sneak into various back rooms and supply closets and...talk about the up-coming primaries. We are very, very political people. I caught the bouquet in the bouquet toss, but I left it in the bridal suite in case Bonnie wanted to keep it. I didn't get a chance to ask anyone what the etiquette was on that.

What distinguished this wedding from the other weddings I'd been to is the general feelings of happiness and good will. It was really beautiful, and Bonnie did a fantastic job planning it. It was a genuine celebration--and few are.

After-Party

We went back to the suite, with a bit of alcohol in the kitchen, and sort of mingled and changed out of our dresses. The crowd was mostly Hockaday, so it was a lot of girls kind of gossiping and catching up. Then the Boston guys roll in. They've got cases of beer over their shoulder, they switch the radio to James Taylor, and they start drinking. A lot. Pizzas get ordered, and people start getting LOUD.

I can't go to bed because Monica's brother Edward is passed out over the entire bed. He got smashed at the wedding, so smashed he and his friend Ian couldn't walk home, so the Ecuadorian bus boys drove them over to the hotel, where they burst into the room, drank another beer or so, then collapsed. I'm stuck on the couch until he wakes up or someone decides to move him. And I'm so tired from all the errands I've been running and lack of sleep that I doze off in Benjamin's lap. Julia's swigging coke out of a mixing cup.

Meanwhile, Edward's West Point friend Ian--completely plastered--wakes up and decides he needs something. He opens the door, walks towards the elevator, and then decides he can't make it, so he lays down in the hallway and goes to sleep. At some point in the night, Monica and one of the groomsmen are going to the elevator to....talk about the upcoming primaries...when they see some guy straddling Ian just wailing on him. He's still passed out so he doesn't feel it, but he's getting pretty bloody. Monica and the groomsman yell at him, and the dude says "He shouldn't have been lying there," before getting on an elevator and disappearing. They bring him back to the hotel suite and lay him down on the ground, then toss a blanket over him. By this time, Julia and I had managed to roll Edward off onto the floor (which he did very politely), and we were crashing in the bed with Benjamin.

I didn't even hear them bring Ian in. I woke up around 10am and went to use the bathroom and saw his face looking like the cover of some Ministry album, and was all like, "Dude! What happened!" and he told me that he didn't know. When Monica woke up she filled him in. (Luckily, his parents were both medical professionals, so when he went home, they checked him out and found out that he was just bruised--nothing broken or torn.) I find my phone under the couch and discover that my background is some guy's middle finger, and my outbox is full of "Dude, no, F--- you!" That's what I get for leaving my phone on the side table of a party. Everyone nursing a hangover, we go over to the Iron Cactus for brunch only to run into the Boston dudes. They were all bright-eyed, awake, clean shaven, ready to go. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. They drank just as much--if not more than the Texas kids, yet here we are droopy eyed, mussed, tired (half of us hadn't even been drinking and still looked hungover!)--and there they were, as if they had had 10 hours of sleep and a glass of milk before bed. It was a real testament to what being a Boston man is all about.

The Precious Moments Chapel
The Sistine Chapel of the Ozarks


Off the freeway from Dallas to Kansas City is a billboard. That billboard offers the would be tourists of Carthage, Missouri a chance to become viewers into a realm more magical and spiritual than anything they have ever seen; a place so holy that my mother's visiting teacher* spends a week there every year, and counts it as one of the most spiritual places on earth. Yes, this billboard points the way to the Precious Moments Chapel (TM).


Though many of you may not be familiar with the Precious Moments phenomenon by name, I'm sure you would recognize it on sight: Large eyed, small mouthed, small nosed angel-children that mischievously hold crooked halos or pet baby rabbits. They are truly hideous pieces of kitsch, and they are the delight of midwestern housewives the world over. For around 5 years, my sister Margaret and I have been pressuring our parents to let us go. "Wait in the car!" we plead. "It'll take us two seconds!" Every year, my parents have denied us.


This year, we got a late start on our trip up to Kansas City, and as a result, had to bunk in Carthage. I know! Clearly, divine intervention. We pulled off the highway, and stopped at a Best Western (my father pronounced the other motels "way too gross"). Only then did we realize OMG THIS IS NOT A NORMAL BEST WESTERN AT ALL BUT A PRECIOUS MOMENTS THEMED BEST WESTERN! Sure enough, our particular Best Western had a deal with the Chapel, which was (according to the front desk) LITERALLY ONLY A 3 MINUTE DRIVE FROM WHERE WE WERE STAYING! My parents, finally convinced that destiny was showing her hand, reluctantly agreed to let us go, providing we left first thing in the morning and didn't complain for the rest of the car trip.



The rooms were a bit of a disappointment--I wanted more odds and ends and frills. All the paintings were of Precious Moments shepherds or milkmaids, though. And as an extra bonus, the bathroom had a sign offering special washcloths "for the ladies to remove their make up with."

The next morning we enjoyed the worse continental breakfast of all time, which tasted like sweet nectar with the promise of the morning's activities. We grabbed our suitcases and descended the grand staircase of the hotel, under the crystal chandelier, past the class cabinet filled the Precious Moment dolls, and piled into the car as quickly as possible.



The Precious Moments Chapel is actually part of a larger theme park. It's really the only attraction of said park, which is located on a huge swath of land which boasts forest, streams, and a sprawling RV trailer park. As we pulled up the the parking lot, the excitement could only intensify as we saw the sign ( an angel with open arms) beckoning us into a world of wonder.



Around the parking lot (we were the only people there, as it was the off season) were all sorts of granite statues of happy whales and squirrels, as well as a fiberglass Precious Moments RV sculpture. I can't put every single picture on this page for sheer practicality purposes, but I highly recommend you look through the folder when you get a Moment.


Oh my gosh that pun was terrible. Onwards!


When you enter the Precious Moments Center, you are greeted by a woman who resembles the sort of Scientology tour guides they have in the Celebrity Center. She beckons you towards her, tell you the Chapel is free of charge (I was willing to pay up to $20 to see it, I kid you not), and you are welcome to browse through the variety of shops available.

These include:
The year-round Christmas store!
The Apparel Room!
The Gift Shop!
The "Studio"! (By any figurine--they're all there! A whole room full!)
The Food Court!

The shopping center is built around a little street that leads you to the Chapel. The store fronts are made to look like little town houses, and if you look up, there is an entire faux village under a sky painted a dawn pink. There are Victorian figurines reading a paper! Oh look over there, Santa gets caught in the chimney!



We walked outside; the air was frosty, and our hearts began to beat faster. I was so excited, I barely glanced at the gardens. Loosely based on the Versaille gardens, Designer Sam Butcher (the artist behind Precious Moments) replaced the lions and Sea Creatures with his own child-like angels. Music--not dissimilar to "It's a Small World--was being piped through an invisible sound system.


At last we reached it. There it was, a romanesque masterpiece, all pink stucco and white trim. The window above the door was a stained glass child in a garden. The doors, Filipino wood, were carved (we were assured by the guide) by Butcher himself.


Then, we entered inside. My goodness, the dazzling radiance of what I witnessed! There, in it's pastel glory, was a (loose) reproduction of the Sistine Chapel! Not murky and tortured like Michelangelo's figures, Sam Butcher's figures are the Chapel that God intended--all rolling, pink, cheeky little boys and demure, shy, trusting little girls. I hardly know where to begin my description! Do I start at the frieze that lined the side walls? The biblical stories of Rebekah and Noah enacted by brown-eyed children? Do I start with the ceiling, sky blue and full of pink rose-buds and sexless angels? My brother asked me why all the angels were girls. I said they weren't, and he said yes they totally were, and dared me to find a penis. And he was right--where penis should have been, there were only blurred areas. Our guide told us the stories of how painstakingly Sam had painted that ceiling, having to actually come down every hour or so and see if it looked ok. He was on his back! His back! on a scaffold! Just like Michelangelo!


The best, of course, was the "apse"--the area where the altar would be. In Butcher's version of heaven, children and our military men sit on the steps and talk with Jesus and drive cars over rainbows and dress up like cowboys and play baseball. And unlike those other, boring, "static" works of art, Sam is constantly adding and changing his vision. Whenever some family writes him a letter about how his figurines brought joy to their Baseball-loving, legless child who died because he was born without a ribcage, Sam will shed a tear, pick up his brush, and paint a little boy with shiny new legs and a diamond spine playing catch with Lou Gehrig right next to the rainbow. That's the kind of man he is.


Ok, this is where I break character a moment and take the time to get snarky. This chapel was painted in oil, but it might as well have been acrylics--there was no real shading, all the colors were flat, and the black outlines were egregiously bad. Now, let's say you were a talented autodidact (his childhood sketches were charming), and you were creating what you felt was a monument to your talent, to God, and your legacy. Wouldn't you, you know, not half-ass it (for lack of a better term?)


Our tour guide was near tears as she explained her deep love for the work of Sam Butcher. My mother and father couldn't stop staring with their mouths open in abject horror, yet complete fascination. Our guide then set us free to walk about the chapel, and so I got to explore the wings of the church, each flanked with Precious Moments stained glass windows. Then there was the Hall of Testaments, which displayed items Sam had received, or made for special people. There was an entire room full of nothing but letters from the families of dead children. That was a bit disturbing.


One of the best unironic parts of the Precious Moments Park was--ironically--the only place we weren't allowed into. Behind the church was a river, and in the middle of the river was a perfect, lilliputian replica of a gothic castle. According to the guide, Sam had that built for his grand children, so they would have some place to play. The workmanship was astonishing--the workers had to pour cement to build that island, so they had to drill pylons into the wet sand, then build on top, then create a stone bridge, then reconstruct a castle. I have never been so envious of anything in my entire life as I was of that playhouse.


As we roamed outside the chapel, admiring the grounds, Benjamin pointed out the macabre quality of the placards, which I had failed to notice. Nearly every bush or tree was dedicated to people who had died of cancer or old age. It occurred to me as amazing that people would be asked to be buried--or at least be remembered--in the Precious Moments park.


After various photos around the chapel, we went over to the Samuel Butcher museum, which chronicled Sam's rise from a struggling janitor with 5 kids to the international success he is today. There were all sorts of artifacts from his life as an "artist" and "designer"--dollhouses made for his daughters, precious moment prototypes, miniature villages, childhood drawings. All cynicism aside though, I found that despite the museum's best effort, Sam Butcher did not walk away looking like a megalomaniacal douche bag. When he was really poor, he used to make his children and brothers and sisters little clothes pin dolls, which were incredibly detailed and very, very cute. He's still married to his wife--they have like 8 kids and adopted a few others. He just seemed like a genuinely sweet man, who genuinely wanted to spread the word about God's love in a way he thought was powerful. And hey, he's worth billions of dollars, has his own theme park, and has a passionate following, so clearly his message is working for some people.


But yeah, after that we just mopped up a bit. I bought a t-shirt and talked to the woman about their "Mexican problems" (apparently, the Latino community often breaks into their donation boxes and shoplifts) and their "Baptist problems" (ditto), Margaret and Julia bought sweatshirts, and dad looked at us like we were crazy as he sat eating nachos in the Precious Moments Food Court. It's literally a food court. It's unreal. There are little knights that protect the kitchen, and a drawbridge that takes you into the dining room.


I think in the end, mom and dad got the spirit of what we were trying to do, and they opened their mind to the majesty that was the Precious Moments Park. And isn't that what vacation is all about?



*Visiting Teacher Definition: A Mormon woman who is assigned to visit a particular Mormon woman once a month and provide charity and spiritual devotionals

South Carolina, 2007
Benjamin and I flew down to Charlotte in October. It was way colder than I thought, and definitely looked more arboreal than I had anticipated. Benji's dad and his new wife Doris picked us up at the airport, and we all went out for Wendy's for lunch. They had Cheerwine on tap--it's like Cherry 7-Up and as ubiquitous as Dr Pepper is in Plano.

The first thing that I noticed about "The South" was that it still

managed to retain some sense of local culture. When I travel to Texas or Kansas or Illinois or even in New York, everything is sort of generically American, the same Applebee's and Stop-N-Go's everywhere. South Carolina feels like South Carolina--it has it's own local drinks, it has it's own pronunciations, it has sandwich combinations and roadkill cafes, local fast food joints and hometown rivalries.

Benjamin's dad is an upholsteur, and the family lives on a renovated 19th century cabin, complete with its own slave shack on the back of the property. The family that lives at home consists of Hollis and William, two overly tall, overly athletic teenagers that make Benjamin look like a conversational juggernaut. They're terribly funny and charming in that painfully self-conscience a seventeen year old way. His sister Sarah--early twenties--wasn't home, so the rest of us went out to pizza without her.


The Shelton's took me out to a wonderful pizza joint in Greenville. It was a bit of a drive, as they live out on the edge of what was once "country" but what in 10 years will be "suburban development"--it's currently lingering somewhere in between. The rootbeer was delicious.

When we arrived home I met Sarah Shelton. I wasn't imagining that we'd get along well, as Benjamin's brothers--while adorable--couldn't have been less interested in me. I was pre-disposed to like her, however, when I went up to her room and saw that she had an Invader Zim screensaver. For some odd reason, Sarah and I clicked right away. There are just some people who speak your cadence and your sarcasm, and Sarah is one of those people. As a side note, she recently KNITTED me the most amazing Christmas scarf.

Thursday Sarah had work and school, and Benjamin decided to take me on a field trip to check out his old haunts. Benji and I walked around Greenville, and he showed me various places where he was almost arrested, various sites of public nudity, and various places where time was wasted. There is a river that runs through town, and at the very base is this ancient tree with some of the most amazing roots that are desperately trying to survive the surrounding erosion. I asked Benji to get in front of the roots, and he sighed and said "Do you KNOW how many photos I've taken in front of this tree?" I refused to let him waste my memory card with that attitude, so behold the tree in it's unmarried intricacy:

I made him take me to the first Krispy Kreme store (sadly, renovated), and to an amazing hole-in-the-wall falafal restaurant for lunch. Sarah met up with us, and I asked her about work, school, and Doris. We drove past Bob Jones university, visited the Furman campus, and I got to see where he used to live.

One of the best things was a clothing store called "The Time Warp"--a used clothing store run by the nut-colored Anne Merchant (Natalie's mom). She was terribly happy to see Benjamin, grilled him about what he was doing, slagged the white-bread high schoolers that came in and never bought anything...pretty much everything you want from an older woman. She's maybe 5 years away from living in Taho with a bunch of silver jewelry and a cactus garden.

We spent the evening sitting out on the trampoline and riding four wheelers with the neighbors. Benjamin's dumb dog kept running in front of the cars. I was amazed--it really was the stupidest thing I'd ever seen. I explored the chicken coops and the woods behind his house.

Friday was the first day of "Fall For Greenville", which was a bit like a street fair where restaurants plug their different dishes and local car companies try to give away free Saturns. While the tents were setting up, Benjamin took me to his old work (Coffee Underground), which apparently is a hub for local hipsters. It was very cute, and the food was really lovely. I had one of the best pumpkin cheesecakes I've ever had. I met Benjamin's old boss, Dana, and his old friend Anna, who I adored. She's really pretty, really fierce, with crazy hair like mine, and most importantly, a mouth. As a woman, the best way to endear yourself to me is to be mouthy, and opinionated, and willing to talk trash about people who make drama. I tagged along with the two of them as they went out to get decorations for the Coffee Underground tasting tent. She was super excited about getting herself some Fried Green Tomatoes once the event started, so I brought her a couple later in the evening. I sampled them first though, and they weren't too hot. I'd take a corn dog over one any day.

Sarah showed up once Fall for Greenville was underway, and we walked around a bit together and hung out with Anna and Benjamin when they weren't working in the CU tent. She took me to the general store, where we shopped around a bit and shared some venison jerky. Then, a friend of Benjamin's whom he met off of LDS Mingle met up with us for dinner. Her name was Bonnie, she was from Athens, Georgia and she had been talking (to Benjamin) and texting (me) for several months, and was dying to meet Benjamin face to face. And seeing as there just HAPPENED to be a Mormon single's conference in Greenville the same weekend Benjamin was back in town, she decided to stop by and have dinner with us. We went out to pizza (again), where she sat very quietly and stared at Benjamin. After dinner, the four of us hooked up with Anna and got some cotton candy, went people watching.

Saturday, Sarah Benjamin and I woke up super early to go down to Charleston. It apparently has that colonial feeling I'm a huge fan of, and it's rather quaint, so we got up at the crack of dawn and drove the 3 hours down. We went to the country's oldest slave market, which now perversely sells reed baskets and trinkets. The streets and homes were all terribly narrow and brightly colored, the stores were cute, and they had a large boardwalk by the ocean--wide enough to accommodate hoop skirts. It was so terribly, terribly hot and sunny, though, and I had no sunglasses, so there was a whole lot of squinting going on. We missed the ferry over to Fort Knox, so instead we went to a "Dungeon"--the basement of the customs house where pirates were held. It was pretty cheesy, and I dug it. Benjamin was skeptical, but luckily Sarah had a good attitude about it. Afterwards, we went to the beach. The water was a mix of salt and fresh, as it was at the mouth of a river, so the sand felt like mud in some places, and there were all sorts of creeping crawling things. Benjamin and I dug for clams in some black mud, and he caught crabs for me and let them go on bleached logs.

It was a nice, quiet drive back to Greenville. I asked Benjamin and Sarah questions about their mom, and fell asleep to the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack

Sunday we had promised Georgia Bonnie that we'd go to the Singles Conference devotional. Singles Conferences are in general a pathetic excuse to try and get Mormons to interact with people from different stakes, wards, and states under the guise of "church education and fun activities". On Sunday there's usually a short church service (I hour instead of 3) before the weekend is broken up. I sat down next to Georgia Bonnie, who was cracking up reading the (albeit snarky) comments Benjamin and I were writing back and forth to each other. Afterwards, we drove out to see Benjamin's mom's grave. It was the first time Benji had seen it. Luckily, it was a very beautiful day--blue and clear and warm.

We decided to go on a hike when we had changed out of our church clothes. Benjamin, Sarah and I went next door and rassled neighbor Sharleen out of bed, then we drove into the forest to hike Eastatoee Falls. In the middle of the forest is a waterfall streaming over a sharp granite cliff--we climbed to the top of it and dangled our legs over the side. As someone who's afraid of heights, it was a total rush. I was absolutely terrified. In a good way.

We stopped by an old mill, complete with moonshine cabin and a cotton gin. Then they took me to see an abandoned gas station which had been completely overgrown with ivy. There's no end to the derelict attractions of South Carolina!


On the way back home, we past Bob's roadside cafe. Confederate flags, gum chomping old guys outside. Apparently, they actually do grill up whatever food you bring in. Roadkill included.

When S, and the three of us decided to drive out to the middle of nowhere and slide down some rocks. While a great idea in theory, the plan was thwarted by the fact that 1) It was super cold 2) The water levels were super low and 3) We had no light whatsoever

outside of two flashlights. I ended up falling in and having to be hauled out. Luckily, it was a beautiful night, and I got to see the stars, which really do look milky that far in the country.

My final day, Benjamin and I spent most of the morning lying in the sun on a futon before going down to an egg breakfast prepared by Doris. We spent an hour on the porch doing knot tying with William's boyscout handbook, and then we went over to see Anna's house. She works at an animal shelter, and has a small room on the compound filled with beautiful snakes and fish. Benjamin and I played with the snake for a while before going to the airport to drop me off. The prairie dog was sad to see me go.

Well, as I watch the market plunge erratically following the very stupid Fed rate cut (3/4 pt!!!), I thought I’d take a moment to finally return to blogging. The market is very, very, very bad. So bad in fact that when my fellowship runs out I need to get a real job (if any of you have a job in publishing, whether it be editing, copy-editing, technical writing, or ghost writing, please please please call me). It isn’t that the market is plummeting necessarily—I can make money whether or not the market goes up or down—it’s HOW the market is moving. My trading style is all about looking at charts and making decisions based on a combination of mathematics, physics, and human psychology. When people start to panic, it throws the ecosystem of the market out of balance, and as a result, everything bumps and jerks. Which isn’t a problem if you have a large trading account and can tolerate a loss of say, $400 before the market turns around and becomes profitable; but if you’re like me, and have a little account, then you can only tolerate about a $40 loss before you have to bail. And currently, I’m sitting on my hands, watching the market zoom 2 pts each way like a flailing heartbeat.

It’s not that I haven’t thought of you. In fact, every night I sit down to blog, and then get invited out, or I have to finish a paper, or I get a call on the phone, or I’m responding to email, or it’s “Biggest Loser Night”, and the next thing I know, I’m promising myself that I’ll update in the morning. Well, that morning is here, right now.

I should probably start by bringing you guys all up to speed. The last time I wrote anything of substance was when I got back from New Zealand at the end of August. So let’s break it up by seasons:

September:
* 26th Birthday on September 6th
*Went back to school the 2nd week in September to finish up the final year of my Master’s Degree
*Benjamin came to visit me in New York following his summer working as a cook on the Alaskan railway
*Benjamin and I hang out with some of my friends, including Jackie (from Northwestern), Marsha (Murakami’s assistant), Brian (from school), and Patricia (from church). Lost my phone the one night we hang out with his friends in a Brooklyn Diner
*Benji and I take Patricia, her friend Natasha, and my friend Brian and rent a car to drive out to upstate New York to go apple picking. We filled up a huge bag, went to an old greasy spoon diner that Natasha remembered, and walked around a mall.

October:
*Went to see The New Yorker Festival. David Bryne gave a lecture on why bikes were amazing, and why New Yorkers love bikes. It involved several guest speakers, musical numbers, and a chorus full of old people (called "Young at Heart") singing Queen's "Bicycle"
* Fly down to South Carolina to meet Benjamin’s family and friends. Spent 4 days in Charlotte, Charleston, and Greenville. Went briefly to a youth conference.
* The weekend before Halloween went to a church dance (dressed as the sun) and met a fantastic chick named Anna O’Brien, who is one of the first Mormons I’ve met in NYC that I’m actually excited about
* Spent Halloween trying to see the parade in Greenwich Village, but had to leave early to meet Patricia at the Rasputina show (opening band Golem!) in Brooklyn. Random strangers kept giving me baked goods on the streets of Williamsburg. Pretty cool.

November
* Went to Cirque de Soleil (Wintuk) with Anna. Thought it had it’s moments towards the end, but it was pretty gay in general—probably because it was geared towards being “children friendly.” They dumped paper snow on the audience at the end though, and that managed to win me over
* Flew back to Dallas for Bonnie’s Wedding. The bachelorette party went really well—we managed to get the psychic thanks to the financial assistance of the beautiful Ms. Monica Anderson, and my mom helped pick out the world’s cutest party favors, and my friend Tiffany Folger catered a wonderfully light, delicious meal. Mom also made brunch with food she had flown in from New York. My mom is crazy insane and I love her. Bonnie’s Wedding was perfect—classy funny and gorgeous.
* Thanksgiving—Benjamin, Monica, and my Aunt Jean joined us for Thanksgiving, which had the minimum amount of drama other then Dad kept commenting how the turkey was too dry because I didn’t baste it enough.
*Day after Thanksgiving, the Flynn and Allie come over, and they join us on the journey up to Frisco to see the Natural History Museum, which was in the middle of an exhibition of animatronic, motion-sensitive dinosaurs. Afterwards we drove up to McKinney to check out Dickensville (they turned downtown into a Victorian Christmas), only because of the rainy, cold weather, no one was there except some rogue hot dog and funnel cake vendors (just as Dickens intended!)


December
*Went to awkward stake Christmas party in Harlem where I was finally recognized by E.H.
*Left December 16 for Christmas in Dallas
*Saw Juno maybe 5 times (seriously, probably the only movie to come out this year that didn’t suck)
* Had a really, really good Christmas (I think this was probably my best Christmas ever in terms of gifts I gave. I mean, I was on. The only exception was Benji’s present, which broke in transport from Italy)
* Drove up to my grandparents house in Trimble for New Year’s with Benjamin. He seemed to get along fairly well with my mom’s family, got the name Yukon Jack

* Margaret and I managed to convince Mom and Dad to finally, finally let us go to the Precious Moment’s Chapel on the drive up to Kansas City (I may have to reserve a separate post for that, as it was so amazing)

January
* Upon returning to Dallas, the Flynn and Nick came over several times to party, one time crashing Bingo night, where Nick one an amazing, 6-round victory
* Benjamin and I went on a date that involved designing and pressing our own t-shirts, then we met up with (newlyweds) Bonnie and Alan to see Sweeney Todd and get gelato
* Went to Amy Barr (now Amy Patrick’s) wedding on January 5th. Also super cute—she looked marvelously happy. Andf I got to hang out with Tara and Jennifer Thompson for the first time in forever—they’ve grown up into such lovely people, it’s really amazing. And apparently Jennifer scored a gig on Law and Order:CI, which should come out whenever the writer’s strike is over.
* Saw Humperdink’s “Hansel and Gretel” opera (the Met production, broadcast at Cinemark). Best stage design I’d seen in ages. Gorgeous.
* Spent an afternoon with Laura which involved coffee, lunch, and an “urban flower shop” in down town Dallas. It was less a flower shop, more a Victorian Curio cabinet (miniature ceramic flowers, bangles made out of Lucite insects)
* Came back to New York, saw The Orphanage with Brooke, ate at S’mac, a restaurant that only serves Macaroni and cheese on E12th street.
* Spent last night at Elna Baker’s birthday party at the Black and White Bar on 10th—chatted with some newish Mormon friends, and talked to Patricia about spas. I’m trying to convince her to go have a spa day with me on Valentine’s Day, to ease the suffering of singleness.

Ok, so that’s the summary of what I’ve been doing for the last 5 months or so. And a lot of it involved traveling, so you can see why it’s been hard to get a hold of me. And this isn’t including presentations, essays, papers, and my normal 9-5 work day.

But there are some things up there that need to be explained more fully out of sheer awesomeness. Those include:
1) My trip to South Carolina
2) Bonnie’s Wedding
3) The Precious Moment’s Chapel
4) Amy’s Wedding
I will try and get as many of these done today as I possibly can. I’m hoping that once I got all caught up, I can return to daily blogging without the looming task of documenting months of activities to divert me.

Also, while I'm at it, let it be known that I got an amazing haircut.

Since my last post, I've received no fewer than _38_(!*?) equally unintelligible emails regarding this brief. My only solace is that it HAS to be postmarked tomorrow, so this is the last night of suffering.

I just received the following 11th hour instructions in my email box:

"that the indirect burden-shifting framework of MD, cite voverns. Under that framework, the plaintiff must first..... and; iv. action taken. Id. the plaintiff has the burdne of proving. At all times, burden of proof on plaintiff. Burdine. "

$10 to the first person who can tell me what 'voverns' is.

I turned in a draft this past TUESDAY. It is now SATURDAY night. It must be POSTMARKED on TUESDAY. Somone get me off this crazy train.

This morning I peered into our medicine cabinet, clapped my hands together and thought, "OK! What's it going to take to get this day going? tylenol? excedrin? would a swig of pepto bismol help?"

I love moot court. My team is awesome, and I think we are well on our way to writing an award-winning brief. But I really think I'm getting too old to pull all-nighters at the 24-hour Starbucks.

Since i'm on a tare here, I'd also like to point out that the (Tribune-owned) Red Eye and the Chicago Sun Times have the same front page headline today in reference to the latest CTA Doomsday bailout. The headline: "Deal Or No Deal?" I'm actually surprised this sort of thing doesn't happen more often.

One of my bro's bands recorded some fun new songs: check em out. I am a fan of "Clap your hands say aahhhh" and "Love (I, II, III)."

In the News Today, with Ade1e:

Indian megacorporation Tata Group is introducing the Nano, a car that will sell for about US$2,500, making it the world's cheapest car by a significant margin.

Most stories I've read about this announcement mention the potential environmental consequences of poorer consumers getting their hands on this affordable vehicle:

For example, the AP story says:

And the idea of such a low-cost vehicle has environmentalists petrified, conjuring images of traffic jams at midnight, hours-long commutes and rolling clouds of pollution.

Chief United Nations climate scientist Rajendra Pachauri, who shared last year's Nobel Peace Prize, said last month "I am having nightmares" about the car.

Now, I know I'm not exactly a Nobel Prize winning scientist (neither is Pachauri anyway), but this doesn't sound quite right.

The argument is being framed as: "more people driving polluting vehicles = bad." But the underlying logic is: "rich people driving polluting vehicles = OK; poor people driving polluting vehicles = bad."

No American politician or climate scientist is suggesting that the solution to global warming is to make our cars more expensive so Bob and Susie from Skokie can't afford to buy a new Ford Taurus every ten years. No one suggests that if only car companies would stop making affordable vehicles, we'd all be better off. No one suggests that Paris Hilton and President Bush should be the only people who can buy Hummers.

I support equal opportunity pollution.

Part the Second.

My trip to India was refreshing, exciting, educational and memorable in every way.

Unfortunately, it was bookended with nasty spates of panic, stress and dehydration that increasingly seem to characterize my life these days.

The trip threw into stark relief just how awful I feel on a day-to-day basis in Chicago. I am constantly sleep deprived, over caffeinated, poorly nourished and edgy. I didn't even realize how gross it all was until I was sitting in an auto rickshaw with Lakshmi in intense Jaipur traffic and pollution with a driver who couldn't find our hotel and wanted to pick up his friends along the way. In the midst of this chaos, I sighed contentedly and thought "I feel great." I had forgotten what it felt like to feel good inside my own body -- to eat three proper meals and get sufficient rest, to spend a day or two away from the onslaught of deadlines.

While the past six months have been marked with some of the greatest successes of my life so far -- financially, academically, professionally and personally -- they have also been characterized by daily headaches, bad skin, shredded nerves and near constant irritability. I need a better balance.

In three months, I'll have finished my JD. I am a smarter, more sensible, harder-working person than I was when I started law school. And a bona fide "dream job" is within realistic striking distance.

The only question is, will I have the strength to enjoy the fruits of my labors or will I just burn out?

Breaking the Silence, Part the First.

Faves of 2007
-or-
"I have never really had anything articulate to say about music, have I?"


10. Mirah & Spectratone International – Share This Place
pretty and strange.
9. The Arcade Fire – Neon Bible
i hope these kids fill their bathtubs with money.
8. PJ Harvey – White Chalk
creepy and powerful
7. Pinback – Autumn of the Seraphs
warm and endearing. just like we like our pinback.
6. Laura Veirs - Saltbreakers
sometimes i just really like good choruses.
5. Kevin Drew/ Broken Social Scene – Spirit If
bss makes me want to be a better person.
4. St. Vincent – Marry Me
clever, sweet, creative.
3. Feist – The Reminder
Still gay for Feist.
2. Nina Nastasia & Jim White – You Follow Me
cathartic in the manner of vintage cat power, but with better guitar playing
1. Of Montreal – Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?
complex, artful and absorbing. hugely accomplished and ambitious. also just a lot of fun.