testing 1, 2, 1, 2

I'm on the new beta version of Blogger which allows me to label my posts, thereby grouping similar posts. Cool, eh? But because I'm in full Saturday morning chore mode, and we have company coming over for Round 3 of the Lost Season 2 catch-up viewing, I don't have a lot of time for silly things like reading instructions. So, I'm just going to think up a few quick labels and make this post part of all of them.

Post-Lost tonight, I may come back to try a new post. Isn't the anticipation just too much?

warped

I don't know which is worse -- the lengths to which the beauty industry goes to create an unrealistic image presented as the ideal, or some of the idiotic comments that follow this clip on the YouTube page.



Today is Love Your Body Day. I say, love it every day.

the men of television

I should probably be reading the stack of books that continues to accumulate in my section of our library. Or even, less esoterically, the pile of entertainment rags adorning the coffee table. Instead, there are a few television shows that have really caught my attention. Bones, a carryover from its first season last year, is still a favorite. And I just love the new Sci-Fi Channel series, Eureka. I haven't missed an episode.

Alas, there is a bigger quandary. The leading men of these shows are the unwitting participants in a fantastical duel for my attention. Move over, Dr. McDreamy (I've never seen one minute of Grey's Anatomy), Sheriff Carter and Agent Booth are here!

Sure, they're easy on the eyes; handsome in conventional ways. But there's more there there. Could it be the man in uniform phenomenon? Nah, the FBI guy just wears a suit. It's more that. They're both funny. And smart. With warmth that just exudes from what is undoubtedly their own personalities.

OK, so they're well-written characters portrayed by good actors... who just happen to be seriously hunky. A third clearly in the running -- although too skinny to earn this last descriptor -- is Dr. Gregory House. He is the king of well-written, well-acted, and he's sexy in that I-know-he's-really-got-a-British-accent-under-that-American-one way. Scrawny, really, but funny.

"Is this an intervention? You're a little late since I'm not using drugs anymore. I am, however, still hooked on phonics."

But all three of them are really funny. When Jack's daughter, Zoe, grabbed a wheat grass for herself and scolded her father for drinking too much coffee, his response was, "I'll stop drinking caffeine when you stop drinking the lawn."

Why am I blogging about this? Perhaps it's because I'm dealing with the anxiety of Eureka's season finale. It's just wrong for a show to END at the beginning of October! But hey, Mr. Monk left me weeks ago. I'll just have to suffice with my favorite FBI Agent, the cranky Doctor, and iTunes downloads (and SciFi webisodes) of the Sheriff for now.

growing strong

Some words of wisdom and a quick link to a neat photo project. First the wisdom:

"Good timber does not grow with ease. The stronger the wind, the stronger the trees." - J. Willard Marriott

And now the photo project:



Cool.

the playlist

We spent the weekend with family to celebrate three birthdays (father, husband, and brother) which fall within five days of each other. Ted also brought me to a magic place to get me my anniversary gift to replace my original 40 GB which recently decided it didn't want to cooperate anymore. Thank you, honey! I set it up tonight, and am almost so excited to test it out in its car and office settings, that I might take a midnight drive to work. Then again, maybe not.

Anyway, it was fun to have much of the family together for chatting and barbecue (nephew Dan quite adeptly manned the grill) and our family's famous Cox Chocolate Cake with Peanut Butter Frosting. I'll upload current pictures later this week. Well, hopefully. Take everything I say with a grain of salt, as I still haven't finished the Seattle & Alaska trip installments (see here and here)!

In the interim, here is the list of songs originally compiled for Caitlin's correspondence book. I got so carried away, it ended up being a 4-CD set, which I also burned and sent in similar goodies boxes to nephews Andrew and Josh. Spreading music love everywhere I go. I'm digging on this list. Here goes:

Hockey Monkey
James Kochalka Superstar

Steady As She Goes
The Raconteurs

Exeter, Rhode Island
Jennifer O'Connor

Holla!
G. Love

Alright
Supergrass

Sewn
The Feeling

The King Is Half-Undressed
Jellyfish

David
Nellie McKay

Change The World
Nellie McKay

Mary Shut the Garden Door
Donald Fagen

I Don't Feel So Well
Vienna Teng

Chicago
Sufjan Stevens

Push Th' Little Daisies
Ween

Nemo
Umphrey's McGee

Put Your Records On (Acoustic)
Corinne Bailey Rae

A World That Passed Me By
Chris Difford

Everybody But You
Dave Barnes ****

**** This is the song that I'd mentioned earlier. It should be a HUGE pop hit. I predicted it on August 24th. Let's see if the rest of the world comes around to it. By the way, poor video quality, but a good way to convey the song in this medium. ****

Don't Wake Me
Toby Lightman

The Mess
Fivespeed

Sails
Megan Slankard

Until You Came Along
Golden Smog

I Can't Get Behind That
William Shatner featuring Henry Rollins

Liar
Rollins Band

The Diary of Jane
Breaking Benjamin

Why Me?
Planet P Project

Nobody Not Really
Alicia Keys

Keep On Hoping
Raul Midon & Jason Mraz

Chasing Strange
Lizz Wright

Heaven or Las Vegas
Cocteau Twins

Black Swan
Thom Yorke

Elvis Is Everywhere
Mojo Nixon

Connecticut's For F***ing
Jesus H Christ and The Four Hornsmen of the Apocalypse

_Title Unknown
_Artist Unknown

Barely Breathing
Duncan Sheik

The Reluctant Deity
Fernando

Get Up
Amel Larrieux

For a Change
Chris Difford

James River Blues
Old Crow Medicine Show

Thinking About You
Fred Eaglesmith

Greyhound
Dave Barnes

Here (In Your Arms)
Hellogoodbye

Watch Your Step
Anita Baker

River
Madeleine Peyroux f/k.d. lang

Through Glass
Stone Sour

Blue Caravan
Vienna Teng

Burning In the Sun
Blue Merle

Love Me Like You
The Magic Numbers

All These People
Harry Connick, Jr. f/Kim Burrell

Tears, Tears, & More Tears
Elvis Costello & Allen Toussaint

I'm Gonna Love You Anyway
Buckwheat Zydeco

Pontchartrain
Vienna Teng

La Vie en Rose
Edith Piaf

Call Me When You're Sober
Evanescence

Fighting For Your Life
David Mead

All Fired Up
The Brand New Heavies

The Word
Prince

'Bout a Thang
Tonéx

Half My Height
Sunday Runners

Mama's Room
Under the Influence of Giants

One Last Time
Frog Holler

Seether
Veruca Salt

Paperback Bible
Lambchop

The Incredits
Michael Giacchino

I tried to focus mostly on new music, but couldn't resist the occasional flashback. The "Title Unknown" by "Artist Unknown" is a song in my iTunes library that had its data scrambled during a bad synchronization. Because I love new music and seek it out all the time from various sources, I don't always know the artists' names until I've had a good chance to listen to and absorb them into my psyche. I came to really love this song after it scrambled, and so I have no idea who it is. It doesn't help that the song is not sung in English. So, I've thrown down a challenge to Andrew, Caitlin, and Josh that if they can find the information for me, I'll reward them warmly (I think I said I'd give 'em a buck!).

Enough chattering tonight. Maybe I'll be better about posting this week. Maybe I'll finally catch up on vacation stories. Maybe.

kudos to kim barto

Ms. Barto wrote this editorial for the Asheville Citizen-Times and hits several nails on their heads. Thank you, Kim, for saying succinctly and eloquently that which many people have struggled to encapsulate (of course, I'm referring to myself here).

Here. I'll save you needing to click the link.

The American obsession with weight loss is unrealistic; moreover, it’s also harmful

by Kim Barto
CITIZEN-TIMES.com (Asheville, NC)
September 14, 2006

You won’t believe this, but Spain’s top fashion show recently rejected models for being too thin. That’s right—somewhere in hell, a snowball is having the last laugh.

The show’s organizers told the Associated Press that they want to encourage an image of health and beauty instead of emaciation. Hopefully, this unprecedented action will start a trend. As long as the starvation look is in vogue, millions of women and men will suffer from disorders such as anorexia and bulimia.

America is obsessed with dieting, and it’s taking a toll. The country that invented the fast-food greaseburger has now seen the rate of eating disorders double since the 1960s, according to the Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry. Up to 60 percent of high school girls diet, and even more worry about their weight.

The Eating Disorders Coalition estimates that millions of Americans are diagnosed annually, and anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. Worse, the patients keep getting younger. Something is deeply wrong with a society that fosters self-loathing in seven-year-old girls.

The problem is the prevailing attitude that equates thinness with good health and happiness. Combine this with a grossly distorted view of what is normal, and it’s no wonder that so many people hate their bodies.

In reality, a wide variety of body types are normal, depending on one’s bone structure, metabolism and genetics. It is fruitless and misleading to expect everyone to conform to the same weight. Whether you are naturally muscular, chunky, twiggy, curvy or tiny, trying to change your body can be frustrating and even dangerous.

When people try to make the body thinner than it is genetically programmed to be, it retaliates by becoming ravenous and vulnerable to binge eating, according to ANRED (Anorexia Nervosa and Related Eating Disorders), a nonprofit organization against eating disorders.

Ninety-eight percent of dieters regain all the weight they manage to lose, plus about 10 extra pounds, within five years.

The editors of the New England Journal of Medicine concluded in 1998 that, “(s)ince many people cannot lose much weight no matter how hard they try and promptly regain whatever they do lose, the vast amount of money spent on diet clubs, special foods and over-the-counter remedies, estimated to be on the order of $30 billion to $50 billion yearly, is wasted.”

There is no magic pill to keep weight off, no matter what the advertisers would have you believe.

Those that are effective are only minimally so, and they often carry serious health risks. Remember Fen-Phen?

What a paradox, that dieting should be such a lucrative industry in a country with such high obesity rates. Someone is obviously profiting from fat phobia in a big way. Take a nation of insecure people, bombard them with images of impossible beauty standards, and they will greet the latest fad with open wallets.

Couldn’t those billions of dollars be better spent? Instead of trying to buy happiness, think of all the good that money could do if diverted to cancer research or stamping out hunger.

Rather than focusing on weight loss at any cost, we should aim for good health at any size. Too many dieters harm their bodies and psyches by skipping meals, purging and popping pills in the quest for skinniness. We should eat for nutrition and well-being, not solely to lose weight. Amidst all the deprivation and guilt associated with eating, we often forget that fresh, simple food is a joy in itself.

Likewise, our use of language reinforces the idea of exercise as a punishment for the body. Instead of saying “feel the burn” or “no pain, no gain,” try “feel good.”

Exercising releases serotonin, the brain chemical that causes you to feel happy. Find an activity that you enjoy, be it swimming, cycling or salsa dancing — it doesn’t have to be a torture session on the Stairmaster.

When you make time to be active, feel your body growing stronger and stay away from the scale. Movement is supposed to be fun. If you doubt this, go outside with your kids, assuming they’re not video game addicts, and watch them play tag in the backyard.

Better yet, join them!

America needs a change in mindset — let’s embrace diversity of size and question the source of our insecurities. Find the weight that’s healthy for you, individually, without comparing yourself to the skeletal models on TV. Life is too short to hate your body.

Kim Barto is a senior at the UNCA majoring in photography with minors in mass communication and French. She also works in human resources for the U.S. Forest Service. Her columns appear on alternate Thursdays. Horray for Kim!

i love you, too, john

I was lucky enough to get whiff of him slightly before the listening world latched on, so it still feels like he's "mine" (even though he's now officially huge). I was lucky enough to go see him in concert a few summers ago, dragging along my niece (who wasn't exactly kicking and screaming) and her father (who wasn't exactly sure why he was there). I just finished being lucky enough to watch his entire concert from Webster Hall in New York City streaming live on the internet, and I am reminded what an amazing show he puts on. I wish I had been in the room, too. And I was futzing around on his blog, and found his confession of love. So the least I can do is give him a little plug on my own blog, right?

Go buy this album now. By whatever means possible. And if you don't have Room For Squares, Heavier Things, Try! (with the trio), or anything he's ever touched, buy them too. Any time a songwriter can score a Grammy on his second album (the one notorious for being afflicted by the Sophomore Slump), it's proof that the talent is genuine and deep.

heavy

This is the Damon family. My friend, Hildi (right) married the sweet and dutiful brainiac, Pat, 19 years ago. Their daughter, Mikayla is 14, and their son, Jan-Christian is 12. This picture was taken the day that Pat was deployed to Afghanistan with the Army National Guard in January. Hildi'd sent me this picture along with five others, all of the kids being alternately goofy and pensive. As you might imagine, everyone was sad to see him go.

I just found out today that Pat died in Afghanistan. And every time I think of any aspect of the situation, I literally shake my head in a combination of utter disbelief and a gargantuan lack of comprehension. I can't fathom how or why it happened. I couldn't possibly begin to know what Hildi, Mikayla, and Jan-Christian are going through. And although it doesn't surprise me that Hildi effected a meeting with the President and that during that meeting she spoke the hard truth to him, I simply don't know from where she gets the strength and courage to do it. I just don't. Can't. Anything.

Hildi and Pat took me into their home for a little while before I moved to Seattle. The lease on my apartment was up before my job was over, and they were kind enough to let me pitch camp in their guest bedroom. If fish and houseguests smell after three days, I must have been rank (there nearly a month). They were only ever good friends and gracious hosts.

Pat seemed quiet around people who didn't know him, but he was an excited and unending source of information (and a bit of a ham) to those of us who did. And all I can do is shake my head and offer well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful condolences to my widowed friend and her fatherless children.

I also found out today that my friend, Michelle, and her entire community have had a jarring loss. Two women were killed and two others wounded by a man who entered an elementary school and started shooting people. Today is the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and it's shocking how much has not been done there since. My friend, Donna, is boarded into her home in Florida waiting for Ernesto to show up. The news tells mind-boggling stories about one man pretending he killed a little girl and another man arrested for setting up marriages between little girls and older men. Some days, it's too much to absorb.

The world aside, my thoughts keep coming back to Hildi. And Essex, Vermont. And a naive wish that I could recapture the innocence of youth and spread it like peanut butter over everyone's wounds.

exploring nutmeg

Too frequently, the one day a week we both have off is occupied with a variety of chores. It is rare that we spend that day without a list, a schedule, a project, a visit, or a plan. Yesterday -- although prompted by a chore -- we decided to have such a day.

Our first stop was the Tanger Outlets in Westbrook to buy a couple new pairs of pants for Ted. That chore completed, we wandered around the Borders outlet, procuring four books between the two of us (that's 3 for Ted, 1 for me). From there, we hit the first matinee of Little Miss Sunshine. Were it not for us laughing and Typhoid Mary in the front row coughing violently, the theater would have been silent. Of course, there were only about 12 people there. Irrespective of the surroundings, I really enjoyed the movie. Along with the laugh-out-loud funny parts, there were at least three tears-streaming-down-my-face crying parts, too.

From the theater, we went on a search for a place to have lunch. After escaping Westbrook (where we'd been told there was a muster that day and parts of town were closed off), we headed for Clinton, but didn't stop until Madison where we found Lenny and Joe's Fish Tale. The place was hopping, the fried clams were good, and there was a small carousel. It was fun to watch the kids spinning around on giant frogs and cats while grabbing rings (although the rings were plentiful and not brass, so neither much of a challenge nor particularly special).

We decided to stay off the highway, wandering down Route 1. We made a spontaneous stop at Bishop's Orchards in Guilford, sniffing our way through the fresh produce. They had the biggest basil plants I've ever seen, and so aromatic! We bought apricots and limes, and wandered around looking for the animals. We found a few goats hanging out in a pen in the distance, but nothing else.

Even with the occasional rain shower, it was a nice day -- a cool and pleasant relief from the recent heat wave and perfect for driving with all the windows open. We stayed on Route 1 until we lost it somewhere in New Haven. Yes, we lost a road while we were driving on it. Go figure. Anyway, an opportunity to rejoin the highway presented itself, and so we abandoned the search for Route 1 and took the speedy way home. There, we caught up on some TiVo, napped, enjoyed a simple dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and called it a day.

We've complained a lot about living in Connecticut. Too expensive. Too stressful. Too everything. But it was nice to roam through the towns along the shore and enjoy the scenery.

there she goes

It's time for Aunt Kelly to mist again. Tomorrow, Caitlin heads to college. I've just started my round of the correspondence book we've been circulating since February 24, 2003. She writes a letter, I write a letter, she writes a letter, etc.

We usually make a CD for each other. Her most recent contained Ben Lee, Cross Canadian Ragweed, Justin Timberlake, AFI, Switchfoot, Dashboard Confessional, Fort Minor, DecembeRadio, The New Amsterdams, simple plan, Dierks Bentley, Something Corporate, and the ultra-catchy "Getcha Head in the Game" from High School Musical. Very eclectic. I'm so proud.

I've been collecting songs for a while to create the CDs (yes, plural) to go with my turn of the book. There's one song in particular that is just the most amazingly catchy pop song I've heard in a long time. I won't mention it here (don't want to ruin the surprise in case Ms. Cait wanders over to the blog while unpacking her dorm room), but I'll post again once the package is sent. This song is too good not to share with the world..

I don't have any good insight to share here. Just the continued disbelief that the young ones in my life are reaching, approaching, and eyeing adulthood rapidfire.

By the way, in the photo above, notice Caitlin's early adoption of the "hook 'em horns" hand gesture, best used for rock concerts and sporting events. Also, the little arm flung over Caitlin's shoulder is that of Andrew, who starts his sophomore year of college next week, too.

::sniff, sniff::

unearthed

A few weekends ago, I drove to my parents' house and spent two days clearing out the large closet of the very small bedroom I last occupied around 1984. Three siblings, two nephews, and a niece also pitched in. I'd stored my record collection and some other memorabilia in there when I moved to Seattle in 1991. It's been there ever since, despite the fact that I moved back to New England nearly seven years ago. So, my brother has been helping our folks get organized this summer, and when he happened across said closet, I was called into action.

Somehow, a great of deal additional stuff managed to accumulate on top of my stash. To top it all off, because the closet had been so full when the professional animal control company came to block off all possible mouse, squirrel, skunk, and raccoon entrances into the old farmhouse, it was the one place they couldn't access. Therefore, about a million happy little mice have made quite a comfortable home in there over the years. There was plenty of chewed cardboard and fabric to show for it, though the more dire consequence of all that eating (ahem) was quite distressing. We did lots of cleaning -- ourselves and the house.

The little buggers nibbled through the spines of about 100 albums that were stored in crates. Argh! Thankfully, the remaining records (approximately 1200 albums and 12" singles, and 1000 45s) were all safely secured in boxes that the mice apparently found too daunting to chew. Everything is now safely in brand new, climate controlled, and pest-protected storage. Moving all that vinyl caused me to contemplate a couple things.

First, records are really heavy! I moved those things twice a year, every year, for all four years of college. Each trip, the number accumulating. I moved them three more times to each place I lived in Maine before their final move into Mom and Dad's house when I headed West. I'd nearly forgotten how much they weigh in large groups.

Second, I'm really looking forward to listening to this stuff again. Although I have replaced some of it on CD or MP3, I own a treasure trove of music that has never been released digitally. I'm going to have to set my computer up to capture the stuff and make my iTunes library more representative of my whole collection. That sounds interesting, but I still haven't even come close to getting my CD collection (which numbers approximately 1500) into iTunes yet.

That weekend was the start of a trend for me. I'm cleaning out. Decluttering our space. Lightening the load. Taking inspiration from Mom & Dad's house, and one of my favorite home shows. Upon opening a mysterious file box, I discovered a notebook I'd written when I was first living in Seattle. It includes the last of a series of lists that I created annually highlighting my favorite music released during the year.

Here is my 1992 Best of Albums list:

1. Alice in Chains "Dirt"
2. k.d. lang "Ingenue"
3. Pearl Jam "Ten"
4. Thomas Dolby "Astronauts & Heretics"
5. Enya "Shepherd Moons"
6. Matthew Sweet "Girlfriend"
7. Arrested Development "3 Years, 5 Months & 2 Days in the Life Of..."
8. Annie Lennox "Diva"
9. "The Commitments" soundtrack
10. Bobby McFerrin & Chick Corea "Play"
11. Bobby McFerrin & Yo Yo Ma "Hush"
12. Madonna "Erotica"
13. Alison Moyet "Hoodoo"
14. Ephraim Lewis "Skin"
15. CeCe Peniston "Finally"
16. Michael Penn "Free-For-All"
17. Prince & New Power Generation "[the symbol that later became his name]"
18. Queen Latifah "The Nature of a Sista"
19. Shakespeare's Sister "Hormonally Yours"
20. Go West "Indian Summer"

I have a couple observations about this grouping. First, it was my requirement the list could only be comprised of records I actually owned. It being my first year after arriving in Seattle, I had precious little money to spend on music (as mentioned in a recent post), and so my choices were limited. Second, I'm fascinated to see how I have become more appreciative of some of the "lower" ranked records since 1992. Ephraim Lewis is a great example. At a modest #14 here, I might well place it at the same rank or even higher of my all-time favorites (a list I've threatened to create but have never actually done). It comes close to being a perfect album.

But wait, there's more! My 1992 Best of Songs list (alphabetical, not enumerated):

• Beastie Boys "So What Cha Want"
• Mary J. Blige "Real Love"
• Brand New Heavies "Never Stop"
• Chesney Hawkes "The One and Only"
• Cowboy Junkies "Murder Tonight in the Trailer Park"
• En Vogue "My Lovin' (Never Gonna' Get It)"
• Extreme "Rest in Peace"
• Live "Operation Spirit"
• The KLF with Tammy Wynette "Justified and Ancient"
• King Missile "Detachable Penis"
• L7 "Pretend That We're Dead"
• The La's "There She Goes"
• L.A. Style "James Brown is Dead"
• Lush "For Love"
• Madonna "Deeper and Deeper"
• George Michael "Too Funky"
• Public Enemy "Can't Truss It"
• Screaming Trees "Nearly Lost You"
• John Secada "Just Another Day"
• Sting with Eric Clapton "It's Probably Me"
• Sugarcubes "Hit"
• Sundays "Love"
• Tears For Fears "Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down)"
• They Might Be Giants "Hey Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had a Deal"

Even though there is definitely some diversity in the group, it feels so narrow now. I suppose that makes sense given the volume of new (and old) music I've enjoyed and/or procured since 1992.

Here's an example. I just bought a new album (the entire thing digitally... I've evolved to the point where I no longer need physical evidence) that is rapidly growing on me. It is "Dreaming Through the Noise" by Vienna Teng. This is not her first album, but I am just now learning about her. Wonderful music.

art imitating real life

To make an incredibly long story as short as possible, my family drove some 13,000 miles on a 'cross country vacation in 1973. Our Volkswagen bus was filled above the brim. Mom and Dad alternated driver's seat and shotgun. Eldest brother, Gerry, had the most space in the 2/3 middle seat. Brothers, Chris and Sean, shared the back seat. And my sister, Cathy, and I made a little fortress out of the "wayfarback." All of our clothes, food, and sleeping bags were packed in two massive, silver fiberglass cubes secured to the full-size roof rack. We must have been a sight to behold.

Despite the fact that I was only seven years old at the time, I remember a good deal of this trip. Some things stand out -- riding a cable car in San Francisco and better still driving the bus down Lombard Street, fog and chipmunks (but no giant stone presidents) at Mt. Rushmore, red mud flooding into our tent at the Badlands, the "four knuckle knocker" scaring the pants off Sean who was sleeping in the bus, waking up with the bus parked inches from a cliff at the Pacific Ocean in California, eating a very late dinner at a place I'd never seen before called "Taco Bell" and not understanding why I couldn't get a hot dog. I remember a lot of games played in the car. I remember every minute of a whole day at Disneyland.

One memory is partial but permanent. It goes like this. We were in the desert Southwest somewhere (give me a break, I was 7). We'd stopped at a gas station for refueling and a bathroom break, and then headed back out on the road.

This is the part I don't remember, so I have to retell it as my Mom tells it. We were about half an hour past the gas station when a little voice in the back (that would be me) said, "Where's Cathy?"

Oops. We'd left one behind.

This is the part I do remember. My father drove faster than I'd ever seen him drive to get back to the gas station. And when we arrived, Cathy was standing in front of the huge plate glass window -- her long, brown hair braided, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face twisted in anger, and her foot tapping impatiently. She scolded us, hopped back on the bus, and off we went. Again. With all present and accounted for.

Now, I can't speak for Cathy. I can't imagine how she must have felt. We had a plan in case anyone got lost on the trip (everyone was to call my father's secretary, and she would coordinate a location to reunite). My sister had followed the rules and called Diane. But there hadn't been any phones in the half hour trip past the gas station for us to use, as well. Remember, 1973. So, my poor sister had to wait almost an hour for us to come back.

In hindsight and for me (the one who didn't have to go through this), it's kinda' humorous. You know, one of those stories she can tell her grandchildren. She doesn't need to tell her children, because our mother's been doing that for years.

So when I saw the trailer for the new movie, Little Miss Sunshine, I laughed more loudly than I have in a long time, and with such force that I cried. I immediately called Cathy. I hope the past 33 years have created enough of a buffer for her that she might be able to laugh at it, too.

I think Fox Searchlight should pay my sister a royalty.



Cool to catch a Sufjan Stevens song in there, too.