Another reason to love bookstores.

The conversations likely to be overheard there are just classic. Two middle-aged academic-types are sitting just a table away, the very image of bookstore studiousness: books spread out on the surface, coffee mugs half-full, murmured conversation interspersed with quiet chuckles...and the occasional perfect line.

One just admonished the other: "Stop using sexual innuendos in a public place--you're embarrassing everyone!" The effect was probably lessened somewhat by the laugh that followed.

With the rain outside and my soccer games tonight (unfortunately, as I was getting assessed) canceled, it really is a lovely evening to spend in a bookstore. Even the announcements are entertaining!--

"Attention, customers, it is now happy hour in our café, with drink specials of.............Also, please keep an eye out for Jeff, who will be wandering around the store with a tray of spice lattes and snickerdoodle cookies."

Jeff better watch out; I think one of those cookies has my name on it.

Surprisingly awake for the night I had.

Well, today is the day: 11-20-2009. New Moon release day!

It's not high literature. It's not exactly healthy literature. It's escapist, and silly, and targeted at a group several age categories below me.

But damn it, it's fun.

Little Civic, the girls and I had a great mini-road trip, complete with Coke, Reeses' Bars and Wild Cherry Pepsi. There was some fog on the way home, but we made it in one piece.

Best moments of the trip:
"Edward! Just go away! Stay away!"
"Whee-oow, whee-ow..."
"Nah, I'm a Twi-hard."
"Ask him to take a poll!"
"I mean, if Taylor Swift can do it, so can I."

Fun, fun, fun. Though now I am sleepy.

My front yard.

I love where I live. The girls and I are going to see New Moon tonight--woo! (Even more exciting/ridiculous: the theaters in town were sold out, so we're driving 45 minutes to a small theater in the capital to catch a midnight show! Road trip!)

Thanksgiving: part II of IV

The exact moment escapes me, but at some point in the fall of our freshman year, my dorm buddies and I decided we wanted to cook our own Thanksgiving dinner. One member of the group had never had turkey, and this was decried as a tragedy; someone volunteered to do the turkey, another pies, another yams, and a tradition was born.

That first year, Twainsgiving was cooked in a cramped, questionable dorm kitchen, with all ingredients purchased the night before (so as to fit within our mini-fridges and the one full-size cooler available). Gloria, as the bird was christened, was glorious, as were the assorted sides, desserts, and rolls (even if we did have a roll fight in the lounge once we had eaten our fill). The entire evening was proclaimed a great success, and nearly everything was eaten.

Fast forward three years. Some things have changed about Twainsgiving--significant others have rotated in and out of the lineup, the location has changed from dorm to apartment, those partaking in the feast have ostensibly become more grown-up--but many things are just the same. There's still the mad rush at the very beginning and very end of prep ("Is the turkey cooking in time?...Is everything finished at the right time? Where are the plates?"). There's still a lot of catching-up and laughter. There's still the same dishes to look forward to: C.'s pound-of-butter turkey, J. or E.'s pies, my candied yams. And there's still largely the same group of friends from three years ago meeting and eating.

Sitting around tonight, it was impossible to think of this Twainsgiving in isolation: the three previous years lined up behind it, like movement in a photograph. We seem a little more sure of ourselves, a little more grounded--very different from the wide-eyed novices we were. We may still be wide-eyed novices in a lot of ways, but we have learned volumes about who we are, and what living with ourselves is like. The joking and teasing that goes along with any family dinner was there, but worn in and very comfortable: Yes, this is who I am, my attitude seemed to be. And sometimes I do some funny things! But within and around and behind the laughter and food, there was a strong core of support and love, as there can only be in a group that has grown up together.

Next year may be the first year without this particular gathering, as we travel to different corners of the country and the world, taking the next steps into our lives on our own. I hope not; I hope we make the effort to celebrate together in some way for years to come. No matter what happens to Twainsgiving, though, it has been a wonderful celebration for the past four years, and a memory that will tie all of us together no matter how far apart we drift.

Rules to live by...

(Written as a class example, for their own upcoming five-rules assignment, but cool enough to share here.)

1. Give free hugs.
You don't have to give literal Free Hugs like Juan Mann, but give away goodwill for free. Don't proselytize or expect payment. The great people who do this--Mother Teresa, MLK Jr.--become saints; you will at least become content.

2. Ask questions.
Muse. Wonder. Hypothesize. Test. Re-test. Guess. Suppose. Don't accept truth because your teacher, professor, mother, or priest says it is true; question it, explore it, research it, and find your own way to the truth.

3. Wear sunscreen.
It's not just propaganda for Banana Boat: take care of your body. You're young, healthy and strong now, so you're also smart enough to keep things that way by watching what you put in and on your body.

4. Believe in a thing called love (and don't stop believing).
Like the rhythm of your heart, love is a quiet constant that keeps life humming along. It doesn't need to be romantic love--it could be the love you have for your family, your friends, your dog, but without it, life doesn't have much meaning. Respect love when you find it and don't let it go.

5.Find something to be happy about every day.
Train yourself to see the beauty, the humor, the goodness in the ordinary, and you will smile more, laugh more, and be a happier person. There is something to be grateful for in every day, even the rainiest, coldest, worst Monday in all of history--if you can find happiness there, you will be happy every day of your life.

Thanksgiving: part I of IV

J.'s younger brother (who also happens to be a J.) hosted a group at his apartment tonight, promising Hickory Farms and turducken roll. There were also cheesy appetizer-y squares ("cheesy poofs!"), mashed potatoes, stuffing, maple-cranberry-pear casserole, and pies--both pumpkin, and J.'s famous apple pie.

Later on, there were also brownies, Guitar Hero, and a guest appearance by Christopher Walken. A grand time was had by all.

Last year, I had three Thanksgivings--one with friends, one with my family, one with A.'s family--and it was interesting to compare & contrast them. I fell into a slightly different role at each, whether as support staff (Twainsgiving with the friends), in charge (with my family, as I cooked the turkey), or guest (with the other side of family). There are really different expectations in each sphere.

There are a lot of similarities, though. Disaster is narrowly averted in every Thanksgiving celebration; I'm convinced. Last night, we started thawing the turducken at five pm, and had to make several trips out to the store for forgotten/suddenly needed ingredients. The puppy peed on the floor. Our host was cleaning up his apartment around party guests. But instead of these things taking away from our fun, they were just accepted as part of the holiday, and chuckled off. So we ate dinner at eight!--more time for the Hickory Farms, mulled cider, and YouTube videos.

Twainsgiving (part two of the four-part series of gluttony) is Wednesday night--more on Thanksgiving observations then.

Mulled Cider
2 quarts apple cider
One whole, small orange
Orange slices
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
2 teaspoons whole cloves
1 cup spiced rum (optional)

Stud the whole orange with the cloves (this is so you aren't picking cloves out of your drink later). Combine all ingredients except rum in large pot, and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat, and simmer for 5 minutes; add rum, and simmer 5 more. Serve immediately. Turn heat off, and put a lid on the pot to keep cider warm.

One recipe serves about eight, but you'll probably want to double it when shopping for ingredients...otherwise you'll have to go out shopping again halfway through dinner, like we did tonight.

Question of the day.

In rap songs, why is it always the Holiday Inn?



we at the hotel, motel, hawliday innn...

V is for victory.

And also for Vagina (Monologues), which held auditions today. I decided to be a boundary-pusher, and auditioned with the most risqué of the monologues, a piece known colloquially as "The Moaner."

Going to be an interesting winter...

Music always pulls out the memories.

This song just came on Pandora, and I had to stop in my essay-writing to remember why it was familiar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrGmcuj44DQ

Is it in a musical? Nah, couldn't be, what musical? I have the feeling I've seen someone act along with this song, though. On TV? No...where, then?

Which of course was the cue for the most familiar progression to hit, which of course made me hum along his particular stylings on it. It's not from a musical, no--it's from a musical group here on campus, which included the multitalented M., good friend and boyfriend of another good friend (also ironically named M.) He's away in Arizona, in his first semester of grad school: it's a bit sad that I won't be seeing him at the annual winter concert. (It's still so strange that people are moving on, starting their grownup lives...I don't know that I'm ready yet. Maybe in another couple years.)

Still, what a nice surprise on a homeworky Monday afternoon.

(Also, Scrubs is hilarious.)

A little warmth in the chill.

This semester, I'm in my last of three English teaching methods classes. Fall of last year was the writing course; spring was reading; this semester is media composition and analysis. Not bad.

As the class has moved closer to being grownups with real jobs during school hours, our meeting times have changed. At first, we met two afternoons a week...then two nights...and now just one, Monday nights from 5--8. (Three hours is an excruciatingly long time for one class, but that's another issue.)

Sometime in the second or third week, F. and I discovered that we walked the same way home, and began to meet up and chatter for the few blocks our routes converged. She's a very sweet woman, a graduate student from China doing her master's work, and it's been really nice to share a bit of travel with her. We've been in class together for a year and a half, but this is the most one-on-one time I've had with her. Even though I'm much better than I was in high school, I can still be a bit of an awkward turtle--I'm never sure about class friendships, whether they exist only out of convenience or the two of us are actually friends. At any rate, walking with F. was nice. I wasn't going to look too closely at it.

Tonight, we headed towards home, sharing remedies for sore throats and colds. (She suggested ginger and brown sugar; I swear by lemon, mint and honey.) As we reached the corner where our paths divide, she stopped for a moment to unzip her backpack and pull out a small bag of red bean and date dumplings. We had talked about food and dumplings before, but I was surprised to get such a treat!

We chatted a few minutes more, waved, and went our own ways. As I walked the few blocks more to my apartment, I carried a warm little thought with me: Yup, we're friends.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

If by "wonderful" you mean "paranoid, sprinting, shouting 'hold the line! hold the line!' and avoiding zombies" time of the year, of course.

Humans versus Zombies returned to campus last week, but I was out of town for a conference, and just got my first mission in tonight. Unfortunately, my first was also my last: leaving the safe building after the mission, my tiny team of five got cornered. One sprinted off; one was cut off, and had to retreat back inside; and the remaining three of us were cornered by ten zombies in a bottleneck sidewalk...

J., E., and I braced ourselves for the attack. We managed to take out all but one sleeper, who slunk in behind the group and tagged J. just as he relaxed. I got a shot off and stunned him before he could make it to me. Hands shaking, I reloaded all the bullets I could find (only half of what I started with), and took off at a sprint from the other zombies still in pursuit.

Two of them followed me into a parking lot across the street. If I could only make it across that lot, there would be a long, open building that would take me almost all the way home. I kept my back to the wall of a building, and kept both in front of me almost the entire way across the lot. One of them tried to attack; I shot him in the chest. I considered racing the other to the door, but quickly nixed the idea--he had much longer legs than I did, and I would have to run around him to the open building. We had a standoff around some cars, but I just missed him with my shots. I was running out of bullets, too.

We kept up the cat-and-mouse game all the way to the open building, but the first door I saw was dark. Not wanting to try it and fail (which would mean certain tagging), I kept going down the street to the bright entrance. Tall zombie circled, watching, waiting for me to look away from him, and I saw the quick glance over my shoulder too late. The zombie I had never seen tagged me from behind.

It was a valiant way to go out; all told, I made about eight kills in five minutes, and survived for quite a while as a lone female against two (and, later, three) hungry zombies. (Besides, now I can relax. I don't have to scan the world around me at all times--only when I want a little amusement from chasing humans.)