First Page of My Novel (Rewritten)

So about a week and a half ago, two weeks ago I got in the mood to write again. I was feeling confident and inspired and wordy, and had decided what needed to be reworked on the next great American novel (as my project is called). And because I know only a few people read this blog, and because these people are probably reading it to procrastinate on something else, and because I believe in indulging procrastinators, may I present: The first page.

This is the slightly reworked version. I've done a lot of good reading since being up here. I think it's helped a lot. And I already test-ran this on Loren, because at one point he inspired me to start writing my acknowledgements when I'd gotten about 100 pages in and then stumped. Loren is the best for this sort of stuff. Plus, I had Dan reading my piece for Ellen, so I had to get my other guy working on something for me too. So . . . here it is. Let me know what you think sometime when we can talk quietly. I'm silly and superstitious and don't want a lot of people who don't know what's going on jumping in and talking to me. (I realize that's weird and I'm okay with that.)

Here we go:

I don’t remember exactly when I was told that no two snowflakes were alike. There were a lot of snowflakes in Massachusetts, and each year I eagerly awaited being able to take my sled out for the first time. Our long, winding driveway sloped down to the street, perfect for sledding, bad for steering. Careening into young trees was a regular occurrence.

All those perfect, original, individual snowflakes got packed together into lopsided snowmen and elaborate snow forts. Nick and I would barricade ourselves across the lawn from each other and hurl snowballs back and forth. When we got tired, we’d throw them at birds and squirrels. We nearly always missed, except for one time I nailed a fat squirrel in a tree. It fell off the bare branch, making a poof in the snow as it landed, and then got up, dazed, staggered for a moment and leapt off deep into the trees.

When I was about six or seven, my mother dug out a microscope (I believe it was hers, from when she was in middle school) and a piece of black cloth and we looked at the snowflakes under the lens, outside in the cold. Taking her gloves off, Mom focused the view for me and let me peer at the crystalline structures, intricate as the twists and ladders of the DNA on the poster in my room. It had come free in a magazine and was an advertisement of some sort. Mom explained that each snowflake was different, just like a person. I peered down the barrel of the microscope, simultaneously understanding and confused. There were just so many; how could there be that many different ones? But there in front of me, under the glass and on top of the velvet, were perfect snowflakes. They were all different.

****

The man had never been married. One could presume that it was because his mind was so singularly focused that he couldn’t put forth the effort to care about someone else. He could barely care for himself. He frequently forgot to eat, and postdocs would bring him back Thai or sandwiches and leave them on his desk, where he would notice them and eat them. If no one brought him food, he might go eight or nine hours without eating, despite the fact that he passed a vending machine on his way from his office and lab to the stairwell. The stairwell, narrow and concrete and with peeling (probably lead) paint, let him go up three floors to the roof, where he could smoke his cigarettes, which had a slightly sweet, mellow smell to them. The postdocs smoked harsh-smelling Camels and Marlboros.

He was well-liked by his coworkers, even if they didn’t really know him. The lab technicians found him fair; when Joseph’s daughter had asthma attacks at school, he could always leave and meet her and the school nurse at the emergency room. When Schuchi’s brother found cheap last-minute tickets from Atlanta to Logan, she brought him into work with her one afternoon. Her brother sat on a stool and cheerily told everyone about how he just couldn’t get used to traditional Southern cooking, much to his new fiance’s dismay.

The man didn’t appear to have any hobbies, even though it was rumored that he came from an extremely wealthy family and he could have taken up whichever expensive hobby would have been befitting to an intelligent, healthy middle-aged man. He never talked about going skiing in Vermont over the weekend or visiting the Cape. Occasionally he joined his staff at the Irish bar down the street from the lab—no matter where you were in the greater Boston area, there was an Irish bar down the street—but he would spend his time getting other people to talk than doing any talking himself. Everyone assumed he was just devoted to his work. After all, he had been a member of the Whitehead Institute and the National Academy of Sciences, and now he was devoted to a stack of books and papers that was taking over a table in his office. It wasn’t related to his work cloning stem cells derived from the livers of rats. But whenever someone asked him what the metastasizing pile was, he merely waved a hand and said, “Just some things I’m thinking about.” No one was able to get more information than that.

I Am A Rock Star

I have two more weeks to finish schoolwork, and I almost couldn't give a damn. Today I had an hour-long phone interview with the recruiting editor at the Star-Telegram, and he set up a second interview for the day I get back in Fort Worth (a Wednesday). Just to top it off, I have the Tyler interview on Thursday, the day after. And then I have a third interview on that Friday in Temple.

I rock the journalism world. Like a mo fo.

I feel smug. I feel confident. I feel giddy and excited and my stomach is filled with butterflies. I feel like I really, really need to get some sleep before this all happens, but I don't really foresee that happening. I will be up at work and frantically finishing schoolwork and partying until I leave the day after class ends. Then I land Wednesday morning, have an interview Wednesday night, and have interviews and interviews and driving and driving.

I can't wait!

What makes it even better is that I planned this all perfectly, somehow, and luck helped out afterward. Scheduling that week in Fort Worth was intended to give me time for interviews, but when I booked it I didn't have any interviews to fill the days. Now I do. I won't get to see as much of Dan and my friends as I'd like, but it'll be ok--a lot of them will be in the same position of doing last-minute job things.

I feel like celebrating Thanksgiving for real, now, in December. Let's get thankful. I know I am.

Inspired Confliction

The closer I get to the end of the schoolyear, the more excited I get, and the more worried I get as well. It's the job thing. There's not really anything else to get worried about. After everything is turned in for classes, I go home and do a last-minute job hunt. The editors from the Tyler Morning Telegraph asked that I drive there (the Rose Capital of Texas) on Thursday for an interview . . . "Drive over, we'll take you to lunch and we'll only keep you for four or five hours." That's got to be a good sign, right? I talked to the managing editor for a half hour on the phone, and he was quite enthusiastic that I wanted to do cops and then could move into health. The health writer has been there for like 50 years or something and is looking to retire soon.

I feel fairly confident that they will make me an offer. I feel fairly confident it's going to be hard to accept. If I can ever get in touch with one of the managing editors at the Star-T, I can see if there's any chance of getting a job there. Lee said he could get me started as a correspondent--freelance work, essentially--at about $600 for a 15-inch feature and $100-$200 for news stories. If I could assure I get a couple stories a week and figure something out with health benefits, that could be a real possibility.

The thing is that being in Tyler would be a pain. For a while now I've been resigned to the fact that I probably won't end up in Fort Worth, but the closer the prospect gets, the more I really don't want that to happen. I don't want to have to try and move the horses to a barn as good as the one they're at now. I don't want to try to find an entire apartment to rent, and to buy all the bullshit that comes with living on one's own. I don't want to see Dan and Julie every once in a while. Even if I have weekends off to go home, Dan will be working and so will Julie. If I have days off in the middle of the week, which may be more likely, then they'll have work AND school. If I go to Tyler, it would have to be for a year and a half or two years.

Julie shouldn't have to babysit Topper anymore. And Dan and I are sick of trying to be in the same place at the same time. He graduates in a few months, and then he'll have to get a job. The likelihood that we'll get jobs in the same city are really slim if the city is anything smaller than Fort Worth.

Obviously, I only have one choice. I have to get an agent and get my novel sold and get a nice fat advance.

I don't know how my parents will take it if I decide to stay in Fort Worth and turn down a steady job in Tyler. I don't know how Dan and Julie will take it if I turn down being able to help them out in order to go to Tyler. I know I'd rather be in Fort Worth. I know I can get by on less money there because I'll have less to pay for--sharing an apartment with Julie would be significantly cheaper than trying to furnish and live in an apartment of my own in another town.

I'm absolutely conflicted.

On the other hand, at least I'm inspired. One of Ellen's book agent friends came into class and was talking about the process of getting a book published. She was talking nonfiction, but the more she talked, the more absolutely confident I felt that I could do this. As soon as I get established somewhere I'm gonna start searching for an agent. Wouldn't that be a riot? I'd be a rock star. Even if I got a smallish advance, if it let me live in Fort Worth, work part-time and write, that's all I need.

Earlier this week I ran across some writing I'd done back before college, my senior year of high school. At home I have two massive binders with printed copies of tons of stuff I've written, and I can go back through everything regularly. Since my parents have moved, all of that is in a box in storage somewhere with the rest of my books. I haven't read anything that I'd written just for fun in a long time. It's an experience. Some of the stuff was downright silly, but there were surprising good bits that I could hardly believe had come out of my head.

The combination of the agent and my old stuff made me feel like writing again. I haven't really done anything on my draft since coming up here. I decided I need to relocate my story--it would make more sense to set it here in the Boston area, actually. The Dallas area would have worked, but this is better. And I've done a lot of reading of people I really admire, so now I want to change my writing style a bit. It would be hard to change it too much--my voice is apparent from ten miles away with almost everything I've done--but I'm looking forward to it all. I'm quite serious in that I will get this out.

Also, if you ask me what I'm working on, I'll give you the same old answer: I can't tell you. It's quite silly and superstitious of me, but no one may ever know what I'm working on until it hits stands. Yes, I'm afraid of failure.

Just a few more weeks.

Call Me and We'll Do Something

I woke up Monday thinking I was getting sick with a cold and praying it wasn't another throat infection because I reeeeeeally don't want to deal with a doctor. My throat was sore, my body hurt, I had a headache and I felt like I was burning up. Megan recommended vitamins and echinacea, so I trekked down to the drug store for Tylenol and some magical herbal supplements. I don't take vitamins or anything on a regular basis, and I always lose my Tylenol (I swear I have 8 bottles somewhere), and the cool damp air felt good.

Yesterday I felt better, and it helped that Ellen was out of town and I could nap when I would otherwise be faking that I had something good for my narrative. I do have something good, it's just all scattered right now, and I couldn't be bothered because I wanted a nap. Plus, I had a cover letter to perfect.

The cover letter was for the Star-Telegram. Phil Record told me to send stuff in to Larry Lutz, the recruiting officer/assistant managing editor, and I'm hoping to goodness they have something for me. Anything. Please. Dan worked with my on his cover letter, passing on what he learned from his editor, who's been coaching Dan on internship applications. It took three or four tries before I got a cover letter that worked.

I overnighted my stuff to Larry, and it's all I can do not to call right now to see if he got it. I'm going to call Phil instead, and let him know I sent it in (maybe he'll talk to Larry for me) and find out when I can call. I feel like a girl who just met a guy she really, really liked and she wants to call to hang out or something but doesn't want to sound desperate. (I admit, that analogy is from Catherine, who was one of my editors.)

I don't want to sound desperate, but I sort of am. I desperately want this job, to be able to live with my sister, to be in the same town as Dan again, to have Topper and Mexican food and Blue Mesa margaritas and mild winters and big skies.

Tonight I might try to go running. I haven't been since before school started, and I've been a total of like 4 times since last school year. I was on my bike a lot, which is great, but I don't want to deal with traffic and all the debris on the road from the rain. But I'm feeling schleppy and need to get out.

I found a bit of an antidote to my sleeping problem. I found that if I leave my reading light on I can more easily fall asleep. It's kinda pitiful that I have to trick my body into thinking I'm taking a nap in order to sleep.

So close and yet so far away. I can't believe it's been a year and a half already, but in some ways it seems so damn long.

To Do List

I have one month and one day til my last assignment is due and I'm done. That means I have to find a job and send off the last two internship applications. That means I have to finish Ellen's piece and somehow come up with something to do for Falla---something I can do in one day, something I can take care of quickly. I have to finish my piece for the Globe.

In the meantime, however, there's a whole slew of movies to see and drinks to have with people. I'm crossing my fingers that Dan's a finalist for the Globe internship and gets flown up here for an interview, too, because that would be exactly what I'll need--a good break in the last rush of chaos. Boston is so much more fun when you have someone to do everything with. Life in general is more fun that way. But if not, I'm back home in a month, so all will be well.

I pulled my jumper necklace out the other day because I was missing Topper. It's a James Avery charm of a horse and rider going over a jump, and I put it away for a while because I'm afraid of the loop breaking and losing the charm forever. They don't make that charm anymore, and I'd be so sad if it were gone. When I'm at home I may ask to have a new loop put on it, just as reinforcement.

The plan is for me to go home for about a week, bum around with Topper and Dan, and Julie and I fly out for Christmas. Dan and I will meet up back in Boston, do last-minute stuff, celebrate New Year's and then leave on the 1st. I don't even know what to think about everything. It'll be funny to know I won't be driving back up here in another three months.

Things are good.

Slow Season

Yesterday was one of those cold days where there are clouds but they're so compact and low that the sky looks fake. The particular color of blue wasn't helping any. By late afternoon I was sorry I didn't have a scarf and gloves. My legs are starting to get itchy, which means it's becoming winter.

I booked a flight back to Texas today for the day after Ellen's piece is due and after the last day of classes. The exciting thing is it only cost $99 ($117 after taxes) and Dan can actually pick me up. We also think we have an in at his uncle's beach house in Connecticut, so we can leave on the 1st and stay there. We can stay out all night and still make the short drive down there. Then we'll head back to Texas with my computer, my TV, my bike and my little table in my car and get him back to work and me back home.

Tomorrow starts my week of posting for SciTini, as I'm the acting managing editor. My start wasn't very good. No one turned in a single thing on time, and I finally got in a story for Monday . . . and that story was supposed to be turned in a week ago. It kinda ticked me off. I'm trying to revamp one of my own stories (an additional one) so I have stuff to put up. The whole thing just has me angry because that's the central thing of being a journalist: meeting deadlines. If you are consistently late, you shouldn't be in journalism. It's shoddy work. Seriously. Now, I don't know if these people have been consistenly late--I'm only ME for one week--but from the way everyone's been talking, I think everyone's late all the time. Am I the only person who's only been late once?

I'll get off my soapbox now. But things get me riled up when they're close to my heart, and deadlines are close to my heart.

Now that my last article is underway for the website, I'm feeling funny. It's almost like I've got too little to do. I'm only working on approximately 4 stories now--Ellen, sports writing, the Globe and then the once I'm slowly piecing together about blood doping. It's remarkable. I'm not saying it's not nice, it's just odd after being so near-overwhelmed with stories. I never knew how busy I was until just now, when it's letting up a bit.

Chelsea is coming into town in about two weeks--I haven't seen her since she went back to Tulane at the end of last fall semester, so it's exciting to see her again. Someone to eat pizza with!

Like I don't eat enough pizza every Saturday at work. We're in the middle of tourney season now, so things have been a little slower than usual. I'm almost dreading tomorrow night because Sundays are slow to begin with. Once the first edition is out, there's not a lot to do.

I'm watching Breakfast at Tiffany's and wondering why no one acts like Audrey Hepburn's characters anymore. I'm glad most women don't wear turban-type hats anymore, though.

Into Darkness Again

My last post was my 100th. I feel kinda special.

The clocks got turned back Sunday night. I had a wicked headache during work on Saturday, and my back felt like it was on fire. Even the copyeditor asked me if I was okay-- "You look like you feel pretty bad." It was also pouring like a hurricane, and so it made my normally 20-minute drive into a 45-minute ordeal due to an accident. So I thought I could get an extra hour of sleep and was excited, but couldn't fall asleep because my back hurt so badly.

I ended up crawling out of bed and digging up the bottle of Vicodin from the summer's sprained elbow. I took a third of one and finally fell asleep. I'm beginning to realize that when Topper and I had that fall and when my back got screwed, it was permanent. The DO and the specialists haven't done anything, so I don't know why I'm surprised that every once in a while I can't sleep,

I'm glad I horde my prescription painkillers. The summer after my freshman year--four years ago--my arm got shattered and an infection nearly rotted it off. I rationed those pills until almost the end of my junior year.

Liz, Molly, Karen and I went to see Marie Antoinette on Friday. It was beautiful. The dresses kept making me wish I had one, or could go back then for just a few weeks. I know it was miserable--disease, filth, uncomfortable, horrible class distinctions, on and on, but how pretty and sumptuous those clothes of the upper class.

The time change has me kind of on edge. I can't explain it, except to say it's a good time to be writing. Last night was the kind of night where if I were at home I'd pull out my notes and do some review and work on my novel. Novella. Novela? One hundred pages still isn't really a novel.

My mother called on Thursday and I was telling her how I can't sleep regularly or well and hardly anything sounds appetizing except pizza and fruit. No wonder my sleep schedule is all screwy, I guess.

The bright side of Saturday is Erin is finally wired to the world again. I'd missed her since she got married. I don't know how to explain my relationship with her . . . she's about the perfect friend: you can drink with her, shop with her, dance with her, cuddle with her, talk about anything with her, and copyedit with her. And even though we've seen each other only a few times over a few years, but nothing ever changes. In some ways, she knows me better than almost everybody. She knows the deep, integral stuff about me, not the obvious stuff from day-to-day life. It's refreshing. I absolutely adore her, and it was exciting to know I can find her online again.

Dan wants to buy his bike by about Thanksgiving. He certainly has enough money saved. It's almost intimidating. I've almost got my credit card paid off--only $600 left to go.

The end is so close and so far away.

Falling

It's fall again. I wore my long wool coat for the first time since May (ha!) yesterday. That coat and I are perfect together, and we've seen a lot. We went to London, trekked through England and Wales and Scotland, saw DC and Texas and now Boston. The trees are quite pretty right now, and the air is perpetually crisp and the sky is prettier lately. It's not too cold or too rainy yet, and daylight savings is still a week away, so my crankiness from the dark hasn't rolled around yet.

In approximately six/seven weeks the semester will be over. My school assignments will be done. I can go home. I will (cross fingers) have a job lined up for January. I will be done with the Globe with a couple of bylines under my belt--even if most of them are from the sports section. I will go to Florida for a bit with my sister, and then Dan and I will move my unshippables back to Texas.

I'm in a mild state of disbelief because it all happened so quickly, the end is approaching rapidly, and yet from day to day things seem to take forever, and part of me wants everything to finish up, already. Being in school is great, but there's a static that you hit. Nothing changes, seemingly. It's the same assignments, the same school stress, the same cycling of semi-clean clothes and five things to eat. I guess I'm finally ready for the real world. I'm ready for some change.

That's not to say that things are bad or anything. My life feels so good and so right--the way it was last school year, just minus some of the school anxiety, now, I guess since I'm accustomed to it here now. I'm just looking forward to some new challenges.

Work is good. It's gratifying. And there's not a ton of places to go with it--I'll get the one or two bylines from the health section if I can, and a few more from sports--but it's like a new hobby right now. It's something that I'll be done with rather quickly, but it'll be fun while it lasts, and it will help me out later. If I can hurry up and get this one article done, I may have a really good clip for future job applications.

I want the last Harry Potter book to come out. Last summer--not the one that just ended, but the one of more than a year ago--I drove to a bookstore in Austin with Dan the day it came out because I had to have a copy. He was skeptical that there would be any copies left, but there were. Even the drug store was selling them.

The prospect of being back in Texas is exciting. I sent clips and a resume out to two papers not too far from Austin last week--close enough to spend the weekends in Fort Worth and still hang out in some new cities.

At Goodwill yesterday I found a pair of unworn designer German shoes in my size. They cost me $5. Things are good.

The Departed

I went to go see the movie The Departed on Friday night with my friend Andrew while I was at home. Technically, we went with my friend John Ashley, too, because I hadn't seen him since sometime in the winter, but he showed up after previews had already started, and then left about 5 minutes after the movie was done. It was sort of lame, but he had friends (who also came to the movie with him) who needed rides home.

The movie was definitely worth the $6.50. Heck, I would have even paid $10 or whatever it costs up here. It was gritty and yet funny, and as always, it was weird to see something set in Boston. I feel like I live in a giant movie set. Except for NYC and maybe LA, I don't think any American cities get into movies quite the same way. (DC doesn't count because people always show the posh, political/military aspect of it, not the seedy, disgusting side where crimes are horrific, the way the city can change from an acceptable music venue on one street to the ghetto one block over.) But I go to see it (I think the guy lives on Elm Street, which would be hilarious, because it's probably one of the scary Elm Streets, like the one I first thought I lived on and was disappointed before I found the right Elm up a few miles north.)

It was good to be home, as always. I arrived Wednesday afternoon, and my sister and I hung out (and also spent time at the barn because we thought Topper was colicking, but he wasn't, the dork). Dan was supposed to pick me up around 11, when he got off work, but he ended up getting called out to a standoff in Forest Hill (a Fort Worth suburb) around the time I landed. He didn't get done with it until 7 the next morning, when the guy surrendered. So we got to spend Thursday doing nothing but sleeping and then napping.

The rest of the week was the norm, except Tuesday night I got to go to a dinner at the chancellor's house with all the deans and chairs of departments and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. That was cool. I got to wear nice clothes and see my dean half-drunk (he's from Cambridge, near where I live) and get Dr. Pepper cake, which was served for dessert. I didn't get to actually meet Dr. Gupta, much to my professor's dismay, but it was nice to have the faculty reassure me about my job prospects and everything. They're so great.

Tonight at work I was sitting eating Sour Patch kids (you can buy them in the little cafeteria) and joking with another guy across from me. There was a total moment of flashback to my newsroom, editing, snacking, giggling, yelling to see what files were open or done, whatever. I'm glad to have that back. And I'm going to get it back again for good with a job. If I survive that long.

There's a lot of stuff with school right now. I need to remember to breathe deeply. I also may buy a trainer so I don't have to kit up and leave my house for hours to get a good ride.

The leaves are changing. Summer is gone, completely, and I think the warm weather is gone too. Well, the warm according to my standards. It's still nice. It's just not hot.

London never felt like a movie set to me, although I'm sure it ranks even higher than Boston as setting. I wonder why it never had that certain surreal feeling? It was surreal in some ways, sure, but not in the same way. And I know that when I leave here, it will all be even stranger.

Scary Serious

I'm in the middle of stories right now, and there's two in particular that are surprising me. They've suddenly exploded into "real" stories--something I give a shit about and could actually publish, unlike most of what I've done in this program. Ellen's class last semester wasn't too bad; I largely wrote about stuff I was interested in. But almost everything for either of Doug's classes was crap. It was the pitch he liked the most, usually, and I was always largely ambivalent about them.

But the first one I'm doing now is one I've actually been doing for a week and a half or so for sports writing. It started off about whether blood doping is becoming more easily accessible to rising cyclists, and now it's turned into what's wrong with testing for blood doping, because the agencies who prosecute aren't really being scientific. I got in touch with doctors, I'm getting in touch with Tyler Hamilton, and it's all turning into something professional. I mean, Hamilton is probably one of the biggest names in cycling.

And the other story is for Ellen's class, the narrative we have to do. I think I got the okay today from Parlee cycles (incidentally, they made Hamilton's bikes) to come crash the place for a while and follow people around, etc, for my story about new materials for bikes. I could probably pitch and sell either or both of these to a magazine and actually get published, which is a nice feeling.

My parents were in town this weekend too, which made me happy even though it rained Sunday. I was still working, so they did a lot of stuff on their own, but I think that's good. They do well together like that. And then I'm on my way home on Wednesday for a week. Last night I was driving home from work in the middle of the night and felt genuinely joyous. (It's easy to be happy; being joyous is a little harder to come by.) I was on I-93 and coming out of the tunnel and could see Boston all around me, lit up in the cloudy dark, and I felt content.

Things are going so fast. I'm glad. Dan goes out almost every night with friends and I want to be back to that--going out with him and my sister and people I've known for years. You can sit out on patios and drink beer and margaritas in the warmth.

Just a few more days.

Longer Deadline, Please

I finished my op-ed Saturday night after work so I didn't have to get up early Sunday to get it in by noon. I got home at the reasonable hour of 2 last night after work, and slept late (if restlessly) and spent the afternoon at school, giving intermittant help to radio kids and finishing my webzine article/calling about my sports feature. Now I'm at the delicious point where there's nothing more I can do for the night, so I'm watching the movie Clueless.

It makes me happy when you can watch a movie and get taken back to when you first saw it. I saw Clueless when I was in 6th or 7th grade, at a sleepover of my friend Jessica, who was the only girl in band who played the drums. Her dad was also military, and in their hallway was a little painted plaque that said "Home is where the Air Force sends you." I still love this movie. When I was in middle school I thought how cool it would be to be like Cher, and now I just watch and totally love the character. Alicia Silverstone is so pretty, and the character cracks me up--this mix of self-absorption and good will and naivete´.

Class is going to be a bitch tomorrow. I'm get increasingly worried about my feature. We had 6 business days to pull it all together, and that's not a lot. The final product will be a great piece, because I've totally got the people and the expertise to make it happen--it will just all happen after the deadline. I guess it will be in time for class rewrites and getting it sorted to pitch to a magazine. I never thought I'd see the day when I felt like I didn't have enough time for a story. But then, I guess there haven't been any here at BU that I cared about as much as this one.

The guys at work were making fun of me on Saturday for cycling and going to TCU. The guys generally make fun of me anyway, because I can't understand the coaches with thick accents who call up and I didn't know how to spell Tewksville (sounds like Tooksville), but it's fun. I make fun of them. Guys are usually easy to make fun of, and everyone's so good-natured that you can say almost anything.

My sister still hasn't named her cat. Since it's almost certain Dan and I will inherit the cat at some point, we gave our suggestions from last year when Dan was thinking of getting a pair of kittens. Then tonight I told her she should name him Tucker. I just want him named. It's okay to call the Pony "the Pony," because that's him, it fits. But to have both your animals named like that is unacceptable. Especially when there's so many good names out there.

I need good books but I keep forgetting to write down the names of the ones I want to buy. My parents get here in days. Then I go home. I think about it all about once every hour.

Fortnight's Forecast

I'm so tired right now that I slipped into a numbness that wasn't broken until Dan called and told me he was going to buy fish food. The numbness came on this morning, around 10, and when I got home after a VERY long day of classes I changed and had a brownie and turned out the lights at 9:30. Then Dan called, and then my sister called (she got a new job at the Stateline Tack inside a Petsmart, which is awesome because we own half the horse stuff Stateline sells, and she's getting a cat tomorrow), and then I was snapped from "numb" to just "exhausted."

Sunday night I finished up at work and got home by 2, got some food and wound down until 3, and then got up way too early Monday, even though I could have slept until noon. Plagued by my normal Monday night insomnia, I got little sleep last night too, so here I am run-down. My head feels like it's stuffed with all the thick city air, like the rain brought down all the smog and it got stuck in my cranium.

Writing is quickly piling up, and I'm getting a bit anxious. Next week I have an explainer due, an essay or op-ed to write, a game story to do, and a serious narrative pitch, and the week after I have a 1200-word feature due for sports writing. There's going to be a lot of reporting to do. The next two weeks will be uncool. But then my parents are coming to town, which will be great, and there will be a nice bike race to do as well. And then, two days after my parents leave, I go home for a week, where I can meet Julie's new cat and go with Dan down to College Station for a bike race he wants to do.

I need more books. And as soon as I can come up with some I want, I will buy them. While I forgot to ask my editor how much I'm getting paid, another agate told me he thinks it's 10 or 11 dollars an hour, so I should make double per month what my TA-ship pays. Not only can I buy books, but I can completely pay of my credit card and hopefully even squirrel away some money for the venture into the real world.

Tomorrow I'm going out for a ride. I haven't been out in more than a week, and even if it's raining I may go out. (Cross fingers for dry, though.) Right now, I'm going to eat a bowl of warm soup to hopefully make me drowsy and then crashing.

Papa Gino's Resembles Cardboard

Today was my first day as a Globe employee. I slept late, since it's a Saturday, of course, then ran a few errands and leisurely got ready for it all. It was a bit of a task getting there (an hour of walking to the T, waiting for the T, sitting on the T, walking from the T), but I shouldn't complain because once I get on the T I just sit and read a book. Plus, I'll be driving tomorrow night, since I get out when the paper gets done--sometime between 1 and 2 a.m.

I got a 5-minute explanation of what to do when you answer phones and that was about it. There were two other agates there, and at the busiest point of the night there were probably 5 of us. And because the slow-moving beauracracy (is there any other kind?) still hasn't processed my paperwork, I don't have an employee ID or anything and couldn't get into CCI, the software for all the editing and writing. So I spent my day answering phones, writing down scores and plays by football teams, and looking up random things for people.

Am I the only person who wouldn't really consider calling a newspaper to find out if a game was playing, who won a world championship women's basketball game, what was on ESPN tonight or how baseball playoffs work? I got questions about all those tonight. One guy wanted to know about the Florida-Tennessee rivalry and who won last year. Then he wanted to know about Clemson and Florida State. Another didn't really speak English but wanted me to read him every score from every women's FIBA game today. Here are a couple other phone conversations.

Me: Sports, this is Liz.
Guy: You said Lynn?
Me: Liz.
Guy: Alright. Hey, do you know what's on TV tonight?
Me: Um . . .
Guy: Some games. I'm looking for some games. How about ESPN? What's on ESPN:
Me, frantically getting to the ESPN website: I've got it coming up here on the computer, give me just a second. You know, the Sox are on Fox right now . . . uh, looks like Clemson and Florida State tonight.
Guy: How about ESPN 2?
Me: We've got Texas playing Rice.
Guy: Texas? And Rice? (He sounded disappointed)
Me: TCU is playing on OLN. They're playing Texas Tech.
Guy: Rice is nice. TCU? Texas Christian U?
Me: Yep. I went to TCU, so that's what I'd be watching.
Guy: You want to go to that game?
Me: I'd love to be at that game.
Guy: You want to fly down to that game with me? We can fly to the game. Let's go to the game.
Me: Sure, I'd love to, if you can get me there by kick off. Kick off was seven minutes ago.
Guy: Why don't you give me your number so we can fly to the game. (At this point I'm laughing, he's laughing, and I realize that he is, indeed, as I suspected with the "rice is nice" comment, drunk.)

Another gentleman called and asked for a score. I put him on hold, found the score (I think it was the Harvard game, although I don't remember), and picked back up to tell him. This is about the fifth time I'd had to look up and obscure score for someone. He says thanks, and then asks, "How's your sense of humor today?" I was almost expected something snarky from him after that, so I said, "Well, it depends what it's about." And then he told me the following--a recent survey asked people in the U.S. if they thought immigrants should learn English, and 47% said yes, they should, but 53% said 'no hablo ingles.' It was funny, partially because it was totally not what I expected--a guy calling and telling me a joke. I liked it.

The other agate clerks were nice, but I got the feeling they didn't have the time for me. One stringer named Brendan and I talked a bit, since he sat at a desk by me, and he talked about TCU and then left to cover a game. Another AC took that desk, and his name was Roie (Row-ee) and he sat by me for the rest of the evening, which was nice. We discussed a bit of everything, especially once things got quiet, after 7:30 or so.

And then I left when I was done.

After I filled out paperwork on Thursday, when I was walking out and talking to Dan, he pointed out that I forgot to ask how much I got paid. Whoops. But there was pizza tonight, and it was barely acceptable, but the cinnamon sticks were yummy, and since by that point it was all guys left, I could eat them without too much competition. And as long as I get some food and get to beg for a science or health brief or one teeny-tiny story, pay is secondary.

Tonight I was scratching my knee and thought about scars. I had an editor once who said mistakes in stories were like scars--they add character. I think he was trying to convince a copy editor that one of his own stories was fine. I have a scar on my left knee from my knee cap getting kicked and cracked by a horse, and a scar on my right knee from my tights when I fell in ballet. An inch-long red line on the heel of my left hand from my first cycling accident this summer. A little half-circle on a knuckle from slipping scissors when I was in elementary school, probably 3rd or 4th grade. It was in New Mexico. A pencil-top eraser of red on my right shoulder, from a not-happy end-of-the-semester worry in the spring, and a large thumbprint of light pink on my left shoulder, which I don't even want to get in to.

I like my scars, in some way, because they're me and have stories behind them; I guess I feel about them the way people feel about their tattoos. And I like knowing about other people's scars and tattoos. The markings, discreet or unmissable, of where we have been and what we have done. The whole business of it all probably came to mind because I was thinking today of how I'm happy with where I've been, what I've done, with pretty much everything right now. Like some scars, there are things I wouldn't want to explain, but . . . things are good. I'm happier here this semester. Perhaps it's because I can see the end coming. Perhaps it's because I'm still caught in the heady last bits of summer (and the weather is still nice!). Perhaps I've made some semblance of peace with Boston (until it rains again), because my classes are good, I have jobs, and I have a bike, and I know how things will work.

But right now I think I'm getting too philosophical, and I'm trying to watch the movie "My Life," a 1993 flick of Michael Keaton, a terminal cancer patient making video diaries for his unborn son, and Nicole Kidman, looking delicate and pretty and blonde and not annoying, like in Bewitched. Much like that awful movie with Brad Pitt and a skin disease, it's got a lot of pathos and funny clothing of the time, which look bad now because they were trendy then. Like Brad's flick, this has a cultural healer that's called upon to try to help a hopeless case. I have to go inventory other similarities now, and reassure myself that yes, I have chosen the path of light as journalism and pray I will never think of making a movie.

One Step Closer to Media Domination

My feet are killing me. I feel like I've been walking on nubs, or I only have nubs left, or my nubs are on fire, or something like that. I started with heels at 7am and got out of them at 4, when I finally got home. I didn't think I'd be in them as long, and I didn't expect as much walking, but I was wearing slacks and had to make a good impression.

I was dressed up to go to the Boston Globe and fill out paperwork. I'm officially an employee there, now, which is pretty cool and has the potential to be a lot cooler. My sports writing professor, Jack Falla (covered hockey for SI, he's a very well-dressed gentleman who I find very amusing), had mentioned on Tuesday that the Globe might need help on the sports desk, basically doing agate clerk work. So I e-mailed the sports editor and he practically jumped through the computer and dragged me in.

Three days a week, mostly nights, and I'm going to have to learn to drive since the T will be closed. (For example, Sunday night I stay til everything's put to bed, which could be 2 a.m.) The good news is their sports desk is pretty small these days, so I'll meet everyone, and when I told Bob I was a science journalism student, he actually suggested I go harass the science reporters and beg for a story or two.

I'm so in.

Dan knows it too. This is a job he actually did for like four years at the Star-Telegram, and with his connections he got himself a reporting job. One of his dreams is to write for the Globe, and he adores Boston, so I told him I'd work the networking. I admit, I wouldn't have a problem moving back up here again--for a bit--as long as we could live a little further outside the city. Out where there's cyclists and horses and fewer street cleaners 12 feet from the house.

Classes are ok, although things are quickly picking up. The web magazine has been going 9 times smoother than I expected, a hugely pleasant surprise. The copyflow system is good, and I was able to convince people to go for earlier deadlines. You've just got to go earlier with a publication. If you're just writing for the hell of it, milk it to the last moment, but not in a copyflow system.

My parents are coming to town! Or at least my mom definitely is. The weekend of October 1 and the bike race. They've never been to Boston, and I hope they're both able to come. My dad's work schedule is sort of hellish, but they didn't do anything for their anniversary this year and they need to see Boston while there's still a daughter there, so they can check off two things at once.

And then a few days after they leave, I go back home for a week. It'll be fall break at TCU, so Julie and Dan won't have class on Thursday or Friday, which means sleeping late and staying out late. I'm excited. My sister was going to come here over her fall break, but like me, she's been between paychecks, and she's of the mind that Boston will always be there to see--she's right, too.

Today I had no feet. Tonight it's raining. Tomorrow I'm going to buy cake from Shaw's to celebrate my new job and a great start to the semester. And then Saturday night, my first night at the Globe, I will contemplate my future as a reporter and how to take over the world of newspapers.

Respect My Authori-tay

Friday night was the Hyatt event, which ended with a $114 tab and me drinking some good whiskey sours and eating soup (naturally, everyone has soup at a bar, right?) and then not being able to sleep because of all the sugar in the drinks. Kate had gotten an invite on a ride out in Concord, and so we plotted to drink lots of water (check), leave early (check) and go out (half-check). I didn't go. I completely wimped out on the 9:15 Saturday morning ride of hills and falls. Evidently 3 of the 5 riders fell. Can you believe that? What are the odds? You can bet I would have made it four.

I admit I don't remember what I did yesterday, but I know I saw the movie Little Miss Sunshine last night, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. It was as funny as I expected and the plot was what I expected for the most part, but a nice little part surprised me. The peanut M&Ms for dinner there were also especially good.

There was a women's group ride advertised to start this afternoon at 1 at the Belmont Wheelworks, so I packed my bike up and my jacket to head over. I got there the same time another girl rolled up. Her name was Katelyn, from Vancouver, and she introduced me to the four other women who showed up. There was one catch--they were all on the Wheelworks racing team. I was the only non-team member who showed, so I was sort of worried, but then we started out.

It was 30 miles (putting me at 100 for the week, my goal), and I really have no idea where we were except out on little roads with lots of trees and around a lake, and it was about an hour and a half ride. I started off in the back, just to stay out of the way, but moved my way up through and talked to everyone. They were pretty nice, and I don't know how much they were holding back (we were all still conversing, so we were all working equally hard), but I stayed with them comfortably through everything. It was great. Additionally, I could beat most of them up hills and stay with the other ones. Most of my riding has either been with Dan or on my own, so I never know how I compare to others. Dan says I'm above average, but he's obligated to say that since he convinced me to get into this whole thing. So it was a pleasant ride, and boosted my confidence quite a bit. It was nice to ride and chat with a few new people, not too many to be intimidated, and to have the skills to keep up.

I told Dan all about it because he taught me everything. Plus, I like keeping him abreast of the good stuff since all he saw was me crashing and bonking over the summer. I can say I'm an authority of learning about cycling, but I'm getting better about knowing stuff.

Since it was chilly, I made soup for dinner. Naturally. I didn't make it like heat-up-a-can-of-Campbell's, but I did it from scratch, the way I used to regularly in the winter in Virginia. There's a pot to feed me for days, and I'm looking forward to it. As long as I don't mix with too many whiskey sours, it'll be good.

Just Like a Gunshot

I had class early this morning, which was very bizarre because I was getting off the T and walking home at 10:40 a.m. and was done for the day. I watched a bit of ER reruns, the old ones before they got too crazy, and then went to Target. I admit it was a totally frivolous trip, but I just got my financial aid and I deserve it after this summer. Besides, I don't think I'll do it again.

After that I came back, ate lunch on the back porch, basked in the sun and my new magazines. I resisted napping and went for a ride with Kate instead. We met at the MM trail in Arlington and were pumping up our tires before heading out, and while Kate was finishing her front tire I told her about how Dan rented a bike in the spring from Wheelworks. The men in the shop checked it over and inflated the tires and it was resting against the checkout counter by Dan as he filled out paperwork and paid. I was looking at Shot Blocs or Sport Beans or something, I'm sure, when there was suddenly this loud pop like an explosion or gunshot. Everyone flinched hard. The tube had exploded. I was telling Kate this story, and about a half second after I said "It was just like a gunshot" there was the noise again as Kate's tube exploded. Needless to say, we were shocked and had to make sure not to talk about anything else negative unless that happened as well. I'm thinking we have magical powers.

Tomorrow we have a meeting about our webzine. While I'm excited, I'm also nervous. I know I'll probably get short-tempered and frustrated because I have this vision of how things should run (I'm sure we all have a vision) and I will want things done my way. The last publication I did long-term work at was mine; I called the shots on everything, and I was the ultimate decider on how things should be handled and presented and I did a really good job--I have proof. But I'm going to need to remember that this webzine doesn't have the same aims and the others in the program don't have the same knowledge. I think things will be much better once the site is going and we're turning out stories and everything else, but getting to that point will be interesting. Our class spent about 20 e-mails trying to even decide on a time to meet tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see how long it takes to get stuff done tomorrow. I hope I'm pleasantly surprised.

On the seven-day forecast for the ten o'clock news they show the little clouds or suns and the high and low temperatures, but they also have a little Patriots helmet image on game days. And I thought Texans took their sports too seriously. Evidently, not like these people. I have to say, it's strangely endearing, like a kid's obsession with dinosaurs or mummies.

Classes With Class

Today was the first day of classes, which was sort of a bitch after a great Labour day of a grill-party at Molly's and a baseball game (Red Sox won) at Fenway. Additionally, I haven't gone riding since Thursday (Friday was a day off since Eric was in town, Saturday was thinking it was going to rain, Sunday it really did rain, yesterday was a fun day and today was 12 hours of classes with one-hour breaks on four hours of sleep). I got up early enough to shower and wear something other than sweatpants, but I dunno how long this will last.

But there have been very good things. For example, Kirk and I came up with a brilliant movie idea--a children's movie about moths and baseball. It sounds a bit like Angels in the Outfield, but believe me, it's much better. At least, it was better last night with grossly-overpriced beer in a cheap-ass plastic cup. Molly and Kirk also had some wonderful headlines for Steve Irwin's obit. (Am I the only person really pissed that he's getting the same kind of coverage as a dead head of state?)

Even classes were ok, and Kate and I successfully filled an hour with talk of cyclists and bikes and other important things, like swimming with Olympic gold medalists (which she has now done). As soon as she marries Zabriskie, she can die a happy woman, even if he does currently have a beard. (Aerodynamics and cyclists . . . they shave their legs but grow beards, as Kate pointed out. What good does that do?) I'm actually pretty confident about Ellen's class and the web class this semester, and I think the website will be killer. I'll put the link up here so everyone can see that yes, I still remember how to slap a good headline and deck on something. Horvit and her little copyediting-happy-heart would be proud.

Speaking of Horvit, her husband--an investigative journalist at the Star-Telegram--talked to Dan about the story I wrote for the Weekly. He thought it was pretty good, from what Dan said. Actually, I think Dan's had everyone at the Star-T read it and everyone generally approves, which makes me feel good. All of them also comment on the snarkiness of my sinfully-snarky editor. What can you do? The really scary thing of all this is that if Mark Horvit read my story, Dr. Horvit probably did too. It's a horrible thought. She taught me reporting and copyediting and I never felt even remotely up to her standards. I always felt like I was a vague but sad disappointment to her, and so the thought of her seeing another story of mine makes me quake. Even on the Brite stories, which must've had SOMETHING right, since it got me a scholarship and a national award for reporting, came back from her with a 78 on them or something and a dozen comments on what I did wrong.

Horvit never wrote a single comment about something that was good. I don't know if I've ever gotten one from Doug, either, even though he might say something nice. Maybe that's why I'm more partial to Ellen. Even if I know my story is really good, it's nice to hear others at least make a nod to that.

I got my Trek Travel catalog today. I still haven't opened it, I'm so excited. I also haven't opened my two Newsweeks that arrived simultaneously today as well. Want to know what I did read, though? The Princess Bride. Great movie, no denying, although I'm not one who walks around quoting it or anything like that. But the book mildly annoyed me. If you read it, you probably know what I'm talking about. There's all these little asides and parentheticals that probably either come off as incredibly charming and precocious or damn annoying after a bit. And when I was done, I realized hey, I write this in constant tangents and parentheticals and useless side notes . . .

But people don't pay $6.95 or whatever it is a paperback costs to read this.

(I didn't pay. I borrowed the book from my roommate.) And I just saw a commercial for the movie All the King's Men, and every time I see Jude Law I fume at his horrible, horrible face. He's not even remotely attractive because he always has this smarmy look, no matter what he's doing. If only everyone looked like Dave Zabriskie . . .

Crappy Judge of Character

My parents are in Tampa and were battening down the hatches for assorted hurricanes and tropical storms and whatever else, and the Times this morning was talking about the remnants of Ernesto in the mid-Atlantic region, so (I'm getting to my point, stay with me) this morning's gray and very windy sky didn't seem like great weather for, well, anything except Halloween. I slept till after noon, when Dan woke me up, and decided not to ride because I didn't want to be 18 miles from home when it started death-throes-of-a-hurricane raining. It's spring-style windy out there, too (oh, you all from the Southwest know exactly what I'm talking about), and I don't like dealing with that unless I'm at Benbrook.

I wimped out is what I'm basically saying. And I judged everything wrong because it didn't end up raining at all.

After watching the second half of Donnie Darko (thank goodness for good movies) I spent the afternoon reading and thinking and pondering and mulling over things on the back porch.

The weather affects me way too much.

There's this horrible (and I mean HORRIBLE) movie called Dirty Love that I think I mentioned before. Dan and I found it on some obscure movie channel over the summer, and I'm watching it again right now. It's a Jenna McCarthy flick (it's not porn, in case you were wondering) about a girl who's boyfriend cheats on her, so she's trying to get over him. Carmen Electra (prettier than McCarthy in my book) thinks she's black and it's got the skinny geeky kid from American Pie (hate that movie). (I use a lot of parentheticals, don't I?) It's so highly amusing in so many ways, probably because it won Razzies for worst movie, worst director, worst screenplay and worst actress of the year. Yay for obscure stuff. Another great obscure movie with a blonde--Splendor. I think I saw that a dozen times in the wee hours of the morning as a freshman.

I tried looking for the second and third books of the Regeneration series by Pat Barker today and it didn't work. It was a used bookstore, though, and it's not like I would have bought them right now, but what the heck. Browsing never hurts. Last night I was going through some Wilfred Owen and Sassoon poetry and got really ticked off at the state of politics today. More particularly, the state of war right now.

And so because it's a brooding day outside and I spent a good portion of the day brooding, I think other people should brood too.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
(W. Owen, 1918)

I would rant outright, but I think everyone knows what I'm talking about right now. And while I don't completely think everything about Iraq is evil-intentioned or built on lies, I do think things are way out of control and speaking as someone who's part of the military way of life, all the soliders and airmen (including those of our allies) need to be sent home asap.

I'm done now. Blustery days make me wish it either WERE Halloween or I could be home enjoying it with my sister out at the barn for a wild ride on Topper. But it's only another month until I can probably go home and Halloween will be just a few weeks after that.

I Got A Pet Hedgehog

I really don't have a pet hedgehog, but I do have the song "Commerce, TX" by Ben Kweller now, thanks to my handy iTunes card. I saw BK a couple years ago at the Ridglea theater in Fort Worth when he opened for Dashboard Confessional, and I admit I liked him more than DC. Kweller rocks, and he's goofy and plays the piano. What more could you want? Additionally, that night he was wearing a sweater than looked like one I have. It was my dad's when he was in college, many moons ago, and so perhaps he also pilfered his parents' closet.

Guys, it's been sunny for two days here. TWO days. I debated even mentioning it because I was afraid the sun would sheepishly hide again and we'd be stuck with rain, but that's ok. I've already decided I'm taking tomorrow off, since Eric will be back in town. I like the sun. I can sit outside on the porch and read while I sun myself. I feel obligated to say that I am against skin cancer and against sunburns, but I am all in favor for warming yourself in the warmth until you feel nice and toasty. Basking with a book is greatness.

And that meant two days of riding out in Bedford and Concord, following those little maps I bought. They're keepers. I've only done one of the rides (just did it two days in a row), but it's enjoyable and takes about an hour. It's a nice change to be passing houses and tiny farms and riding stables instead of worrying about all the inline skaters and road crossings on the MM trail. I had NO idea inline skating was still so alive. Or maybe it's just a Massachusetts thing.

The only thing that sort of irritates me about the riding is that there are a ton of riders out there and they don't wave. Maybe this isn't a big thing. Maybe Texas is incredibly weird. But at least there, cyclists acknowledge each other--a half smile, a grimace if you're dying up a hill, a raising of the fingers off the bars in a wave. It's a signal that hey, yeah, I'm a cyclist too, I'm out here trying not to get killed by an SUV, isn't it cool that we can go out and damn, isn't that climb a bitch? There should be some camaraderie.

So I decided to start waving at everyone I passed. I saw some of the same people that I saw yesterday, and I figured I'd rather have a reputation as someone who's too friendly than someone who ignores everyone else. And half the people either waved back or smiled. Maybe you just have to initiate things here. Maybe they're all tri people--Dan said they evidently don't acknowledge each other the way cyclists do. Beats me. But I'm gonna wave.

And I found a website that will let you cycle (and wave, if it's not an obscene gesture there) in other countries. Ok, I didn't find it, Dan did, but it's quite the site to drool over. (www.trektravel.com) It's all about cycling, eating decadent foods and staying in plush surroundings. We're gonna rent a castle in Ireland, we decided. It will be fabulous. And it will be quite well-juiced on Guiness, I'm sure.

There's a jumping stable on the route that you pass, and yesterday there was a girl schooling her horse out in the arena. It made me really miss Topper. But the bike will suffice until I can get back home.

That and the awesome song "Legs" by Darondo. It's some '70s funk/R&B song that makes me want to dance. Amazing what you can find on the internet.

Brad Pitt's Skin Disease

It rained today. Again. So I drove to the bike store and bought Sport Beans and some little maps of routes to take from the end of the MM trail. They're even laminated, which is awesome, because my health insurance card is just a flimsy bit of thick paper and I carry it with me in my back pocket and I got it soaked (with sweat, I know, the grossness). I had to dry it out with a hair dryer and laminate it with clear packing tape so I can take it out with me again. It's for just in case that one Masshole driver tries to kill me, then the paramedics can find my health insurance card and driver's license and whisk me away to whatever colour body cast I choose.

I also went to Target, the Happiest Place on Earth, where I wasted more time than I want to admit. After an hour and a half, I walked away with a 3-subject notebook for classes, cotton balls, the CD "Death By Sexy" by the Eagles of Death Metal and a $15 iTunes gift card. The reason I was there so long is because I was torn by guilt . . . buy a CD and iTunes things when I'm broke? Am I going to need that money to go out for drinks or something before school? What if I pop two tubes and need to buy another one, since I only have one spare?

But Eagles of Death Metal are so much fun, and there's a ton of random songs I want, so I figured a gift card would keep me from plugging in my credit card number and accidently racking up $103 in Kanye West songs or something. Additionally,now I have "Peace, Love, Death and Metal" and "Death by Sexy" and can shake my junk for a consecutive two hours plus. They're so much fun. Thank goodness for good music.

Last night I had a serious attack of the Bed Bug Boogies, which was me thinking I had the buggers in my sheets and freaking out and ending up sleeping on top of the bedsheets and boiling my bedding today. See, evidently the northeast has bed bugs and they're not just part of a cutesey saying that freaks out little kids. For those of you who don't have the backstory, my mattress was given to me by Creepy Craig, the Rhode Island boyfriend of former roommate Amber. Craig had this in storage and gave it to me when he helped Amber move in because I was sleeping on an air mattress. (Evidently Megan still tells people about the air mattress because it's pretty darn funny.) I was unsure about the hygienic state of the mattress and worried about bugs so I wrapped it up good in two waterproof mattress covers, one on top and one on bottom. And I've never seen a trace of bugs, and I guess you end up with tiny bites if you have them, but I don't have them. I didn't have them last night, either. I was just itchy and paranoid because I found a beetle on my pillow a few days ago that had crept in an open window.

I work myself into these weird states over the stupidest things, I swear. Like my freakout about getting a job on Friday, and then last night and the invisible bugs.

Sunday night I watched a movie called "The Dark Side of the Sun," which was made in '88 or something and was shown on some local channel. It was horrible. Really, really bad. But it had Brad Pitt, and I was just curious enough to see him that young. I think the only movie I've ever seen all the way through that he's in was "Fight Club." But this movie was about this kid with some horrible disease who has to wear a full leather mask all the time and gloves and no skin can be showing or he could die IN THREE DAYS if exposed to the sun. His family moved to Yugoslavia so he could be healed by some medicine man, and this American actress visits his town for a festival and he becomes enamoured with her and forsakes his S&M leather gear for a few days with her.

You can tell how horrible it is, can't you? The opening line of the movie, I kid you not, was Brad Pitt saying (while he's on his motorcycle in his leather), "I don't want to die. I want to live!" And then at the end he dies anyhow, and it isn't until 40 minutes into the movie that we get to see him. He's kinda pasty with red rimmed eyes but has an elaborately blow-dried long feathery haircut which made my day. It was greatness. And in the last scene he goes in to kiss his mother and he's all scaly and tumorous or something and then drives away on his motorcycle into the sunset, presumably to crawl off and die in the Yugoslavian mountains.

I dunno if Yugoslavia has mountains.

But it should, for the sake of this horrific movie. I thought it might be related to the disease xeroderma pigmentosum, a legitimate genetic disorder where people's skin cannot repair itself from skin damage, so they must stay out of the sun and light otherwise the rays will break down their skin and cause skin cancer and lead to death. This is one of my "pet" diseases. I have a couple random ones that I'm fascinated by and research all the time because they're so odd and it's miraculous the way the body works when it's well and how people must adapt their lifestyles when it doesn't. There was a pair of novels about a man with XP written a few years ago that were pretty good, and I thought the movie would be as well. No such luck. People with XP don't die in three days. But it was still amusing.

A good book or movie or piece of art about a disease cannot be underrated. That's probably my fantasy science writing job . . . writing books where a disease is brought to light in a convincing, accurate and humane way. Like "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime" for autism or "Flowers for Algernon" for mental retardation and "A Beautiful Mind" for schizophrenia. (Those are all pet diseases as well. I'm big on neurological things.) I'll write my newspaper articles or magazine articles, but rest assured I'd be working on something like this in the mean time.

And hopefully nothing I do will be turned into a movie with a pasty Brad Pitt.

There's a guy on TV with a baby raccoon. Does anybody else remember the book "Rascal"? My dad had a coworker who had a raccoon he'd found abandoned when a tree got chopped down or something. Its name was Crash and it used to sit on this guy's head when he was puttering around in the garage or whatever. It was in San Antonio, and he lived a little ways out of the city with some really pretty land and at the time his daughter was in a wheelchair with pins and rods sticking out of her legs because doctors had surgically broken her legs and rotated them because she was severely pigeon-toed. Even then, when I was in 7th grade, I remember the medical stuff. I was fascinated by the pieces of metal poking out of little puker-holes in the sides of her thighs and calves.

I think our pet dinosaur is done growing. He's almost the size of the bowl now and hasn't done much in a few days. Now on TV there's West Germans and Czechs playing bicycle soccer. They use the wheels to kick the ball and they have amazing track stands and mad skillz with a z, Czech style. But Lance still rules--obviously, because he powers all of ESPN. (http://www.sportscenteraltar.com/multimedia/video.asp)

More Than A Bike

So I'm going to talk about something other than my ride today, but first I have to explain about my ride and how generally "eh" it was so you know why I'm going to talk about incredibly superfluous things.

Yesterday it rained--again. And pretty much all day, cos goodness knows I'm not going out and doing a ride anytime before 2 or 3 in the afternoon. If it rains in the afternoon, that means it rains all day. I sat on the porch and read and ate hotdogs and surfed thanks to my handy laptop. So when it started off clear today, I was excited to get out.

But I had an errand to run first (a completely different topic that makes me angry, so I won't explain) and when I got back I'd almost lost my momentum for a ride. I was angry and got back and half my bike clothes are (this is gross, sorry guys) damp because it's been so humid here. My gloves haven't dried since I got back, and my jersey is always slightly damp too. And you can't really throw that stuff in the dryer, either, so it's a nuisance.

My damp clothes and I head out Mass Ave to the MM trail and casually wind our way down. I didn't really have any "go" today. There's excuses--like I know I ate wrong and didn't drink enough before going out--but whatever. I did sprints on the way out, mostly so that I felt justified in ambling about at 13 mph. It let me cruise in my triple and occasionally spurt out real work (28mph) and then slow back down and say I was being productive. It was greatness. On the way back I did the first two miles out of the saddle "working on my form"--just another excuse to go slow. I was working on technique, people, technique and form. It's important stuff.

And my bum will probably still hurt tomorrow from all that out-of-the-saddle BS.

On to other things . . . I have a secret weakness for fashion and style and clothing and accessories and shoes and purses and all that nonsense. It's more a fascination than anything I want to take too seriously for my own life. It takes too much time and effort most of the time to put this stuff into action. But on the internet . . .

Oh, the internet, my friends, is the best place ever to indulge yourself. These are my two favorite websites/blogs of fashion. Let's start nice and then get naughty.

The first is a site (http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/) by a guy who largely just takes photos of people he passes on the street who have interesting/cool styles. Not necessarily a fashion site, but more of wow, look how these people carry and present themselves. I love it. He has lots of photos of old men in snazzy bowties, and few things are as stylin' as those guys. And then he gives a quick little note or two on why the style is so cool. He's nice, and is never snarky or says anything mean. Furthermore, he pays atention to men and their style (or desperate lack thereof). Guys can use more tips. Sometimes he has interviews with fashion people, but I skip that. This is a site just for the photos of real people. Gotta appreciate that.

The second site (http://gofugyourself.typepad.com/) is the most mean, bitchy, condescending and nastily-funny site by two women who rip into celebrities and their bad outfits. It's such a guilty pleasure. Everyone who's ever been bad is on there--Lindsay Lohan, the HIlton sisters (as well as the sisters Duff), Britney writes "letters" to her fans here . . . this one you gotta read the text that goes with the photos. Despite the fact that I use "lol" in instant messages, I rarely laugh out loud while online, but this site will make me snort like a truffle-searching pig. I am in the middle of reading every single thing on the website because I am dismayed at the thought of missing something. Like they say, Fugly is the new pretty.

Tomorrow I'm going to the Belmont Wheelworks to buy Shot Blocs and Sport Beans. I would buy normal Jelly Belly beans, but there's only 4 flavors I like and then I have to find teeny tiny baggies to separate them so they're riding-friendly. I'm also going to look for a nice bright coloured jersey, preferably with reflective stripes because I dunno if drivers can see me. My mom said I should get one of those orange mesh vests. Yeah, RIGHT. A vest. Next I'm gonna put a basket on the handlebars, too.

Kate sent me the website of the Fat Cyclist and he had an article on how to be a bike snob. As just evidenced, I'm well on my way.

Kyra Sedgwick (or however you spell it) of the show The Closer gets on my nerves. A lot. And I don't even watch her show. I'm just a hapless victim of the commercials.

I'm gonna go fug myself by reading about the bad Emmy outfits.

I'm Sounding Like Dan . . .

I realized that all of these posts are about cycling, and I apologize, it's just that there's really and genuinely not a whole lot going on in my life. I watch movies and read and surf online and go riding.

Today I went out, rode to the end of the Minuteman trail and was trying to decide where to go when I saw a guy in a I (heart) TX jersey. He was with another guy, and I rolled up and asked if he was actually from Texas. He assured me he was, and I told him I was too and had been here a week with my bike and where should I go from here (the end of the trail)? He told me where he was going, and said there was one pretty long hill, and told me I was welcome to follow along.

So I did, and we're cruising and it's pretty and green and the weather is 68 and the cars are pretty respectful.

When we got to the hill, I recognized it before I even got on it. I don't know exactly how long it was, but it sucked a lot. It's probably the only long hill in all of eastern Massachusetts. The guys were (naturally) in front of me, and ended up about 10 seconds ahead, but I made it up and was proud of myself. Then I followed them back to the Minuteman trail and finished my ride. About 26 miles total, and I unexpectedly got my hills done today too.

Yay for Texans. Their names were Paul and Lance and they were from Tyler. I dunno how long they'd been here or what for, but they were friendly enough to let me tag along. That's always appreciated.

I still feel like a kid when I'm on a bike and ride with guys. I feel like I'm 10 again and they're all older than me, mysterious middle-schoolers who are bigger and talk about things I don't understand.

By sitting out on the porch after dinner I finished A Rumor of War, a book I stole from Dan, and realized I need to read more about Vietnam. I don't know nearly enough. All I read this summer was World War I literature, which is probably my historical favorite, but I hadn't thought of the parallels between WWI and Vietnam until just now. The way they were such huge turning points for soldiers and civilians, the righteousness and ultimate disillusionment that followed.

My backside hurts from that damn hill.

I Don't Need No Recovery Day

So Kate e-mailed me on Wednesday (she reads this . . . how do people find the nonsense I put up here?) and said she had a riding route. You can imagine my glee--a trail that's mostly away from traffic and is nice and wide and shady. The best news? It's only about two miles from my house, in Arlington. (Lexington? Concord? I don't really know all the places it runs through.)

Tuesday I'd been out on the roads without any real mishaps, but I drove to meet Kate just in case. The last thing I wanted was to have to call her and tell her I'd face-planted myself into the back of a Nissan or something and would be late. So we got there (she has a Giant OCR too) and then headed out on the Minute Man trail. It's 9 miles out, 9 miles back, and we did it twice. It ends at an intersection with a train car and a Giant bike shop, but we didn't have time to explore. It was pretty much dark by the time we got back.

Kate has to actually do work yesterday, so I rode out to the trail (along Mass. Ave all the way and I'm still alive), rode out, explored a bit, got scared by traffic and came back. A total of 27 miles. I felt pretty good because I only got passed by guys who were good.

I've done three days in a row and a total of about 80 miles. Sweet action.

It started thunderstorming last night as I was going to bed and it's still kinda raining now. Additionally, it's 63 degrees right now. That's only 4 degrees from the 50s. That's a bit bizarre.

I started out with the intention of riding three days, taking a day off, riding three days, day off . . . the same way Topper and I train. But I slept late (as per usual with no work), ate breakfast, dinked around, ate lunch, am dinking some more, and with no ride to look foward to, I'm in a semi-funk. Riding is the only thing keeping me from going loopy from boredom and brain damage from watching too much TV.

Perhaps I'll go out today after all. I'll let a little air out of my tires so they're a bit grippy and then maybe work on hills or something away from traffic. It could be my first day to test my new jacket, too. (Yay for buying winter clothing at a summer sale in Texas. It doesn't get much cheaper.)

Yesterday I saw a KFC commercial and those drumsticks looked so damn good. Right now I'm watching a commercial for some hair product and the girl is about the worst actor ever. And now the Fanta commercial is on. There's a KFC around the corner. I passed it yesterday when I rode home.

Same Play, Scene Two

I'm back in Boston. Dan and I got here last Wednesday night after three days in the car, nicely broken up by lunch with an old professor-friend of his now in Arkansas and then dinner with Kerry, Dan's sister, in DC. It was pretty fun. I love the fact that we can do a drive like that and everything is relaxed and ok. I got all pissy one morning, but it was due to a lack of sleep and stress over my cover story for the Fort Worth Weekly. The final draft was still inwork while we were on the road, which sucked, but what can you do? When there's a story, you gotta do it. And I love that Dan does the same thing and understands.

Dan and I tooled around town for a few days--or rather, in the evenings. I let Dan sleep late while I worked on edits until dinner time, then we'd go out and get dinner and walk around. Friday evening was especially nice. We wandered in and out of bike shops and down to Harvard Square and watched the street performers and then caught dinner and wandered back. The weather was beautiful and we'd bought a gift for Loren's birthday and we had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Once we got back to the house I realized I'd left my keys inside, so we were locked out for a few hours, but we just went down to Mike's to have beer and watch the game.

Saturday afternoon Dan left, just barely making his flight because the T was slow and he got the full security treatment at the airport. Megan leaves tomorrow to go back to Texas for three weeks before her classes start, so I'm pretty much here alone with my bike. Now that my story is done, it's almost like there's nothing to do. I should be happy, but I'm in a slight funk. It's just that people from school still aren't back and there's only so many miles you can do until the stress of the traffic starts getting to you.

But at least now I know I can cycle and not get killed. Sunday I drove down to the river to give the Charles trails a try. What a mistake. It was horrible. Not a single person out there knew what they were doing, and it was just bad. The trails were of crappy condition, and were narrow and all the walkers and clueless people in the city were on them. I spent more time going 2 mph and dodging people than doing anything else. Memorial Drive was blocked off for a bit, and so with the whole street I could get up to 23, 24, but then the barricaded part of the street ended and that was it.

Today I had better luck out on the streets. It was downright scary in some parts, but I was out for an hour and was doing pretty well. The only time things got dodgy is when I had to merge into the left lane to turn into my neighborhood. But I was doing a steady 20 for most of it and the hills weren't a problem. I'm much better, which makes me happy. Next time I ride with Dan I don't want him to have to slow up for me too much.

While he and I were in the ATA bike shop I decided my next bike goal is to do a century ride. By next December. That will give me almost a year to train in a better climate after school. But I want to do the full 100 miles and I want to do it well--no lightening speed or anything, but to keep at least a pretty steady pace and not crap out. Dan was really encouraging and said I could do it without any problems (or anything but the normal problems), and I think I can too--I can do 30 and 40 well now, so I'm excited. My goal is also to do one NOT in the summer heat. That would suck.

Boston, take two.

Woe Is Me Money

Most of the things I've stressed out about this summer have been related to A) my checkbook and B) my credit card. I'm not a fan of this whole thing. Not that I've ever just spent money all over the place, but having to pass up on something I want at a grocery store is ridiculous. They're just peaches, for goodness' sake. Or having to bum food off my sister because she has a paying job (had, I guess, since she quit). It's ridiculous. I'm going to max out my credit card probably before school even starts, and my parents have been giving me money.

I broke my phone yesterday. More specifically, Topper broke my phone. I was talking on it and he swung his big head around and cracked it right out of my hand in two pieces. It made me very sad, because that's one more thing I have to pay for, and on the other hand I was glad to be rid of the damn thing because I hate flip phones. My two wonderful ringtones are also gone, though. Bummer. Dan got a new phone and I got his old one, which is study and NOT a flip phone, so at least that's good.

My car has required stuff too, which is money from my parents which makes me feel guilty. The battery died, then had to get the trunk fixed before heading back up to wet Boston, and then it's gotta get a full check-up before leaving to cross the country again. Moving is expensive. Hotels and gas and food. And the tolls. I spend like $20 on tolls. And I decided to take my car up to school, so I have to ship up a lot of the stuff I brought back in order to fit my bike in the car.

I picked a fight yesterday with Dan over $8. It's pitiful. I hate it. And I can't figure out my financial aid bullshit. I'm going to have to call the school tomorrow.

This isn't meant to sound like a big gripefest. Things have been good. The weather has been below 100 now, and I can ride Topper. He loves it, and so do I. My sister is also in a new apartment that's very cool, and I could probably move in there when I come back if I need to. It would save money--that's for sure, and goodness knows I'll have to do that. Dan and I will be heading north soon and then I can find a second job. I will be the only intern (count: ONLY) with a cover story from this summer. That will be badass. Dan gets some obscure soap opera channel, so I can watch Beverly Hills 90210. I was never allowed to watch it the first time around, so this is very funny and amusing in a weird way.

I will be glad to get my loans, get some money, pay off my credit card and bike (that's almost as much as another maxed-out credit card) and start saving again. This whole spending thing isn't my style.

Take Two

I actually tried updating this about a week ago, and I got everything out and written and then accidently closed the window and everything I'd worked on disappeared. I couldn't get it to come back and didn't feel like re-typing it all, and it's just now I'm getting around to it. That's because right now it's Wednesday night, Dan's working cops, and I'm with my sister and some of her friends watching Edward Scissorhands. I remember being about 6 and trying to spell "scissors" at school in Orford and failing a couple dozen times. Good thing my education has taught me something.

I guess I should start a few weeks ago, back when Dan got a scholarship from the Texas Rangers and got great free tickets and parking and a giant plastic check presented to him down on the field. John and his friend Dan (who's also dating someone named Liz) came with and the three of us watched Dan on the widescreen from the bar as he got his check. He looked uncomfortable, but he got to keep the check and then come up and have drinks with us. (He also got a coupon for 15% off at the Diamond Club, where we drank.) The best thing is he got to keep the giant plastic check. I love it.

We didn't stay for the entire game because Dan and I had a time trial in Royse City the next morning that we had to race in. We left way to freaking early because it was about an hour drive and we had to get there for warm-up and sign waivers and everything and we had some of the first start times. We got there and found that the course was over hills . . . what a bitch. Plus, everyone else at this was on a TT bike with disc wheels and aero bars and drove luxury SUVs. People with way too much money. I rode part of the course as a warm-up, and they started us off in 30 second intervals. I was the 6th person to go, and was feeling pretty good until all the guys on slick bikes started passing me. The disc wheels made them sound like a car with a flat was coming up behind me at 40 mph. It was startling. It really pissed me off when a hugely fat man on a TT bike blew past me. How is it that guy could lug all his weight up a hill so fast?

But I finished and my average speed was 17mph, which is pretty damn good for hills. Furthermore, I did not finish last, so that was good. It was my first race, and I liked it, and I hope to do more. Especially now, two weeks later, because I've learned how to climb better. Dan's a good trainer.

After the race we went back to Fort Worth because Topper was getting blistered. It's about as basic and medieval as it sounds. As previously discussed (I feel like a professor), he completely tore a tendon in his back leg, up in his pelvic area. With blistering, they stick a 12-inch needle right straight down into his hip and inject a mixture to irritate the area. The irritation will hopefully promote the growth of scar tissue to connect the end of his tendons again. That way I can ride him again, even if he can't jump. The mixture is iodine with almond oil--the oil binds with the iodine and keeps it from being absorbed too quickly and shocking the body too much. Next week we'll find out if it worked, if it's making scar tissue grow. It if doesn't work, I can never ride him again, never take him out . . . and that would make me sad. I love him as a big cuddle companion, but I know he'd be happier if he could work. It would give him mental stimulation, keep him fit (he's the fittest horse of his age I've seen in a long time, and I'm proud of that), give him something to look forward to, some variety. I reallyreally hope it works.

This past weekend was all waiting for my parents to get here. The Kelly family reunion (my dad's dad's mother) is in San Antonio and my parents were coming to partake and this Monday and Tuesday were spent down there with them for my sister's birthday. She turned 20. That makes me feel hella old. But my parents were fun. The same old stuff. The grandparents were ok too. My mom's dad, who lives in New Braunfels, looks exactly the same as he did when I was really little--he's 82ish now. My dad's parents are good too--my grandmother is just the cutest, sweetest little thing, and my grandfather was showing his stubborn side. He was just barging around. It was borderline annoying. But my sister and I had a good time together, at least. It's great to know it's always the two of us.

I have three weeks left in my internship. I have a month left in Texas. The Tour is almost over and it looks like Floyd Landis may not win and the prolouge to the Tour next year is in London. Dan and I are going to try everything we can to go. How awesome would that be? No language barrier, like in France. But that's a year off, and here and now I've rambled on long enough. At this rate, I may not post again until I get back to Boston. But I'll try. I like being able to think out loud.

Riding in a Parade

I just got finished eating about a pound of cherries, a dessert after some leftover vegetarian enchiladas. Everyone knows I'm a huge fan of some beef and chicken, but these enchiladas are pretty damn amazing, I gotta say. Dan found the recipe in some vegan magazine, and we decided being vegan is overrated and folded in so much cheese it was insane but so good. Just for the record, I'm also watching Beverly Hills 90210. I was never allowed to watch it the first time around, and this summer I discovered it on some super cable channel. It amuses me quite a bit.

While I'm admitting things, I'll admit I am disgusting and desperately in need of a shower. Slept late today and then headed out for a 30 mile ride, which was really fun. It's the Fourth, and in Como (the GHETTO of Fort Worth . . . you don't ride through there after dark) there was a parade. Dan and I will ride through there to get to a wider road out to Benbrook, but today we rode through the parade. I felt like I was intruding. There were big pimped out cars with hydraulics and spinners and amazing sound systems and guys on horses and cops crawling around. They were throwing candy from cars, and the kids would get it, and that was the worst part--making sure we didn't have a kid dash in front of us. But we made it through and out to the lake.

Benbrook Lake is a nice place to go riding, I decided. Last time I was there it was my first 45-mile ride, and I was tired and hot and kinda miserable. Today I felt good, and all the rolling hills weren't as bad. I almost hit a wild turkey that was standing in the road around this sharp turn, but I was going slow enough that it could fly into a tree. That just cracked me up. Wild turkeys. They're so goofy.

There were clouds rolling in and thunder as we headed back from the lake, and although we didn't get rained on, we were riding on wet roads back. Since I was following very close behind Dan (usually 2 or 3 feet just behind his tire), I got a great spray of water. It felt good. The only thing is now that I'm dry, I realize how much grit was in that water. Kinda gross. But it was a good ride. Almost llike being out riding Topper when the weather is wild. The only thing is that with Topper, you always felt like you had a co-conspirator in some adventure. On a bike, you're on your own.

Saturday is the July time trial, since I missed the June one with my elbow. I'm pretty confident I can do well, especially after today. And then Saturday afternoon the vet comes out to blister Topper's leg. It's the last chance for his ligament to heal and for him to ever be ridden again. I was so completely sure he'd be ok when he got checked out at his 8-month mark--the vet had said that after 6 months, Nature could heal it--and then it was a hard blow to find out nothing had changed. Please let this treatment work . . . please let his leg get better. I will never, ever get rid of Topper, so if he becomes a giant pet, that's fine--he always was. But I know he likes being worked, I know he likes jumping and I know he likes going out for adventures as much as I do. I'm hopeful.

And I'm also still in need of a shower. I should take care of that.

Like Badgers and Bicycles

The summer is in full swing, and I probably would have completely forgotten to update this unless Eric had asked me to do something with it. I keep having to remind myself that this summer is just temporary and I really do have to go back to school for another semester. Times like this are just effortless, which I appreciate, and there's never any real stress and there's never any feeling of "fuck, I'm tired of the same freaking schoolwork" and there's definitely no month and a half of rain. Screw that. This is long hot days being good at what I do at work (and having fun at it, no less), aiming for the 50 mile bike ride (I did 45 last Sunday morning), lazing with Topper out in the grass and Texas thunderstorms.

Dan and I bought me a beautiful road bike about a month ago. Carbon fiber frame, low spoke count wheels, great components, beautiful black and gray . . . it's a guy's bike, but it's a compact racing frame, and in this small size it fits perfectly. The first night out (it was the end of my first day of my internship) we ended up getting caught in the dark and I ended up crashing over a cable, which was raunchy amounts of not-fun. My left arm ended up caught under me, which means it got torn up on the bad asphalt and I sprained my elbow pretty badly. I was able to get back on and ride partway home, where Stephen obligingly came to pick me up, and so he and I followed Dan (still on his bike) back to Fort Worth. I got a beautiful collection of bruises down my left side and a trip to the ER (just to double-check there was no fracture anywhere). That all got me a sling (which I didn't wear) and a vicodin prescription (I only used a couple because it's always good to keep some handy).

My elbow is ok now, though, and I can straighten my arm all the way again. Last Sunday's 45 mile ride was brutal-ish. It was ok except the air in Tarrant County is so freaking bad. Your lungs just start hurting. But with a good jersey and shorts you don't get too hot, so that's good. I'm working on my cycling tan. I want one like Dan's. It looks like someone put painter's tape around his thighs and then slathered his lower legs in a deep tan. The line is so sharp it just cracks me up. I like my bike, and I love the scenery and the heat and the accomplished feeling when I'm done. It all makes up for the occasional gnat in your eye and rare douchebag drivers and the braincells I bake.

I'm excited because I may get a paycheck in the next few weeks. My first story gets published next week. The Weekly only publishes one metro and one feature every week, so getting into the list can take some time. The metros are about 1200 words, and the features are about 3500 or so. I've got a feature I'm working on, slowly but surely, but it's gonna be a beast of a story, looking at corporate vs privately owned farms in Texas and the environmental impacts as well as the financial and social aspects. My metro was nice because it was my old Fort Worth beat--religion. Nothing scandelous this time, but it was good to get back into the groove. There's another story I'm working on with another guy from the Weekly, and it's about the water district using taxpayer money for the most stupid things, like buying $500 lunches. Misuse of public funds is bad. All the receipts and whatnot came from a FOIA request, and the communication guy at the water district now used to be a communications guy I worked with at the Skiff. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Communication people make me nervous, like PR people.

These are really long paragraphs. I just realized that. It's not a very good example of decent journalism. But I'm watching Napoleon Dynamite and I just ate a huge bowl of strawberries and I need a shower, so I'll leave it at that. My life isn't hugely exciting right now, but I'm thoroughly happy. I have to check how much money I have in order to buy shampoo, but it's nice outside and I'm home. I can't ask for much more.

This Is My Sigh of Deep Content

In exactly one week I will be DONE with this school year! One week. Seven days. I don't really care how many hours, because I'm just so glad to be near done.

I've only been to one class this week, really, because of some problems with US Airways and American Airlines. I would never have thought two airlines would have problems in the same night, but I don't think I missed much and it just puts me that much closer to the end of everything.

My Easter break turned long, which was alright, because there was a lot that happened. Finding out Charles died was a huge blow to Dan and his brother; that's not a cool call to get on Easter. Nor was it easy to face when we went to see his family. It was much worse for everyone else there, but it was odd for me because I was an outsider intruding on the grief of others. How do news reporters deal with that? It was hard enough when I was reporting on the stuff at the divinity school, and that was reputations shredded and religions twisted and people molested, but no one died. And just to make a hassle, Topper hurt himself on Easter as well, and while it's not horrible, it wasn't good.

Aside from all that, there were falconers to hang out with, hawks to watch as they eat birds, teenagers to laugh at and internship interviews. I got one at the Fort Worth Weekly for the summer, and as much as I thought I wanted the Star-T, I think this is better for me. Dan deserves to be at the Star-T, and he'll give them better stuff for them than I would have been able to. He's good for them, and they know it, so they'll give him the opportunities to do awesome stuff. Like this weekend, how he's off hobnobbing with bigwig cyclists at the Tour of Georgia for them.

But the Weekly is much more open to long pieces about sort of random topics, which is good for me. Science and health and environment and stuff like that is all well and good, but it's hard to do in a way that anyone gives a flying fuck in shorter stories. The Weekly will give me the leeway to be quirky and weird and do all the stuff I really like, like hang out with goofy people. I'm all about that. And then I get to write about it.

This summer will kick ass. I can feel it coming. Topper will be there for me, regardless of how much I can work him or not, and he'll appreciate the company and attention. Julie will be there, which is good because my last true girlfriend has moved to Georgia (boo for Emily moving). Dan will be around doing the same type of work but different enough from mine to keep things interesting; I'm always thankful I'm dating another journalist.

Things did, in fact, work out. That makes me so happy. Even though I worried and stressed out occasionally and thought of worst-case scenarios, things worked out perfectly.

It wasn't me that got everything to work out so well. There's a lot of things to be thankful for.