If my life were an '80s sitcom, this would be the point where I come home at the end of the day, dragging my bookbag behind me, and my mother would look up from the cookies she was lovingly icing and notice immediately that something was amiss, and I would say, "Mom, being an apartment manager is hard." Instead, my own mother is across town trying to get Dottie to keep her teeth in (no teeth is the toddler-running-around-naked of extreme old age, as it turns out), and Robbie just handed me a tepid beer and said, "You know, it's weird, but I think you might have actually done the right thing this morning."

So this morning I showed the apartments. The young woman I showed them to was very nice, her mother was also quite pleasant, and three of the four apartment showings went great (two tenants weren't home, the other was home and charming). The other one could not have gone worse. Well, scratch that. If the girl whom I'd never met before and who I woke up from a sound sleep by standing in the middle of her foyer shouting "Hello? Is anyone here?" had come out with an actual weapon, it would have been worse. Otherwise, no. I'm consoling myself that she's moving, so at the worst the air will be let out of our tires for the next two months only, and also that she didn't seem terribly friendly anyhow. (Yeah, I know that last reason has some internal flaws.) Honestly, though, I both completely understand why she was annoyed--I certainly would have been--and completely don't think I could have done anything differently (a conclusion that apparently Robbie has also reached), so that's kind of that. Although when this is my job for real next year, I'm going to make sure I get phone numbers for everyone who's moving out. Email is, evidently, too prone to failure.

So then we cruised on over to my parents', where Robbie watched the Red Sox game and ate cherries, and my mom and I planted things (or, as my mother said when she was issuing the invitation, "Come over and we'll make cheese and pot") and had an experience of such unparalleled serviceperson rudeness while trying to buy potting soil at the local greenhouse that we have decided never to go there again. I have to say, there's something really satisfying about saying to yourself, or your companion, "I'll never go there again." It's empowering. Although, as Robbie's mom has shown, it can also be addictive. Then Dottie flung her teeth around, we all ate pizza, and then we left. (As it turned out, we never made cheese.) And for all you Dottie fans out there, I present the following exchange:

Dottie (pointing to part of her sandwich, which my mother had taken apart to try to get her to eat the meat): Is that cake?
Mom: No, that's meat.
Dottie: Well, I'm not eating a cake with meat in it.

Dottie also announced to me that I only had two days left of school. I told her that I didn't have any days left of school, because I was entirely, permanently done with my educational career (I will confess here that I kind of said this just to get my mother's goat). Robbie then pointed out quite wisely that, with only two days left and all, I really should just stick it out.

And then I got home and found seven messages from frantic potential tenants and the landlord. I'm showing two apartments tomorrow morning, before we leave for State College, but I've heard back from both of the tenants, so it should go better than this morning. Still, though. You know how you don't realize the challenges of some work until you do it? Like being a fast-food worker, or administrative assistant, or (I'm just guessing on this one) telephone operator? This is kind of that weekend for me. But it is really interesting to see into other people's apartments, and hey, if they get rented, I get paid. So I'm not complaining--more just surprised that there's any challenge to this at all, because I've been a frantic potential tenant so many times and just thought I was dealing with lunkheads. Maybe this is all covered on the last two days of school...

So, here's where I am right now: I am, evidently, showing four apartments at 10 tomorrow morning (Dave the Key Man, who you will remember is the current manager, is on vacation). I had a message when I got home today from a woman who wanted to look at them and was only available tomorrow morning. I suggested 11, she suggested 9:30, and now here we are. I emailed the tenants of the apartments immediately (I don't have their phone numbers), but now I'm living in terror that they won't get my email and be naked or worse when I let myself into their apartments bright and early tomorrow. Also, although I preemptively apologized for the lateness of notice and earliness of visit in my email, I'm certain that they'll be angry, especially the one who complained last time that noon on a Friday was too early for him. I was worrying about this aloud, and Robbie said that, although he wasn't sure that this would make me feel better, he thought Dave the Key Man would never have done what I did, and just would have told the woman to go hang. I don't know why he wasn't sure. That seems like the sort of statement whose effect would be predictable.

Anyhow. Today my mother and I went out to lunch, and at a neighboring table were the mother and sister of my best friend in sixth grade. They had moved to Texas right after we finished high school, and then my friend's father was killed in a plane crash (you may remember it, it's the one that Commerce Secretary Ron Brown was on), and so then my friend and her family moved back up here. My friend is now some sort of evangelical lay minister, and apparently she just got engaged to a guy who has his doctorate in physics. This came up late in the conversation, and up until that point I hadn't mentioned that I was married, so when her mother said that she was engaged and told me about the guy, and I said "You're kidding! I'm married to a guy who has his doctorate in physics!", I think I sort of sounded like I was talking about an imaginary husband, Potter Totter Sedgewick, who is eight feet tall, eats only popcorn, and has a pet dinosaur. Oh well.

So, this week I've been wearing a pedometer everywhere, and it's amazing how much farther I walk every day when I can see the little numbers tick up, but I've developed a side habit, which is to announce my mileage at regular, but very short, intervals to anyone who will listen. Today my mother, tossing any notions I'd had of her lifelong commitment to my fitness aside in a refreshing way, said she found this "tedious." I fear she may be correct--when you hear that from the mom, you know it's bad. By the way, so far today I've walked 5.14 miles.

While I was writing this, I got email from the guy in one of the four apartments, who is generally annoyed about the ten o'clock thing but doesn't seem to be casting blame about, and he very amiably offered to go stick a note on the door of the other guy in his building, who, as it turns out, is the guy who thought noon on Friday was too early last time. So that's good--I mean, I bet this guy will be ticked off, but at least I won't wake him up. And of the other two apartments, one of them is rented by someone I know and feel at least moderately comfortable with, so there's only one that's kind of a loose cannon. I feel much better now.

Comments
JR: Did you get this pedometer at McDonalds as part of your Go Active meal?

Jess: No, I'd had it for a while, but I did get the idea to start wearing it again from those ads.

I'm hoping that, with time zones and all, no one will even notice that I didn't blog last night. Well, except for the Germans and Swiss. With them, I think I'm pretty much busted.

Anyhow, I'm here bright and early at my mother's house, because Ethel dislikes being alone for the couple of hours in the morning after my mother goes to work but before the van comes to pick her up to visit Dottie. I don't mind this much--I don't like waking up early to drive over here, but I do like getting an early start on the day, and after she leaves but before my mother gets back, the house is nice and quiet and I can get work done--but this morning the cleaners are coming, and I'd rather clean the house myself (no, seriously) than deal with them.

The cleaners are perfectly nice enough, now that the one who most likely stole all of Ethel's pocket money and several hundred dollars from Dottie (possibly--this is while she was still responsible for her own disbursement of funds) was fired from the crew, but it's still the same crew, and it's not known for absolute, 100% certainty that she was the one with the light fingers (worry not on her behalf, however, she was actually fired by the agency for something else), so now there's a whole routine that my mother goes through where she hides the valuables before they get here, and someone has to be always at home to watch them, and it wears on you, especially if, like me, you hate making small talk. Making small talk while you're trying to see if someone's stealing the candlesticks is no fun at all.

Also, they spend the first half-hour in their car in my parents' driveway smoking, and while I usually have a laissez-faire attitude when it comes to smoking, their being cooped up in a smoke-filled car for half an hour before they come in the house means that when they leave, the house is half lemony freshness and half stale cigarette smoke. And actually, they don't clean very well, except for the kitchen sink, which they always leave nice and shiny. Frankly, it's a mystery to me why they still come, but come they do, and they're coming in half an hour.

Thus endeth my diatribe on the cleaners. And Ethel just said to me that she thinks all of Dottie's problems started when she had a hard time adjusting to the country when they moved there from the city. In 1926. So if you ever wonder why I constantly blame long-ago circumstances for my behavior, well, there you go, it's genetic. (Wow, that's so meta.)

Comments
Heather: I strongly suspect that having the task of watching over the cleaners would be my personal hell.

Today was a real variety fest of work. I edited my book, I finished the last four entries I had to write (huzzah!), I did a few hours of statistics freelance, and I took an editing test for another freelance job that I applied for a while ago. I've decided that if I had to just do one thing all day long, it would be taking editing tests. I suppose testing is in a way inherently stressful, but editing testing is less stressful than editing a lot of the time, because you know the piece you've gotten is chock-full of mistakes, and in general the people testing you aren't trying to throw trick questions your way, so if you find what looks like a mistake, it's almost always a mistake. And this piece had about three errors per sentence (it wasn't too long, and I think they were trying to test on a bunch of common errors), so it was pretty fun.

I also went to the bookstore and got some German language tapes (CDs, actually), in preparation for our trip this fall. I got the same kind that I got for our Italian trip, because I ended up being pretty pleased with those. When I was doing the lessons, I felt like I wasn't learning anything at all, but then when we actually got to Italy I was amazed at my language production. And I took a year of German in college, which you'd think would help, although when I try to recall any German words, all I can come up with is me and Evie sitting on her bed sophomore year recording our improvisational German dialogue, "A Followup Interview With Nena," in which Nena discusses the obsession with round objects that led her to write "99 Luftballons," and I can hear Evie intoning "Die Welt . . . Eier . . . Obst . . . " (which means, mod my grammar errors, "the world, eggs, and fruit") and then I just start cracking up. Heaven help us all if we go to a grocery store.

So it was a good day, and it would have been a great day, except we went to work out only to find that the gym closed yesterday and will be closed through Friday, for a holiday. Now, I don't want to accuse anyone of making anything up, but the gym is closed an awful lot, and at least some of the time I think they're all hiding out in the gymnasium having a great party and watching the frustrated Gentiles at the gym door on closed-circuit TV. I suspect someday I'll come round the corner to find that the gym is closed for Festivus. (Although actually, I'd be pretty excited if that happened. I'm always up for The Airing Of The Grievances.)

Comments
EV: Spat mittagessen heute, ja ja!! You should be able to use that one, right?

Jess: I bet. But I don't know if my hosts will realize that it's the funniest phrase of the last millennium, and they might just say "Fine, we'll have lunch earlier tomorrow if it bothers you that much."

EV: Hey, we should crank call Kevin and just scream that into the phone and hang up. C'mon, let's.

Today was dull, but extremely productive. I went back to editing my book, and it went pretty well, although I did have to bribe myself to get it done (one paragraph edited earned one page of reading on Television Without Pity). This made me work pretty fast, though, so I think it was a good system. And I got some work done on my statistical freelance, and I wrote some more entries for Friday's deadline, so I only have four to do tomorrow. I think it goes without saying that I've saved the hardest, most dull, and most abysmally researched entries for last, but still, four isn't too many.

And other than that, not much. I ordered my Amish romances and a few other books from Amazon--they should get here right before our trip to California--and I also bought a rag rug kit online. I'll let you know how that turns out. The website suggests that you train your rug to lie flat by placing it on the ground every so often during the construction process and walking on it while yelling "Be a rug! Be a rug!" I don't see this in the cards.

Oh, and I got up at seven-thirty this morning. This was a major accomplishment for me. Having no need to get up at a specific time in the morning has led to a certain sloth on my part, but in my neverending attempts to, every day, in every way, become a better and better junior lieutenant second grade, I've decided to limit myself to eight hours of sleep a night. I'm not going to worry about getting to bed at a particular hour, but whatever the hour is, eight hours later I'm waking up. Last night was the first time this has actually worked, after trying for about a week. So I was done with my web surfing by nine and ready to become a productive member of my community, by which I mean the living room. We'll see if it works again tomorrow.

Comments
Danielle P.: I used the exact same reward system to get my work done yesterday! You have made me feel less like a slacker.

I know you've all been wondering who will fill the void in culinary innovation now that Martha's going to the big house, and I'm here today to tell you that you can rest easy, because I have invented the Conundrum Salad. It's half egg-salad, half chicken-salad, and 150% delicious (although I think it could have done with a slight amount of salt). We ate it for dinner in lettuce wraps, because sometimes we like to pretend we're cool kids on Atkins, and it was very, very good, and refreshing on a warm day. Look for it on the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens near you.

Oh, and it looks like next month I'll be working, at a bare minimum if I don't get any work other than what's lined up right now, at least half-time. This is very good news--it's all from the statistics freelance, so I know I'll like it, which is also nice. And I suspect I'll get some work from my other usual sources as well, although I don't know how much. So it looks like Robbie just may get an anniversary present after all. What's three years, plastic? Formica? Space-age polymers?

And that, for the most part, was my day. I wrote some entries for my writing freelance, since the deadline for that is Friday, and I spring-cleaned the spare room, which was not as bad as i'd anticipated but not all that fun either. And I talked to Robbie about a problem I'd been having in my book revisions, and he had some good ideas, so I think now I'm unstuck from where I'd been stuck for a week or so. So it was a good day, all in all. And there were no terrifying thunderstorms, and it wasn't even all that hot.

Comments
EV: I am staggered by the amount of time you spend cleaning. I think you've probably cleaned more in the past two months than I ever have in my whole life, or ever plan to. And so sorry, I am going to call you soon, I promise I am.

Jess: Yeah, I think a big part of it is being home most of the day. Not even so much in that I have more free time (although I certainly do), but just that now, if my place isn't clean, it really bothers me, and distracts me so that I don't get any real work done. I never really appreciated the concept of the workplace janitor before...

Well, this was a lovely weekend. Yesterday I went to my parents' house and helped my mother clean out a flowerbed. I even got a blister on my thumb from my weeding efforts, which was kind of fulfilling. While I was there, Tizzed got into town and he and Robbie went golfing, and then we all met back at our place and went to the Pirates-Brewers game. I hadn't been to PNC Park ever (although I'd been to Three Rivers Stadium several times) and I really like it. Park-wise, it's a lot like the Anaheim ballpark, only with a much nicer situation, looking right out on the river and across to downtown. Tizzed promised to show us his scalping-discount magic, and I'm pleased to report that we only paid a dollar more for our bleacher seats than we would have paid at the gate.

The game was pretty fun, too. Pittsburgh actually won, which has never happened before when I've been in attendance, and we got dinner at the Primanti's in PNC Park and just hung out and watched the game. The highlight for me, though, was the utter wrath that the twelve-year-old kid in front of us showed towards Tizzed, who was wearing a Brewers T-shirt (which does seem reasonable, considering that he grew up in Milwaukee). Every time he cheered the Brewers (and he wasn't being at all obnoxious, and wasn't booing the Pirates or anything, just clapping pleasantly whenever something good happened for the Brewers), the kid turned around, stared at Tizzed in total twelve-year-old contempt, and turned back around, shaking his head at the utter depravity of humanity. (I should point out here, also, that I was vehemently cheering the Pirates, and Robbie was totally silent, and only stood up every so often to peer down at the right-field wall for the Red Sox score.) This was good enough, but the best was when they were shooting Pirates T-shirts into the stands, and one came right for us, and the kid dived for it--but no, Tizzed had it in his hot little hands. The kid left soon after that, and I think he's now well on his way on a path of disillusionment that will cause him to eventually reject a triune God. Tizzed did agree with my assessment that when he was twelve, he was totally that kid, and so it's just so much karma coming around.

Oh, and we also got the coolest, most weighty giveaway ever--each of us is now the proud owner of a seven-inch-tall ceramic Omar Moreno "We Are Fam-A-Lee" figurine. None of us knew who Omar Moreno was, but apparently he was around when the Pirates were doing really well in the 1970s, and last night was Omar Moreno night. (The guys behind us, who were really, really drunk and from out of town and seemed to have fallen into the game totally by accident, kept cheering "Yeah, Omar!" whenever any player on either team did anything at all.) Tizzed pointed out that Robbie and I could use our Omar Moreno figurines as bookends, but Robbie says he's going to take his to his office, where, I suspect, he will paint it to look like Nomar Garciaparra. So all in all, it was a great evening, and was only marred by our accidentally getting into the express lane on the northbound highway going home when we wanted a local lane going south, and so we basically had to drive to my parents' house and back around. But that only wasted forty minutes or so.

Then today Tizzed left, and Robbie and I went to see Monsieur Ibrahim, which I've wanted to see for about a month and a half. I recommend it highly. It has all the elements of the French coming-of-age film--a hooker with a heart of gold (actually, a whole host of them), a prim girl one's own age to kiss, and a father who can be tricked into eating cat food. So what's not to like? And I like Omar Sharif quite a bit, as it turns out.

Comments
Robbie: Not true! I was cheering a perfectly reasonable about for the Pirates, and Jess wouldn't have noticed me checking the Red Sox score at all if wasn't the only score not visible from our seats.... I get teary-eyed thinking that "Cowboy Up" could have been the "We Are Fam-A-Lee" of last year.....

AWG: Well, the Pittsburgh papers this season are running a continuous "Today's Game in 1979" to mark the 25th anniversary of the last time the Pirates won a World Series, but still - Omar Moreno??? Maybe the Pirates are kind of counting down the players, one per week, to get to Blass, Tekulve, Stargell, Clemente, etc. in September, but still - Omar Moreno???

EV: What the hell were you doing watching a French coming-of-age tale?!? That's a joke.

Well, they say that every day you should try something new, and today I called 911 for the first time ever, because there was a car accident about a block from my parents' house, at the place where there are always, always accidents because it's a four-way intersection with, inexplicably, a three-way stop. We were outside planting tomatoes when we heard a screech, a bang, and then another bang, and so I, being helpful and also kind of wanting to call 911, ran inside, while my mother ran in the other direction. (Partly to see what had happened at the intersection, and partly, I think, to hide from the pigs.)

It was very interesting. First of all, and I suppose this should have been obvious, but the 911 operator was not, himself, having any sort of emergency, and his telephone demeanor reflected that. I suppose you get over yelling "OH MY GOD IT'S 911 WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE WHAT IS YOUR EMERGENCY?" after the first week or so on the job. Second, I was unreasonably proud of myself for remembering the names of the four roads that intersect there (it's especially confusing because three of them are name, West name, and name Heights), but he didn't care much about that either, and I received no type of gold star. Third, it took the police six minutes to respond by my mother's watch, which is approximately twenty-four times slower than the Princeton Borough police when there was a car accident outside Robbie's parents' house at Easter. In the end, I think everyone was okay, although there were several banged-up cars.

So that was the big news today. Additionally, I successfully explained to my cousin's son, who is four, why tomatoes need to be repotted in larger pots, using the analogy of his needing larger clothes when he grows. I mention this because I think it's the first time I've ever successfully conveyed any theoretical concept to anyone ever. You can just call me Jaime Escalante from now on.

The big doctor visit went fine. We actually got to see the doctor at the same time, which was pretty nice. For one thing, it made the interminable wait in the exam room go by a little less interminably. And we both got a clean bill of health, and there were no needles, and we went out to Panera afterwards, so all went well. Is Panera spreading all over everyone else's towns like crazy, too? In the east end of Pittsburgh there's one about every two blocks.

I have to say, I enjoyed this doctor visit more than I usually do, and having Robbie there was part of it, but also, this was much more of an urban setting than the doctors I've seen in the past, and that made me think that nothing could shock my doctor. Not that there's anything shocking in my medical history or habits, but in the past it always seemed whenever I got asked, say, "Do you ever consume alcoholic beverages?", that the only acceptable answer would be "No, sir, I would not do that to God and my country." Whereas here, they basically start with "Are you on heroin right this second?" and work down from there.

Also, the waiting room had a certain "David Lynch directs ER" feel to it. On the way out, as we were waiting in line for our parking token, the woman in front of us in line was arguing with a nurse about some form and was about 95% unintelligible. I'm not sure exactly what the deal was--I think she might have been drunk or some drunk-equivalent, I'm not positive--but she did, quite honestly, sound like she had been recorded talking backwards and then played forwards. And the other nurse was a dwarf. It just had "Twin Peaks" written all over it.

And I'm pleased to report that I also got work done this afternoon, though not quite as much as I would have liked. I need to go to the library sometime this week (so, Friday, I guess) to finish my research, and then other than writing I'll be all done with this whole project, unless (as is possible, but perhaps not likely) I get another assignment. We'll see. And I'm going to my mom's at eight tomorrow, so I'm going to go to bed now.

Comments
Heather: Panera is not in my current town, but I suspect (and expect) that it will have a substantial presence in my new town.

Today was a much better day than yesterday, and not just because I got hit on at the gym by a Dr. Phil lookalike. (He said it was unfair for me to look as good as I do. I thought it was odd, with all the injustice in the world, for him to focus in like that on my goodlookingness, but I guess we all have our pet causes.)

No, today was good because I was quite productive, and got some freelance work done as well as doing a personal record of eight loads of laundry. I didn't do any laundry last week, so I suppose that computes, but it still seemed excessive. And I worked out, and I watched one of tonight's two episodes of "Colonial House" (we skipped the second one because of "24," but we have it on tape), so it was an enjoyable day as well. Oh, and I repotted some tomatoes. I'm out of potting soil, so nothing better get any bigger than it is right now.

Tomorrow we're going for physicals in the morning. I haven't had a physical in about six years, and I think for Robbie it's been even longer, so it's good that we're going, even though I'm not what I would call relishing the idea. I strongly suspect that there will be needles involved--I'm not afraid of needles at all, but I don't think anyone gets excited about them. (Well, except for intravenous drug users, I suppose, but there are some different issues at work there.)

Then I'm going to do some freelance writing (which I never did the last time I said I was going to do it, so now I really, really have to do it) and nothing else, except try to dodge the thunderstorms. I'm only phobic of two things--no, not carnies, diving and thunderstorms--and while diving is quite easy to avoid, thunderstorms are proving less so. I'm not sure how I forgot that Pittsburgh has thunderstorms pretty much every day from May to September, but I did, and now I spend a good portion of every afternoon and evening cowering in terror. I suppose it's a good exercise for my soul, but it's getting to be a little taxing.

Comments
EV: I have a physical once a year, and I don't recall there ever being needles unless I'm getting my cholesterol checked, which I've only done once. But good luck with that. And I will call you soon, I promise-- I'll be away this weekend though, but I will when I can.

Dr tizzed: So are you saying that 'It's unfair to look as good as you do..' isn't a good pickup line for the ladies? Hrmmm.. I'da never thought...

Jess: I figured our tetanus shots would be out of date. Which they are--he said that if we were going camping, or doing anything that would put us out of doors a lot, then we should get them, but otherwise it's not worth worrying about. We're getting cholesterol tests this summer. Yeah, the hit-on guy opened with "You've lost a lot of weight," which was friendly but not true, but it went downhill from there.

I'd like to write a long post, but I'm very tired and in a foul mood, so this will be short. If it were long, I'd end up alienating all of you with one screed or another, so trust me, it's for the best.

But I'd like to recommend "Colonial House," now showing (well, showing this week) on PBS. It's part of a long line of PBS-reality shows that includes the magnificent "Manor House," source of the phrase "she's one crackin' bird," which we find occasion to use around the house as much as possible. It looks like the next episode features the stocks, and I'm certainly looking forward to that.

Comments
EV: I wish I knew what a screed was.

JR: I am in a foul mood too. And I'm going to second the Colonial House, but don't you think it's less good than Manor and Frontier Houses? I *loved* Frontier house. The Colonial crew is a little lacking, methinks.

Jess: I didn't see all of Frontier House, but I disagree as far as Manor House goes--I think this has the potential to be as good, and I see major conflicts coming with the governor and lay minister. It might not deliver on it, but I do think it has potential.
And I laughed so hard last night when the daughter was wailing "They SMELL and they keep KICKING and one of them HEAD-BUTTED me."

I'm back, I'm back! I'm back to find that Yahoo didn't deliver a work file that was sent to me on Monday until this weekend, so this evening is pretty much shot as far as relaxing is concerned, but still, I'm back.

Vacation was very nice. I hadn't been to this place for six years, and there have been a lot of changes in the meantime--more wineries everywhere, mostly, and a few of my favorite stores and other places have closed, although most of them are still there. It seems to be escaping big-boxification, which honestly would annoy me if I lived there because hey, I like convenience, but does make it a much nicer place to visit. And we tasted a lot of wine. I have to say, while I'm sure an experty expert could tell the difference between this wine and California wine (just as they can usually tell the difference between California wine and French wine), an experienced amateur such as myself would have a hard time. The wineries seem to be giving up on New York grapes and growing more European varietals (German grapes grow especially well because of the colder winters), and nearly all of them were really good. (It's kind of funny the class distinction that's drawn between the New York grapes and the European grapes--at our bed and breakfast, Robbie and I stayed in the extremely nice but one-class, minimal-view "Concord" room, while my parents stayed in the different-class "Pinot Noir" next to the lakeview terrace.)

The central event of the weekend for me, though, was probably our visit to the Mennonite bulk foods store, where not only did we get some superlative maple candies, a whoopie pie, and assorted exotic gelatins (who ever heard of black-raspberry gelatin? I'm not a huge gelatin fan, but this sounds strange and enticing), but on a whim I picked up an inspirational Amish romance novel. I cannot explain what was so captivating about it--none of the words in "inspirational Amish romance" would normally draw me in at all, and it wasn't even that well written--but I couldn't put it down. Maybe it was the details of Amish life, I don't know. For example, did you know that during the courting period, all courtships are kept totally secret, and parents aren't allowed to ask anything about what their sons and daughters are doing? How cool would that be? So, say you're seventeen and you have a boyfriend--you just tell your parents "Hey, I'm going out," and you come back whenever you want, and your parents can't say anything or ask who you're with, and then six months later you say, "So, I'm marrying Amos, by the way," and that's that. And it's basically understood that during this period you're not going to follow the Amish rules, and that's OK, because you'll get it out of your system and then you'll be ready to settle down. Anyhow, this novel was one of a trilogy, so I'll be placing an Amazon order soon.

And that is that. I was planning to go to my mother's tomorrow to help move Ethel back, but she just called to say she decided she didn't need my help after all, so I'll have some time to get work done tomorrow. Still, I think I'm going to finish this proofreading up tonight--I feel pretty bad that my client's going to be getting it so late after she sent it to me. Maybe it's time to start using my Verizon account...

Comments
Heather: Welcome back!

JR: I want to read Amish inspirational dating novels too! How can I get my mits on one?

Jess: The author's name is Beverly Lewis, and the book I read is The Covenant. They're all on Amazon.

Rejected Opening Lines For This Post, In Which I Attempt To Sincerely Describe A Pain I've Been Having:

1. So, my legs feel like I've been riding a horse.
2. Do any of the rest of you have unexplained inner-thigh pain?
3. You know that feeling you get when you've been on a horse for a while?

So, yeah, my legs hurt. I don't know why. Monday I cleaned the kitchen, a procedure that was entirely unlike riding a horse, and that's the only unusual major physical activity I've had lately. (I mean, I've gone to the gym, but that's nothing new. Infrequent, sure, but not new.) It's odd.

Anyhow. Tonight we went to Cold Stone Creamery (or as we fondly call it, Stone Cold), which just opened about a block away from us. We'd been to Stone Cold many times in California, and it was always perfectly nice, but we weren't prepared for the total circus festival that this one is. Part of it--the line out the door, certainly--can be attributed to its newness, but there are some other features, like that employees have to sing whenever they get a tip, that I found just alarming. Plus whenever you get your cone, the conemaker tells you to taste it to see if you absolutely love it, and if you don't absolutely love it, she'll do anything you want her to, including, probably, more singing. This is a level of enforced cheeriness that is not normal in Pittsburghers and it frightened me.

So, tomorrow we're going on our vacation to upstate New York. As I mentioned about a month ago, we're going winetasting, which should be fun, but we have some other activities planned as well. Normally I'd be as up for constant winetasting as the next person, but it's my childhood hangout and so I also want to relive my youth. And since I didn't spend my childhood following my parents from upscale winery to upscale winery--I'm not AJ, after all--reliving my youth has very little to do with wine consumption. Plus, my parents kind of drilled into me when I was a wee lass that drinking=agnostic-Satan, so drinking with my parents is akin to seeing them both in pasties and thongs. It's hard for me to get used to, is what I'm saying. Although I don't think anyone could really get used to seeing their parents in pasties and thongs.

And now it's time for the Reader Response portion of the blog entry, in which I explore your reading comprehension in order to make this blog more user-friendly. Did the joke about AJ in the previous paragraph make you think that:

a) AJ is spoiled;
b) AJ is a drunk;
c) AJ's parents are drunks;
or d) all of the above?

(For the record, the response I was going for was a), but in the most friendly sort of way. I ran it by my censor board, and it was approved, but with the caveat that possibly it was liable to misinterpretation. We had a lively discussion.)

Comments
AJ: In all fairness, I was left behind during for winery trip. I just get dragged to French bistros and historical Italian villas where wine is only the secondary purpose of the trip.

EV: Seriously, I still get floored every time I see AJ comment because last time I saw him he was like totally pre-pubescent and did not talk like a grown up. I half think it's Robbie pretending to be AJ. Well, except for the talking like a grown up thing. Thank you for watching this week's edition of Snark on the Sedgewick Boys. Next week we will discuss the Corn Flake in the Cheerios.

Dr. Tizzed: Actually, I saw it as e) AJ is effete And the singing at Cold Stone was in SB, too. There was always a tip box that said "if you fling a buck, we'll sing" or something like that. They had some ditty about CS sung to "we've been workin' on the railroad" mmm.. cake batter ice cream

Chi: I think we're all just jealous that we couldn't leave the life that AJ has lead. I would have at least liked to have the golf lessons.

Chi: ummm, I think it's obvious that I meant to write "we couldn't LEAD the life"...

Matthew Lippert: Frankly, Jess, I assumed (d), but in a French bistro and Italian villas sort of way.

Picture it: Wexford, Pennsylvania. 1994. I was sixteen and going to school here (upon request, I may sing the alma mater for you, the lyrics of which can be found on the principal's page). I was a senior in high school, and all of my friends had graduated the year before, so I spent most of my time writing in my French journal and being excellent in various ways. I was not, how you say, a happy and fulfilled person, but fortunately I didn't know that at the time.

That year I was taking AP Literature and Composition right after lunch, a class I was usually late to because I was hanging out with my French teacher (no, really. No, really), and we would often split into small groups by row to discuss the great works of literature. I was a G and my great nemesis, who I will not refer to here by name because of the Google factor, was a K and thus always in my group.

You may be wondering why I had a nemesis, but it was totally one-sided (I don't know if that qualifies as a nemesis, then, now that I think about it). She had nothing against me, at least not that I know of. See, she was really smart, a thing we had in common, and really popular, a thing that we didn't, and so if you've been to high school ever, you know that there was no way I wasn't going to hate her. So I did. I suspect she's a lovely person. Clearly she has fulfilled her potential and is currently having a bright future.

So we were sitting there in small-group discussion one day, after lunch, me and her and a few other people, and I was tired, it being after lunch and it also being a lot of work to be in small-group discussion with one's nemesis, and so I was yawning and stretching my arms, and suddenly my bra snapped open. I was wearing a shirt, of course, but it was one of those front-closure bras and so there was a sudden subterranean rapid opening movement that was quite visible, plus I jumped about a foot and a half. I don't think the other people in the group, who were all guys (and guys who, to put it mildly, were not familiar with the subtleties of women's undergarments), knew exactly what had happened, but my nemesis clearly did, and she laughed.

Now, in retrospect--well, first of all, it was funny, but also, I think the laugh was probably not meant cruelly, but more in the sense of "underwear sucks, huh?". At the time, though, it was a laugh of pure evil, a laugh that said "I'm really popular and my underwear always stays put." I was mortified. I took the hall pass straight to the bathroom and missed most of the small-group discussion.

And that was the most embarrassing thing that happened to me when I was sixteen. I avoided front-closure bras for nearly a decade, and I still regard them as dangerous.

Comments
EV: That was the most embarrassing thing that happened to you at sixteen? I am SO not playing this game on my blog EVER. And I really, really wished I had won. So that I could ask for the fall of '94 in the basement of Charter. Or the spring of '95 in our suite the night before you left for the summer. Or about three days before that in the fountain. Oh shit, stop me now.

Jess: Well, I actually had a bit of an internal debate over this. This was definitely the thing I was most embarrassed about at the time. I was rereading my French journals last night though, in preparation for writing that, and there are things I said that seem much more embarrassing now. But I figured I had to pick one or the other...

Heather: I don't understand why you didn't tell the story in French.

Jess: I actually did in my French journal. The key phrase was "mon soutien-gorge a devant-cloture." But I like to make my journal accessible to all... Although I suppose the _winner_ does speak French...

I just looked and we're at 10,002 hits. So, the third-to-last hit was someone from the Pacific time zone on Verizon DSL, who I'm pretty sure is:

Heather!

Congratulations! And whoever was right before Heather from UCSB, and looked at six pages in a row, that was a nice effort.
So now we just need to know what year she wants... (Or maybe it was Matt--but I don't think so.)

Heather: And I wasn't even trying! I've been out of town all weekend and was just catching up on the blog. Yay! I choose age 16.

Jess: Sixteen it is--and I have a pretty good one, too. Actually, that was the year I kept a really good journal, so I think I can verify beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was my most embarrassing moment...

Matthew Lippert: I was visitor 9999 - so close and yet so far.

Jess: Well, but you still have a blog entry on the topic of your choosing coming to you. Some might argue that that's actually a better prize.

Yep, I think tomorrow is the day for the 10,000th visitor. I'm actually really eager to see who wins.

Today was a tremendously dull day. I decided it was time to clean the kitchen, and I did, and it took most of the day. Tonight I'm going to do some editing before I go to bed, and then that'll be the whole day. Tomorrow it's writing freelance pieces and maybe doing some statistics freelance, maybe not--depends on whether I get my freelance assignment in time or not.

The only other news is that it's really, really hot in our apartment. It's very pleasant outside, so I think this mostly has to do with our being on the third floor. It was eighty-five degrees today, and I think we can reasonably expect it to get about ten degrees hotter at some point during the summer, which should just be awful. During the day when it's hot outside, it's actually not that bad in the apartment (though still warm), but the heat builds so that the evenings are really sweltering.

Well, I just took a nice break to chat with Heather, who is on her way back from the Social Event of the Bicenquinquagenary and now about to eat an Adult Happy Meal, and now I think I need to go edit. May the best reader win.

Comments
EV: I really really hope it's me so I can tell those stories about you. Maybe I'll just up and tell them anyway. Har har.

Well, my hat is off to Boston Rob from Survivor. (And apparently his hat is off too.) Strategery to the very end...

Mother's Day was very nice. We spent most of the day out at my parents' and visiting my grandma, and we had dinner at Red Lobster, where there was already a forty-five-minute wait at four in the afternoon. Robbie and I passed that time by walking along the neighboring strip malls until we found the last 40-cent vending machine in the country, from which we bought a can of the ethnically insensitive but very tasty Cherokee Red Soda, which in addition to having a delightful cherry flavor, also has a picture of a majestic Native American in tribal dress on the can. I think it may be the poor man's Mountain Dew Code Red, which I've just recently discovered I'm fond of.

Oh, and Robbie had the following conversation with Dottie:

D: Have you put up your Christmas tree yet?
R, pleasantly: Oh, I think we have a little time before we need to do that.
D: Yeah, like seven months.

I wouldn't swear to it, but I think she pulled the classic faux-crazy-lady bait-and-switch on him.

I forgot yesterday to give my best wishes to Debbie, who as many of you know was the bride at this weekend's Social Event of the Epoch. I'm eager to see photos once they're available. I'm sorry we missed it, because I love weddings--I'm quite fond of Debbie, obviously, but I think in all honesty you could drop me into a random wedding and I'd still have a great, totally emotional time. In fact, I think the only wedding I've ever been to where I didn't cry at all, other than my own, was Dr. J's and Big T's, and that was only because I knew the ceremony word for word by the time it actually happened, which does tend to cut in on the emotional impact. (For that matter, I did cry when I typeset it. And I came close to crying again when the typesetting went all catawampus, but for totally different reasons.)

Comments
Lizzie: Well it's too bad you missed the social event of the year. We had a rocking good time though and there were pantyhose enough to go around as needed. =-) Debbie was absolutely gorgeous and I had the distinct and wonderful privilege of being escorted by Megan-of-Switzerland and the Walling-Doty's the whole time. I would offer to show you my pictures, but I was a bridesmaid and I didn't take any.

Jess: Hee! I see someone explained the pantyhose... I bet Heather will put some photos up. I hope so, at least.

I'm revising my estimate--now I think I'll get my 10,000th visitor sometime Tuesday. I'd failed to take into account that traffic slows down on the weekend. The reward still stands, however.

So, we went shopping today. I already had my Mother's Day presents and cards (although they aren't wrapped yet) so this was just to get things for us. I got a new pair of capri pants--I'm turning into a capri-loving fool--and a new bathing suit. It's nothing special, just a blue suit with flowers, but I decided to take water aerobics this summer since it's free with our JCC membership, and it meets three times a week, so I really need a spare suit. It was really cheap, and I figure I'm going to be half the age of anyone else in the class, so there's no real reason to stress out about the fashion-show aspects of it.

Oh, and we had dinner at P.F. Chang's. I have to say, while I agree that it's not an authentic Chinese restaurant by any means, and I like to eat authentic Chinese food about five times for every time I eat at P.F. Chang's, that I don't understand people who eat there and get all worked up about its inauthenticity. There were a few guys like that sitting next to us tonight. Didn't they notice when they walked in that it looked more like, say, the Spaghetti Factory than it did like any Chinese restaurant they've ever been to? It's like eating at Taco Bell and being totally shocked that it's not very good Mexican food. But no, they were horrified at the lack of eggrolls. Anyhow, Robbie and I got the lettuce wraps, and all was right with the world.

When we got home, the landlord called. It was a mixed bag of a conversation. The good news: we set up the apartment-manager thing, and I'll get a free parking spot and $75 off the monthly rent, plus $75 every time I rent an apartment out. The bad news: they never got our rent for this month. I wish I'd just been neglectful, but I know I wrote the check and can say with 99% certainty that it was mailed (I can't find it, the other bill I was paying at the same time has already been received, and I distinctly remember putting two items in the mailbox because it took a while for them both to go down), so I think it got lost somewhere. The landlord is going to give it until Monday, and then I guess if it hasn't been found I'll need to put a stop payment on it and write a new check. Argh. If I do stop payment and it turns up, I'm going to be mightily unhappy.

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: I don't hate PF changs because its inauthentic, I hate it because its shitty.

Jess: Ah, Tizzed. And you wonder why I'm so eager to have you start staying on our futon again...

Well, today was a day of contrasts. On the one hand, I worked for six hours on freelance, wrote a piece for McSweeneys (it was immediately rejected, but hey, it's the thought that counts), repotted four tomato plants and a dozen onions, made a coffee cake, and did some good book editing, but on the other, I stayed in my pajamas until four-thirty. I have these new pajamas that are a tank top and shorts with horizontal stripes in different shades of purple, and I don't know what they would look like on a different sort of person, but on me they look a lot like this. I crack myself up whenever I see myself in them, so predictably, today was an uproarious day here.

In an attempt to fill the void left by "Friends," both in real life and on my blog, tonight Robbie and I watched last night's "Survivor." Robbie has developed quite a crush on Amber. I guess I should be alarmed since she does live just outside Pittsburgh and therefore, in the technical sense, he has a better shot with her, but I'm just glad he's found himself another nice Slovak girl. (Well, another Slovak girl.)

I believe it's become customary to offer some sort of prize to the 10,000th visitor to one's blog, and by my estimates, I should get my 10,000th visitor sometime on Monday. The prize is this: you name a year, and I will tell the most embarrassing story I know about myself from that year. (I'd prefer that you pick a year age-wise, not a calendar year, since I normally remember things that way, but it's your call. If you're really attached to, say, 1985, I'll see what I can do.) If the 10,000th visitor is me, or some random person who never comes back, then the prize will go to the closest known visitor, using "Price Is Right" rules. (You may have noticed that whenever possible, I use "Price Is Right" rules. I watched "Price Is Right" a lot when I was growing up.)

(Oh, and I'll stick in the caveat that I'll tell the most embarrassing story that only reflects humorously on me. Several of you should be breathing a sigh of relief about now. Also, I will not tell the most embarrassing story from 1995, or the second-most embarrassing story, or--well, I may not tell you anything from 1995. A girl has to have her limits.)

(Or--oh, dear--1994. Actually, 1997 and 1998 aren't looking that great either. And it seems safe to say that once I think long enough about 1996, I won't want to tell a story from that year either. I mean, I'll find something to say, but I may fudge a little.)

(I am really hoping that EV doesn't win this prize. She will know exactly what I'm fudging.)

Comments
EV: heh heh heh heh heh.

JR: Oh man, i so want to take you back to 1992.... I may be lurking around here more than normal in the next 24 hours.

I am pleased to report that I did not cry during the last episode of "Friends." This may seem like a small achievement, but then, I cried during the last episode of "Seinfeld." (Well, not the last episode, but the clip show. It wasn't one of my finer moments. Robbie still makes fun of me whenever we hear that "Good Riddance" song.) The thing is, though, as I pointed out to Heather last night, the last episode of "Seinfeld" was right when I was graduating from college and thus prone to emotional displays. If the last episode of "Friends" were last year when we were leaving Santa Barbara, then yeah, we might have had something. As it is, I'm more or less dead inside.

But even so--everyone getting all het up because Monica and Chandler are moving to the suburbs? I scoff. I'm excited because next year most of us will be in this time zone. And even the part about Rachel moving to Paris--well, first of all, she didn't (and I'm sorry if that's a spoiler to anyone, but come on, it couldn't be that much of a surprise), but even if she had, Dr. J and the Big T are even further away and you don't see me going all to pieces. (To be fair, though, I have never had a torrid star-crossed love affair with either of them.)

It was still kind of cute, though. The only surprise in the episode I'd already heard rumors about, and it also wasn't that big of a surprise, but at least it wasn't a huge disappointment like the last episode of, say, "Seinfeld" was (although maybe that has to do with the higher expectations I had for "Seinfeld," plus my raw emotional state after the clip show). It was okay. And for the first time in about four years, Monica wasn't annoying. That in itself was worth watching.

Comments
Robbie: I liked the last Seinfeld better. At least _something_ happened in it. The last Friends was all either stuff that you had to know was going to happen or stuff you didn't care about (the "surprise" and that thing with the foozball table). It seemed like they had a hard time filling the hour......

Jess: I think the last Seinfeld was probably better TV, but it was worse than pretty much every other episode of Seinfeld, so it was disappointing. As much as I'm sick of the Ross/Rachel thing, I think they should have spent more time on that, and less on the foosball table. Well, maybe less in the chasing, and more in why they wanted to get together in the end. Or maybe there's no good way to explain that...

EV: I missed it. I'm ok with that.

Chi: the last episode of Seinfeld was HORRIBLE. Sheesh, what a letdown. I thought they did a good job with Friends last night -- it was in the spirit of every other episode: very pleasant, wrapping up the appropriate plot points, pretty good comic timing, etc., but really overall not trying to do too much.

Robbie: I thought the last Seinfeld was bad compared to the average Seinfeld, OK compared to the average "good show" final episode, and excellent compared to the last Friends. The final Seinfeld I thought they were painted into a corner cus they wanted to do something spectacular that no one had thought of, but they couldn't really think of anything spectacular that no one had thought of. But at least they tried. Final Friends was insipid. I think this article sums up what I think of the last episode pretty well.... http://www.salon.com/ent/tv/review/2004/05/07/friends_finale/index.html

Chi: heh, I guess I don't give points for trying... =) That Salon article pretty much sums up what I thought, as well. But I guess I didn't think any other possible ending would have been satisfying. I don't think there's any question that Seinfeld was a much better sitcom than Friends, but how many people would really debate that?

Robbie: yeah, I guess it all depends on if you give partial credit for trying.... No ending I can think of would be more satisfying, but people who write TV shows should be more creative than me.

Jess: Oh, don't be silly, honey, you're a genius.

Well, I'm just reeling. All of you who watched the Dateline "Friends" special tonight no doubt are too. For the rest of you--who knew that Matt LeBlanc was the guy in the Heinz ketchup commercial who puts the open ketchup bottle on the roof of a building, runs down the stairs, and then buys a hot dog just in time to catch the ketchup? This blew me away.

Obviously nothing else that happened today could compare to this, but it was a fine day nonetheless. Our Cinco de Mayo celebrations were a bit understated. There was a bit of a crisis when we couldn't find the Cake CD, but it was in the car, so everything was okay. I also broke the dryer, and did some yoga, which was good because I'd been really stiff since I cleaned the living room.

Oh, yeah, I also transplanted some tomato plants. I think they're all ready to be transplanted (although you should bear in mind that I really have no idea what I'm doing), but I only did half, so if I messed them up I'd get a second chance. They look okay, actually. I'm growing basil too, so I promised Robbie that as of this fall, if all goes well we'll stop getting our Sunday gravy from a jar.

Comments
Heather: I was shocked by that too! I remember that commercial!

Dr tizzed: You didn't know that? Well, okay, maybe I wouldn't have known cold, but I remember that that comercial is a staple of "Before they were stars" type of shows.

The Greek food festival was go-oo-od. Frankly, I think it was a little overpriced, though. Well, not overpriced in terms of the food, which was worth every penny, but overpriced in the sense that it's more than I thought food served by nice old ladies in a cafeteria line should ever cost--lunch for me and Robbie was $17.50, plus dessert, which my mother paid for. Anyhow, I ate way too much, but it was worth it.

And I got a lot of research done at the library for this month's freelance entries. It's a funny thing, but the subjects that are the hardest are the ones that have the most information, I think. One of my topics this month is an English king, and there are several whole books devoted to him, which I feel obligated to read or at least skim in the interest of doing a good job while writing my piece, but it's a little frustrating to wade through tons of material to write and be paid for a thousand-word essay. The pay is actually pretty generous, but not when it incorporates, say, the time of reading half a dozen three-hundred-page books. Still, everything I researched today was interesting, and that's good.

And that, I believe, is that. I'm going to try to get a good night's sleep tonight to prepare for the two-day media blitz that is the series finale of "Friends." Oh, hey, talking about television, I had a thought last night while watching "American Chopper." Do you suppose, in some small dusty corner of the Internet, people are writing Paulie/Vince slash fiction? Points to consider: you can find pretty much anything on the Internet; it's really a stretch; and, well, you can find pretty much anything on the Internet.

I cleaned the living room today. It was hardcore. I had out the Murphy's Oil Soap and everything, and I found out what's in the back of the coat closet. (Nothing, as it turns out. Not even any spiders, which frankly seems odd in a house of this age and decrepitude, and I'm starting to wonder if possibly we live over a Superfund site. But the point is that I had everything out of the coat closet to check.) Now the living room is completely, surgically free of dust. Oddly, this doesn't give me the sense of total personal fulfillment that I thought it might. Maybe if I'd done the kitchen...

Robbie and I were talking yesterday at dinner and it emerged that since we started dating, I've gained approximately eight pounds, and he's gained fifty-five. In other words, I'm larger by one average-sized infant--not even a Sedgewick infant--and he's larger by someone who's getting pretty good at long division. (I should point out here that we are both mighty fine, and the worst you could say about either of us is that we're moving into a sort of stateliness.) And yet we have the exact same vague sense that it wouldn't hurt if we dropped a few pounds. What is this about?

Tomorrow I'm going to do some research at the library and then we're hitting the Greek food festival with my mother. It's supposed to be a nice day (the last before about four straight days of thunderstorms), so I think I'll probably walk home. Walk home and sit in my dust-free living room, of course.

Comments
Robbie: Actually I think that 55 includes freshman year (when we weren't dating). Interestingly, I think that 50 of those 55 were during college.....

Chi: heh, I've gained a solid 25 pounds since I started college... maybe 20 during college and 5 since. so I guess that's like a 3 year old?

EV: Since graduating from high school, I have gained 20, lost 25, gained 15, lost 20, gained 15, gained 10, lost 15, gained 15, and lost 20. If I'm doing my math right, that leaves me at approximately 5 pounds lighter than I was when I graduated from high school. I am nothing if not versatile.

Jess: I would believe that, actually. And for my part, I weigh five pounds less than I did at the end of my freshman year of college. Eating-wise (cough, cough), that was one of the most prodigious years of my life. Not to mention, that was the year I discovered that I liked all the foods I thought I hated when I lived at home. And discovered cheddar cheese potato chips, and--yeah, I'm getting hungry now.

EV: As I recall, you learned about 16 years worth of valuable life stuff during that one year, including what a Shirley Temple is. You're welcome.

Jess: I finally had a Shirley Temple at Heather's bachelorette party. Naturally, I thought about you the whole time. There's a cute picture somewhere of me, Dr. J, and Heather drinking Shirley Temples, but I don't know who has it.

Congratulations to Matt and Courtney, who got engaged this weekend! I have to admit it's not a surprise, but it's certainly good news.

And now on to my day. It's hard to top a day spent at a mound, and we didn't, but we had a lovely day nonetheless. We made pancakes, went to the gym, and then just hung out. It was a rainy day, but that actually ended up being a good thing, since that gave us an excuse to laze around. Oh, and we made brownies. I've had an aversion to sweet things lately, but I managed to make an exception in this case...

Also, I started to read my biography of Florence Harding. I'd been trying to read Story (if you've seen Adaptation, the author of Story is the guy teaching the screenwriting seminars), but it wasn't going anywhere, so I gave up on it. I think it's a useful book, but possibly not the sort of book that I can read cover to cover. So I moved on to Florence and I'm much happier now.

Ah, and last night we watched Swimming Pool, which I definitely recommend, although it's odd. (I recommended it very enthusiastically to Heather today, which caused some confusion until it emerged that she thought I was talking about Swimfan.) I wasn't sure I liked it at the end, but after considering it for half an hour or so, I decided I really did. It's actually kind of like Adaptation, in that it's about the creative process and also in that it's good.

Comments
Heather: C'mon, guys. Anyone could have made that mistake.

Today we went to Moundsville, West Virginia to see the mound. I'd recently learned about the mound because I had to write about it for my freelance assignment, and we had a free afternoon, so this morning I figured, why not go look at a prehistoric burial hill? Robbie and Tizzed's mystery date came along, and we made it into a regular excursion. Robbie even bought "Country Roads" specially from iTunes for the occasion.

Moundsville is a surprisingly (for people who have followed our earlier excursions to Aliquippa and Sharon) pleasant town. It's right on the Ohio, across the river from (you guessed it) Ohio, and at four o'clock the church by the mound plays about fifteen minutes of hymns on its bells. As far as I can guess, Moundsville is full of people whose political beliefs would make you cry, but who also would do things that more like-minded people wouldn't, like help you if your car broke down on the side of the road. We went into the Rite-Aid to get snacks and there was a girl shopping in the makeup aisle, already in her prom dress, and there were a lot of elderly women on tractors. (Not in the Rite-Aid--just out and about.) If you've been to Mitchell, South Dakota, then you know what Moundsville is like, although Moundsville is larger.

As nice as Moundsville is, if you're planning a trip to Moundsville yourself, learn from our experience and try to get there before three forty-five, since the town's attractions shut down early. The mound closes at four and the museum at four-thirty, and we got there at quarter to four, so our visit was necessarily brief. Still, I think we saw most of what there is to see. The mound itself is larger than it looks in photos, and climbable (there are stone stairs cut into the side). Like the La Brea Tar Pits, you'd imagine that it would be off in some park somewhere, but it's actually in the center of town, occupying a square block, with an elementary school across the street. The mound museum is small but interesting. It was set up for some sort of Elks or Rotarian event--you can also rent it for parties--and so they shooed us out of there promptly at four-thirty.

The only other attraction I'd heard of in Moundsville, the West Virginia State Penitentiary, is conveniently located across the street from the mound. It closed in 1995 and now they offer tours, but, naturally, the tours stopped at four. The Craft Show and Doll and Bear Expo is currently being held in the penitentiary, but it was closed for the day too. We tried to drive around the prison, but they still keep a police barracks in the back, so that didn't work too well. None of us had ever been inside a penitentiary, so we may go back sometime to make the scene.

We'll be putting up the pictures of our Moundsville trip soon. Oh, and pictures from last week's birthday party--we should do that too.

Comments
EV: You people fascinate me.

Lizzie: Uhhh . . . nice mound. =-) Well, if I ever visit the greater Pittsburgh region I will have to remember to go see the mound. Although maybe it is enough to just see it on the web. Then you don't have to drive that far . . . =-)