The Sheila Variations

workout mix

Here is RTG's.

And here's mine. I consider it a work of art.

Now there are enough songs on here for me to take a 5 hour run probably - but I like to have a lot of options - because boredom is DEATH to me as a runner. There is one absolute: I always start off with Lose Yourself.

Lose Yourself - Eminem (it's goosebump time - every time I hear the song)

'Cuz I can - Pink (awesome obnoxious song - hysterical)

A Woman Wouldn't Be A Woman - Eartha Kitt (yup. I'm nuts. Great song. You must shake your hips when you hear it)

The One - Foo Fighters (from the Orange County soundtrack - one of my favorites of all of their songs)

Vogue - Madonna (this always comes up when I get to "the hill" - it gives me motivation)

Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne (again: motivation - one MUST move when one hears this song)

The Night Before - The Beatles ("we said our goodbye-eeeeees - the night befo-ore ..." - this is where I take it down a notch - works perfectly)

... Baby one more time - Britney Spears (love it. always will)

She-Bop - Cyndi Lauper (those first chords? If you don't pick up the pace when you hear those first chords then there is something wrong with you)

White America - Eminem (angry!! angry song! Keeps me going! There's a lot of Eminem on this mix you will find. Anger is very helpful for me)

Holiday - Green Day (see above in re: anger - this has to be one of my favorite songs written in the last 10 years.)

The Origin of Love - Hedwig and the Angry Inch soundtrack (another sort of "slow it down" song - wonderful - works perfectly)

Everything for Free - K's Choice (I found this on a random Lilith Fair compilation - it is such a hard freakin' rockin' song - reminds me of Evanescence - I ADORE IT)

Gone - Kelly Clarkson (bad ass)

Extraordinary - Liz Phair (it's mainly the beginning of the song that keeps me going)

Ray of Light - Madonna (it cannot be stressed enough - this chick knows how to put together a dance song)

Til I Collapse - Eminem (angry. Keep it going)

Elephant Love Medley - Moulin Rouge soundtrack (around here I start to get really exhausted ... and sometimes my emotions start to flow out ... this medley helps me to cry and run AT THE SAME TIME!! Keep going!!)

Rape Me - Nirvana (back to the anger. Enough tears. Rage!)

A Little More Love - Olivia Newton-John (don't laugh. This song has an insistent eerie beat that is very helpful when you are a sweaty beast thinking of giving up ... "will a little more love make YOU stop preten-diin ... will a little more lo-ove bring a happy ending ..." etc.)

Cream - Prince (yowza)

Strong - Robbie Williams (I love this song so much. It's cheese personified. But ... so so so catchy!!)

Wish Liszt - Trans-Siberian Orchestra (a ridiculous instrumental - classical - hard rock - stupid - but motivational!)

Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder (fuggedabout it - one of my favorites of all of his songs - transports me)

Dear God - XTC (a perfect way to come on down ... and flop onto my front stoop, praying for mercy)

Exiles

Really interesting article about Joyce's only play. Lots of stuff I didn't know there. I've read the play and it does not have, how you say, the spark of genius. Some lovely writing ... but you don't ache to say the words out loud, like you do with other great playwrights. Joyce's genius lay elsewhere. It lay in the description of interior processes (among other things) - something not at all suited for the stage.

But still - it's a fascinating piece of work - in its own way, it's really vulnerable, really raw - because he's out of his element.

Bad News Bears ...

An appreciation. If you loved that movie (the original) as much as I did - then you do NOT want to miss that essay. It's superb.

This is for Bill's amusement

Scene: A smoke-filled tavern in New York, 1787. Sheila, in modern-day dress, enters. Her pupils are dilated from excitement. She strolls through, looking around. Powdered wigs. Tin mugs, with foam dripping down the side. Candles sputtering black smoke. Men. Mostly men. Then - she sees him. Standing in conversation in the back. She recognizes him immediately. She recognizes his ruddy face, his bright eyes. He has a glitter to him that the other men do not have. She has read about that glitter. And there it is. Right in front of her. It is unmistakeable. The books did not lie. Shyly, she approaches. He turns, and sees her. Those eyes. Holy shit. It's HIM. She makes her move. Once she starts talking, she cannot stop. It is mortifying, and yet she cannot help herself.

Sheila: Oh, Mr. Hamilton. I have waited so long for this moment. You don't know me - I'm from the future. I'm an American - and - well - everything that you're working on right now - everything you're fighting for, and fighting about - well, I just want you to know that i am living in the country that you planned, that you dreamt up. You saw so far ahead - and I'm telling you - so much of what you imagined has come to pass. Uhm ... well ... I just wanted you to know that I so admire you, even though you were kind of insane, and - I just wondered how you did it. How did you write so much? How did you just KNOW certain things? Where does that kind of intelligence come from? Jefferson's gonna get all the glory - at least intellectually - I really should warn you about that - is John Adams here? Because he should be warned as well - I know that's gonna piss him off - but anyway - even though Jefferson's the golden boy, in terms of posterity - you should just know that I think you're the bomb. I really do. Even though Abigail Adams despised you. I have so many questions to ask you. I have so much I want to say. Sorry to bother you ...I am sure you're really busy right now - it's 1787 after all - but do you have, like, 5 or 10 minutes to give me? I MUST interview you - I have a list of questions.

There is a long pause. Hamilton stares at Sheila. He then leans forward, and awkwardly, kind of stumbles a bit. Sheila smells the liquor on his breath. He holds out his mug.

Hamilton: (slurring words) Have a drink, lass. You've got killer knockers. Can I touch' em?

Sheila: Uhm - woah. Mr. Hamilton - uh ...

Hamilton: (throwing his arm around her) Bitch, you're hot.

Sheila: But ... but ... The Federalist Papers ...

Hamilton: Federalist Shmederalist. Let's knock boots.

Sheila: I ... I've come such a long way ... is Madison here? Maybe I can talk to him?

Hamilton: Madison's a fucking bore. Let's PARTY!

Sheila: Okay - but - I only have limited time to ask you what ----

Hamilton: Are your boobs real?

In-depth

You gotta love a biography of Howard Hawks that starts in 1630.

The Books: "A Wind in the Door" (Madeleine L'Engle)

Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):

Next book on the shelf is A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle.

Here's the sequel to Wrinkle in Time - the second book in what is now known as The Time Quartet. It takes place shortly after the end of Wrinkle. Mr. Murry is now home from his intergalactic existential captivity. Calvin and Meg have continued to hang out (how much do we just love Calvin?) - and Charles Wallace is still eerily prescient and intelligent. This book opens with him saying to Meg, "There are dragons in the garden." Meg, at first, cannot see them. Turns out, it is NOT a dragon - but that's not the point. SOMETHING is out there and Charles Wallace senses it. Charles Wallace is 6 now - and Meg can tell that something is wrong with him. The book becomes a discovery process of what it is that is tormenting Charles Wallace -

Ack - her books are hard to talk about. I'm making it sound very dull. On a higher level, the book is about the melding of the macro and the micro worlds. What happens in an outer galaxy affects us, here on earth, on a cellular level. We're all one. Made of the same stuff. If a star dies, we feel it - as a loss. We may not even know what we are grieving - but we are in pain.

If Wrinkle in Time was a journey out into the galaxy - (the macro) - then Wind in the Door is a journey into the micro world. Specifically, mitochondria. The whole book ends up being about mitochondria ... and that's really all I'm gonna say - because to describe it further would make it sound dumb. I won't say Wind in the Door is better than Wrinkle - it is not - but it is a sequel that is vibrant, well-written, very moving - and keeps the themes going from the first book, in a strong and unexpected way. I LOVE this book - I find its message to be really poignant, almost painfully so - and I pick up this book when I need a reminder of it. The book ends up being about the universal power of love, and how inextricably intertwined love is with identity. This is played out in the book in a literal as well as a metaphoric way, micro and macro - I've shed tears when reading this book, its message is so healing and redemptive.

Also - I just love all of these characters. I love Meg and Calvin and Charles Wallace and the twins and Mr and Mrs Murry - they seem so real to me - and the beauty of L'Engle's books is that - they KEEP showing up. You can put off the final goodbyes to them - because those characters come in and out of most of her books - sometimes they're peripheral, sometimes they're the stars - but you get this sense of continuity - of connection with them - and I have always loved that.

So here's an excerpt from the beginning of Wind in the Door before it has become clear that drastic measures (uhm - going into mitochondria) have to be taken. It's a family discussion at dinner. All the themes are introduced right here.

Excerpt from A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle.

Meg was not thinking about spaghetti, although she was sprinkling Parmesan over hers. She wondered what their mother would say if Charles Wallace told her about his dragons. If there really were dragons, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, in the north pasture, oughtn't their parents to know?

Sandy said, "When I grow up I'm going to be a banker and make money. Someone in this family has to stay in the real world."

"Not that we don't think science is the real world, Mother," Dennys said, "but you and Father aren't practical scientists, you're theoretical scientists."

Mrs. Murry demurred, "I'm not wholly impractical, you know, Sandy, and neither is your father."

"Spending hours and hours peering into your micro-electron microscope and listening to that microsonar whatsit isn't practical," Sandy annouced.

"You just look at things nobody else can see," Dennys added, "and listen to things nobody else can hear, and think about them."

Meg defended her mother. "It would be a good idea if more people knew how to think. After Mother thinks about something long enough, then she puts it into practice. Or someone else does."

Charles Wallace cocked his head with a pleased look. "Does practical mean that something works out in practice?"

His mother nodded.

"So it doesn't matter if Mother sits and thinks. Or if Father spends weeks over one equation. Even if he writes it on the tablecloth. His equations are practical if someone else makes them work out in practice." He reached in his pocket, as though in answer to Meg's thoughts about dragons, and drew out a feather, not a bird feather, but a strange glitter catching the light. "All right, my practical brothers, what is this?"

Sandy, sitting next to Charles Wallace, bent over the dragon feather. "A feather."

Dennys got up and went around the table so that he could see. "Let me --"

Charles Wallace held the feather between them. "What kind is it?"

"Hey, this is most peculiar!" Sandy touched the base of the feather. "I don't think it's from a bird."

"Why not?" Charles Wallace asked.

"The rachis isn't right."

"The what?" Meg asked.

"The rachis. Sort of part of the quill. The rachis should be hollow, and this is solid, and seems to be metallic. Hey, Charles, where'd you get this thing?"

Charles Wallace handed the feather to his mother. She looked at it carefully. "Sandy's right. The rachis isn't like a bird's."

Dennys said, "Then what --"

Charles Wallace retrieved the feather and put it back in his pocket. "It was on the gorund by the big rocks in the north pasture. Not just this one feather. Quite a few others."

Meg suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. "Charles and I think it may be fewmets."

Sandy turned to her with injured dignity. "Fewmets are dragon droppings."

Dennys said, "Don't be silly." Then, "Do you know what it is, Mother?"

She shook her head. "What do you think it is, Charles?"

Charles Wallace, as he occasionally did, retreated into himself. When Meg decided he wasn't going to answer at all, he said, "It's something that's not in Sandy's and Dennys's practical world. When I find out more, I'll tell you." He sounded like their mother.

"Okay, then." Dennys had lost interest. He returned to his chair. "Did Father tell you why he has to go rushing off to Brookhaven, or is it another of those top-secret classified things?"

Mrs. Murry looked down at the checked tablecloth, and at the remains of an equation which had not come out in the wash; doodling equations on anything available was a habit of which she could not break her husband. "It's not really secret. There've been several bits about it in the paper recently."

"About what?" Sandy asked.

"There's bee an unexplainable phenomenon, not in our part of the galaxy, but far across it, and in several other galaxies - well, the easiest way to explain it is that our new supersensitive sonic instruments have been picking up strange sounds, sounds which aren't on any normal register, but much higher. After such a sound - a cosmic scream, the Times rather sensationally called it - there appears to be a small rip in the galaxy."

"What does that mean?" Dennys asked.

"It seems to mean that several stars have vanished."

"Vanished where?"

"That's the odd part. Vanished. Completely. Where the stars were there is, as far as our instruments can detect, nothing. Your father was out in California several weeks ago, you remember, at Mount Palomar."

"But things can't just vanish," Sandy said. "We had it in school - the balance of matter."

Their mother added, very quietly, "It seems to be getting unbalanced."

"You mean like the ecology?"

"No. I mean that matter actually seems to be being annihilated."

Dennys said flatly, "But that's impossible."

"E = MC²," Sandy said. "Matter can be converted into energy, and energy into matter. You have to have one or the other."

Mrs. Murry said, "Thus far, Einstein's law has never been disproven. But it's coming into question."

"Nothingness -" Dennys said. "That's impossible."

"One would hope so."

"And that's what Father's going off about?"

"Yes, to consult with several other scientists, Shasti from India, Shen Shu from China - you've heard of them."

Outside the dining-room windows came a sudden brilliant flash of light followed by a loud clap of thunder. The windows rattled. The kitchen door burst open. Everybody jumped.

Meg sprant up, crying nervously, "Oh, Mother -"

"Sit down, Meg. You've heard thunder before."

"You're sure it's not one of those cosmic things?"

Sandy shut the door.

Mrs. Murry was calmly reassuring. "Positive. They're completely inaudiable to human ears." Lightning flashed again. Thunder boomed. "As a matter of fact, there are only two instruments in the world delicate enough to pick up the sound, which is incredibly high-pitched. It's perfectly possible that it's been going on for billennia, and only now are our instruments capable of recording it."

"Birds can hear sounds way above our normal pitch," Sandy said. "I mean, way up the scale, that we can't hear at all."

"Birds can't hear this."

Dennys said, "I wonder if snakes can hear as high a pitch as birds?"

"Snakes don't have ears," Sandy contradicted.

"So? They feel vibrations and sound waves. I think Louise hears all kinds of things out of human range. What's for dessert?"

Meg's voice was still tense. "We don't usually have thunderstorms in October."

"Please calm down, Meg." Mrs. Murry started clearing the table. "If you'll stop and think, you'll remember that we've had an unseasonable storm for every month in the year."

Sandy said, "Why does Meg always exaggerate everything? Why does she have to be so cosmic? What's for dessert?"

"I don't --" Meg started defensively, then jumped as the rain began to pelt against the windows.

"There's some ice cream in the freezer," Mrs. Murry said. "Sorry, I haven't been thinking about desserts."

"Meg's supposed to make desserts," Dennys said. "Not that we expect pies or anything, Meg, but even you can't go too wrong with Jello."

Charles Wallace caught Meg's eye and she closed her mouth. He put his hand in the pocket of his robe again, though this time he did not produce the feather, and gave her a small, private smile. He may have been thinking about his dragons, but he had also been listening carefully, both to the conversation and to the storm, his fair head tilting slightly to one side. "This ripping of the galaxy, Mother - does it have any effect on our solar system?"

"That," MRs. Murry replied, "is what we would all like to know."

Sandy brushed this aside impatiently. "It's all much too complicated for me. I'm sure banking is a lot simpler."

"And more lucrative," Dennys added.

The windows shook in the wind. The twins looked through the darkness at the slashing rain.

"It's a good thing we brought in so much stuff from the garden before dinner."

"This is almost hail."

Meg asked nervously, "Is it dangerous, this -- this ripping in the sky, or whatever it is?"

"Meg, we really know nothing about it. It may have been going on all along, and we only now have the instruments to record it."

"Like farandolae," Charles Wallace said. "We tend to think things are new because we've just discovered them."

"But is it dangerous?" Meg repeated.

"Meg, we don't know enough about it yet. That's why it's important that your father and some of the other physicists get together at once."

"But it could be dangerous?"

"Anything can be dangerous."

Meg looked down at the remains of her dinner. Dragons and rips in the sky. Louise and Fortinbras greeting something large and strange. Charles Wallace pale and listless. She did not like any of it. "I'll do the dishes," she told her mother.

The Books: "A Wrinkle in Time" (Madeleine L'Engle)

Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):

Next book on the shelf is A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

Okay. Now I'm all nervous and excited - because I'm starting in on my Madeleine collection. We're gonna be here for a while. I'm scared! I love her SO much. Hard to talk about. It's just that her work means so much to me. I'd read a grocery list penned by L'Engle and have a profound experience.

Wrinkle in Time is not just one of my favorite books from my childhood but one of my favorite books ever. It's the kind of thing where if I hear someone hasn't read it, someone who I know will love it - I will literally BEG them to read it. Wrinkle in Time has reduced me to begging.

I actually wrote Madeleine L'Engle a letter once - I was in my mid-20s. This was before the Internet. I sent the letter to her publisher, Farrar, Straus Giroux ... and a couple months later - she wrote me back. The most beautiful personal letter ... I mean, how many letters must she get a month?? She had obviously read my letter, and thought about her response. Unbelievable. She's one of my personal idols - for so so many reasons.

The story of Wrinkle in Time getting published is almost (ALMOST) as good as the book itself. She and her husband, Hugh Franklin, an actor - had given up on the city - bought a general store in a little town in Connecticut - and moved there to raise their family. They had kids. She wrote. She published nothing. She had published a novel in her early 20s - and then a couple other books - quite a bit of early success, actually. Then - for 10 years - 10 long long years - nothing. Not even a story published. Not even a poem published. The rejections piled up. Madeleine has written eloquently about those years. Full rich years of childbearing and mothering and house-wife-ing - but on another level, there was an abyss of despair. Who was she really - if not a writer? She wrestled with the angels. The devils. It is that classic battle: between art and commerce. I've written about this before - in terms of being in a relationship with an artist. I expressed some of my feelings about this in my post about Annie, the wife in 'Field of Dreams'. If you fall in love with an artist, and choose to spend your life with that person - then you cannot fall in love with the end result. You have to love the journey itself. Madeleine L'Engle was a writer whether or not she got published ... but during those hard years of rejection and oblivion, she truly wondered if she could justify the time spent away from her family, writing in her study - if she wasn't making any money at it ... This is the struggle - this is what that struggle personifies. Of course you want to make money. But that is NOT why people get into this whole art game. Not people like L'Engle anyway. She writes because she MUST. She describes a black moment, when yet another rejection slip came in for a novel she had written - and she was pacing back and forth in her study, sobbing - panicky - like: what am I doing?? WHAT AM I DOING??? And suddenly, a sort of unearthly calm came over her - after a couple of hours of crying - and she sat down at her typewriter, and started writing again. That was the moment she knew. There was no monetary value she could place on this writing thing. Whether or not she sold anything ever again, she had to write. But it was NOT easy. She was lucky her husband was an artist as well, and had had the presence of mind to walk away from his career (when it was at its height!!) - and try something new. But then - when that "something new" (running a general store, living in the country, not being an actor) got old ... after 15 years ... he was brave enough to say to his wife, "I think we need to sell the store and I think we need to move back to Manhattan. I need to be an actor again." So that's what they did. And he was hugely successful until the day he died - with a long-running huge part on a soap opera. Anyway - there are many ways to have a marriage, many ways to work out these issues - and I admire Madeleine and Hugh for figuring out what worked for THEM, not trying to fit into some round hole that wasn't right .... I'd need a marriage like that.

Madeleine's breakthrough was with Wrinkle in Time. All her other books had been thoughtful novels about thoughtful people - nothing supernatural, nothing too out there - and they were successful, but - you know, they disappeared. They did not make her famous. After a gazillion publishers rejected Wrinkle in Time ("Is it a children's book?" "It's too dark - could you lighten it up?" "I don't get it ..." etc.) - Farrar Straus Giroux said Yes - and they gave her so much freedom - they just let Madeleine be Madeleine - that she STILL is with them. After 40 years. If she writes a religious book, they publish it. If she writes a book of poetry, they publish it. Children's books, adult books, memoirs - they publish it all. Kind of extraordinary. But Wrinkle in Time was such a huge success that it is still a best-seller - to this day. It's rare. She tapped into something. She "hit it", so to speak.

But the great thing - the inspirational thing - is that she wrote the book in isolation, in the middle of those bleak 10 years of rejection slips - She wrote it because it was a story she NEEDED to tell. She had had such bad luck getting published that she had no expectation that anyone would want the book - but she HAD to write it. And look what happened. It made her name.

Sigh. It's just so inspiring.

Here's an excerpt from the awesome first chapter that starts with the words: "It was a dark and stormy night."

If you haven't read it - I won't give you a plot synopsis. All I can do is beg. PLEASE. Read this damn book.

Excerpt from A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

In the kitchen a light was already on, and Charles Walace was sitting at the table driking milk and eating bread and jam. He looked very small and vulnerable sitting there alone in the big old-fashioned kitchen, a blond little boy in faded blue Dr. Dentons, his feet swinging a good six inches above the floor.

"Hi," he said cheerfully. "I've been waiting for you."

From under the table where he was lying at Charles Wallace's feet, hoping for a crumb or two, Fortinbras raised his slender dark head in greeting to Meg and his tail thumped against the floor. Fortinbras had arrived on their doorstep, a half-grown puppy, scrawny and abandoned, one winter night. He was, Meg's father had decided, part Llewellyn setter and part greyhound, and he had a slender, dark beauty that was all his own.

"Why didn't you come up to the attic?" Meg asked her brother, speaking as though he were at least her own age. "I've been scared stiff."

"Too windy up in that attic of yours," the little boy said. "I knew you'd be down. I put some milk on the stove for you. It ought to be hot by now."

How did Charles Wallace always know about her? How could he always tell? He never knew - or seemed to care - what Dennys or Sandy were thinking. It was his mother's mind, and Meg's, that he probed with a frightening accuracy.

Was it because people were a little afraid of him that they whispered about the Murry's youngest child, who was rumored to be not quite bright? "I've heard that clever people often have subnormal children," Meg had once overheard. "The two boys seem to be nice, regular children, but that unattractive girl and the baby boy certainly aren't all there."

It was true that Charles Wallace seldom spoke when anybody was around, so that many people thought he'd never learned to talk. And it was true that he hadn't talked at all until he was almost four. Meg would turn white with fury when people looked at him and clucked, shaking their heads sadly.

"Don't worry about Charles Wallace, Meg," her father had once told her. Meg remembered it very clearly because it was shortly before he went away. "There's nothing the matter with his mind. He just does things in his own way and in his own time."

"I don't want him to grow up to be dumb like me," Meg had said.

"Oh, my darling, you're not dumb," her father answered. "You're like Charles Wallace. Your development has to go at its own pace. It just doesn't happen to be the usual pace."

"How do you know?" Meg had demanded. "How do you know I'm not dumb? Isn't it just because you love me?"

"I love you, but that's not what tells me. Mother and I've given you a number of tests, you know."

Yes, that was true. Meg had realized that some of the "games" her parents played with her were tests of some kind, and that there had been more for her and Charles Wallace than for the twins. "IQ tests, you mean?"

"Yes, some of them."

"Is my IQ okay?"

"More than okay."

"What is it?"

"That I'm not going to tell you. But it assures me that both you and Charles Wallace will be able to do pretty much whatever you like when you grow up to yourselves. You just wait till Charles Wallace starts to talk. You'll see."

How right he had been about that, though he himself had left before Charles Wallace began to speak, suddenly, with none of the usual baby preliminaries, using entire sentences. How proud he would have been!

"You'd better check the milk," Charles Wallace said to Meg now, his diction clearer and cleaner than that of most five-year-olds. "You know you don't like it when it gets skin on top."

"You put in more than twice enough milk." Meg peered into the saucepan.

Charles Wallace nodded serenely. "I thought Mother might like some."

"I might like what?" a voice said, and there was their mother standing in the doorway.

"Cocoa," Charles Wallace said. "Would you like a liverwurst-and-cream-cheese sandwich? I'll be happy to make you one."

"That would be lovely," Mrs. Murry said, "but I can make it myself if you're busy."

"No trouble at all." Charles Wallace slid down from his chair and trotted over to the refrigerator, his pajamaed feet padding softly as a kitten's. "How about you, Meg?" he asked. "Sandwich?"

"Yes, please," she said. "But not liverwurst. Do we have any tomatoes?"

Charles Wallace peered into the crisper. "One. All right if I use it on Meg, Mother?"

"To what better use could it be put?" Mrs. Murry smiled. "But not so loud, please, Charles. That is, unless you want the twins downstairs, too."

"Let's be exclusive," Charles Wallace said. "That's my new word for the day. Impressive, isn't it?"

"Prodigious," Mrs. Murry said. "Meg, come let me look at that bruise."

Meg knelt at her mother's feet. The warmth and light of the kitchen had relaxed her so that her attic fears were gone. The cocoa steamed fragrantly in the saucepan; geraniums bloomed on the window sills and there was a bouquet of tiny yellow chrysanthemums in the center of the table. The curtains, red, with a blue and green geometrical pattern, were drawn, and seemed to reflect their cheerfulness throughout the room. The furnace purred like a great, sleepy animal; the lights glowed with steady radiance; outside, alone in the dark, the wind still battered against the house, but the angry power that had frightened Meg while she was alone in the attic was subdued by the familiar comfort of the kitchen. Underneath Mrs. Murry's chair Fortinbras let out a contented sigh.

Mrs. Murry gently touched Meg's bruised cheek. Meg looked up at her mother, half in loving admiration, half in sullen resentment. It was not an advantage to have a mother who was a scientist and a beauty as well. Mrs. Murry's flaming red hair, creamy skin, and violet eyes with long dark lashes, seemed even more spectacular in comparison with Meg's outrageous plainness. Meg's hair had been passable as long as she wore it tidily in braids. When she went into high school it was cut, and now she and her mother struggled with putting it up, but one side would come out curly and the other straight, so that she looked even plainer than before.

"You don't know the meaning of moderation, do you, my darling?" Mrs. Murry asked. "A happy medium is something I wonder if you'll ever learn. That's a nasty bruise the Henderson boy gave you. By the way, shortly after you'd gone to bed his mother called up to complain about how badly you'd hurt him. I told her that since he's a year older and at least twenty-five pounds heavier than you are, I thought I was the one who ought to be doing the complaining. But she seemed to think it was all your fault."

"I suppose that depends on how you look at it," Meg said. "Usually no matter what happens people think it's my fault, even if I have nothing to do with it at all. But I'm sorry I tried to fight him. It's just been an awful week. And I'm full of bad feeling."

Mrs. Murry stroked Meg's shaggy head. "Do you know why?"

"I hate being an oddball," Meg said. "It's hard on Sandy and Dennys, too. I don't know if they're really like everybody else, or if they're just able to pretend they are. I try to pretend, but it isn't any help."

"You're much too straightforward to be able to pretend to be what you aren't," Mrs. Murry said. "I'm sorry, Meglet. Maybe if Father were here he could help you, but I don't think I can do anything till you've managed to plow through some more time. Then things will be easier for you. But that isn't much help right now, is it?"

"Maybe if I weren't so repulsive-looking - maybe if I were pretty like you -"

"Mother's not a bit pretty; she's beautiful," Charles Wallace announced, slicing liverwurst. "Therefore I bet she was awful at your age."

"How right you are," Mrs. Murry said. "Just give yourself time, Meg."

"Lettuce on your sandwich, Mother?" Charles Wallace asked.

"No, thanks."

He cut the sandwich into sections, put it on a plate, and set it in front of his mother. "Yours'll be along in just a minute, Meg. I think I'll talk to Mrs Whatsit about you."

"Who's Mrs Whatsit?" Meg asked.

"I think I want to be exclusive about her for a while," Charles Wallace said. "Onion salt?"

Happy place!

I came across this really interesting photo this morning - and here it is. I'm posting this one for Mitch as well - because she's his favorite. I know a lot of people who count her (she who is so forgotten now by the general public!!) as their favorite.

What a lovely alive face she has. She's really in her face, if you know what I mean. There isn't a mask there.

I love this photo.

Diary Friday

More Picnic! It's all a mish-mash here. I'm now in my second semester, senior year ... so high school is starting to wind down. This entry is all about the earth-shaking moment that is:

Filling out the blurb to go by your picture in the senior yearbook.

These are some of the most important choices you must make as a teenager. I obviously took it VERY seriously.

JANUARY 13

For the past few days my friends and I have been totally engrossed in filling out our seior blurbs. I can't believe how INTO it we all were. Wherever you looked in school was a senior diligently filling it out. J. and I had the best time doing ours together. We both did about 4 rough drafts. It was so hysterical. In some ways they were hard to fill out. I mean, that little blurb was supposed to represent me. I really wanted it to. I remember when I was an underclassman, poring over every senior blurb - practically memorizing each one. I couldn't help but keep in mind what people would think when they read mine. I kept crossing things out and it would get so messy that I'd have to get another form. Whenever any teacher would give free time, out would come the blurb sheets. We also voted for Senior Superlatives. They were almost harder than the blurbs because millions of names could fit in each one. As far as I can tell, I think I'm getting Best Actress. In fact, I bet it's unanimous. I mean, I'd be in the library, or the caf, and seniors I don't even know (who didn't know I was there) would be saying, "How do you spell Sheila?"

Here, for lack of anything better to do, I'll explain my senior blurb.

My nicknames: Chicago. [which is funny, since I ended up living there many years later] When we were either freshmen or sophomores, somehow Betsy and Mere and I dubbed Beth New York. We also gave ourselves city nicknames. Betsy was Boston, Mere was LA and I was Chicago. They would call me, "Hey, Windy!" or "Hey, you! Hi there, murder capital of the world!" Then I also put as a nickname Sheila Squealah - which is what TS calls me.

Miyako, April's Japanese student, can NOT pronounce my name - it's always "Shira" - J. thinks it's very funny so that's what she calls me now.

During Picnic, one of the jokes that evolved backstage generated from that horrifying movie Magic - really scary - where this marionette comes alive and talks. Liz would freak people out because she could make herself look like that marionette - huge bug eyes, false dead smile - and she'd say in this really raspy whispering voice, "Sheeeeeeeeeeeeila." It wouold make my skin crawl - especially when she did it backstage among the blackness of the curtains and I could see the whites of her eyes. I described it to everyone at school, and now- at spasmodic moments - one of us will assume the face and call someone's name -

"Meeeeeeeeeeeeeredith ..."
"Beeeeeeeeetsy"

It could be scary. J. really exaggerates it. And now she goes, "Shira ....... Shira ...."

I also put down "Millie" as my nickname. I really do answer to it. During rehearsal, on and offstage I was referred to as Millie. When we'd get notes, we'd all be our character names. Once Liz called me to tell me that Joe was coming to get me to come up and see her play. I answered the phone. She said, "Is Millie there? This is her mother speaking." I have a feeling that she would have said that regardless of who answered. Once my mother answsered the phone, and she was saying, "Who do you want? Billy?" I tried to lunge for the phone. "It's for me! They want Millie!" It turned out to be a wrong number and I was quite laughed at by my family.

My favorite quote I found on a little ripped-up calendar under the desk at the library. I was trying to calculate how much someone owed and was counting the days and I read it and I felt my throat clog up, my eyes filmed over - I reached for a pencil and a piece of scrap paper. I love that quote.

Another quote was from our movie (the movie) The Troubled Days and Nights of Husbands, Wives, Lovers and Children in Hope and Despair (which, by the way, is now 4 parts long - over 2 hours long.) We just filmed part 4 over Christmas vacation. And - as the cleaver murderess Andrea - there's one moment when I'm looking straight into the camera and - I don't know what word can describe it - I'm sort of cackling - but it doesn't sound like a witch. It sounds like a deep gutteral "Hm Hm Hm" - it is one of the most hysterical things I've ever done - and I say it all the time now.

Another quote I put down is one of my numerous favorite lines from my FAVORITE movie What's Up Doc. Mere, J and I can recite that movie.

"I am Hugh."
"You are me?"
"No. I am Hugh."
"Stop saying that! Make him stop saying that!"
______

"That's a person named Eunice?"
________

"You are not going to say, 'Hi, my name is Howard.' Anyone can say that! Anyone!"
"Anyone named Howard."
_______________

"They broke into my home."
"That's breaking and entering."
"And they brought her with them forcibly!"
"That's kidnapping."
"They tried to molest me."
Long pause.
"That's unbelievable."

I suppose my favorite foods are self-explanatory. Every year I buy two huge onion bagels from Penn Station with so much cream cheese that it oozes off the side. Every bite is wonderful. The place is a really scummy place, but those bagels! Also, every time Mummy Gina visits she makes her sticky cinnamon rolls. Oh my God. I could eat 5,000,000 of those delectable things. And I could also live on Chicken McNuggets.

Of course - my diaries are my favorite objects. I'm on #9 now. [wow. I'm only 9 diaries in???] I don't know why I write so much or so faithfully. I think partly so I can try to make sense of the feelings I have, or try to discover what the feelings are. If my diaries were ever lost I'd feel like a big chunk of my life was missing. One of the funniest things to do is to read my old diaries. Who was I?? I read things that I wrote a long time ago that sound so stupid to me now. About sex: "No way am I ready. Past making out? Forget it. Even in college I don't think I'll be ready. But I refuse to go through my whole life a virgin, okay? If I really love someone - and if there is no pressure involved - and both of us know that it's right, then maybe I would consider having sex. In my late 20s or so I am pretty sure that I will be ready. That sounds normal, huh?" Did I actually write those juvenile things? I did not know WHAT I was talking about!

My cleaver from the movie is also one of my favorite objects. There is one point in Part II when I do a mad dance with a cleaver to "Hall of the Mountain King". When we were watching this part, Mere glanced at me and said, "Sheila, why am I friends with you?" [hahahahahahahahahahaha] But I also do little drawings of cleavers - as symbols for frustrating and anger. Through my junior year, little cleavers were sprinkled ALL OVER my notebook margins. [Okay, that sounds scary]

I've already explained about my dark glasses and how I love them. [Get ready for some wardrobe talk now. MORTIFYING!] Whenever I wear my jeans jacket, I hook one of boughs into a button hole - I love feeling cool. [If you love feeling cool, then I would not hook my sunglasses into my jeans jacket. Just a tip.] When we all went roller skating, I wore my huge blazer, my Hawaiian shirt, and my jeans - I also wore my dark glasses. I bring them everywhere. [Hon ... they're sunglasses. What is the big deal. They cost 5 bucks at CVS. Calm down.] Roller skating was heaven by the way - HEAVEN!! "Old Time Rock and Roll" came on [I almost don't want to type out this next part it's so embarrassing] - and - I felt so ... something about whizzing along on roller skates - I just felt so exuberant - dancing - music - and when that song came on - I whipped out my glasses and put them on. [AHHHHHH I'M SO EMBARRASSED] I couldn't stand how COOL I felt bopping along. Brett went zooming up to tell Joe to look at me - and I could hear Brett saying, "Look at her! She's hot! Sheila is HOT." [hmmmmmm!!!] I felt it too - I guess I felt hot that night. I really liked David too. [the birthday boy from yesterday!!] We skated hand in hand for about half an hour - kidding around, trying to go backwards. He is so sweet.

Now I have to tell a story that I never told because I never had time. I never told about my birthday. My birthday this year was the best birthday I've ever had. First of all, I'm 17 now. It's a cool age to be. I can see dirty movies now! [hahahahahahaha what???] The whole day was so perfect. I had an inkling that Picnic people were gonna do something. They all knew it was my birthday. The night before, Brett drove me, Liz and Joe home. Joe and I were in the back, Brett and Liz in front. Right before Liz got out at her sorority, she said to Brett, "Are you doing anything tomorrow around 3:00?" He said no. She leaned over and whispered something to him. He nodded, glancing back at me, "Okay." Joe and I were yelling, "HEY! No fair!" I just had this feeling, though ...

My family got up an hour early to give me my presents. i've never appreciated my birthday like I did this year. We were into dress rehearsals. My life was a whirlwind. Opening Night was 2 days awya. I was SO happy and full and excited and living in a flurry. Perfect time to turn 17.

I got wonderful presents - and I got black corduroy pedal pushers that are now my favorite article of clothing. Siobhan made me a card - that - well. Only little kids can touch me that way. It's SO CUTE. And -

I GOT A STEREO!

It was such a wonderful warm birthday. I felt sincerely happy.

Then I went to school. I was feeling everything so strongly. My life was so full. I got a hug from everyone. The first person I saw was April. She made m e 3 little origami birds - she knows I love origami. [I do?] Kate gave me this really special book called Markings by Dag Hammerskold. I haven't really read it yet. It's not a cover to cover kind of book. It's the diary of a man and about his spiritual life. I just open it up sometimes and see what it can tell me.

"But at some moment I did answer Yes to Someone - or Something - and from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore, my life, in self-surrender, had a goal."
"What I ask for is absurd: that life shall have a meaning.
What I strive for is impossible: that my life shall acquire a meaning."

One of my favorite passages:

"Never measure the height of a mountain until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was."

Do you see what a high I am operating on at all times? [Yes. I do. Take it down a notch. Thanks.]

Betsy made me a key chain [that I adored and had for years until it literally fell apart] - with a collage on it - a picture of the barn, a picture of a red rose, a picture of James Dean, my face from the freshman toga picture, a picture of me on my retreat, a picture of Betsy - she always makes her presents. And she gave me a card - I read it alone and it is precious.

Beth gave me a certificate guaranteeing me dinner with Beth at the restaurant of my choice. Hey - I still haven't taken her up on that! I feel so close to her.

J. didn't give me my present till that library party Opening Night. It was a pink glass bead necklace and I LOVE IT.

They all put birthday and Break a leg announcements on for me - I felt so loved and special and happy. And I had a dress rehearsal that night. My first real dress rehearsal. I was nervous and sick inside.

So I came up to the theatre - totally forgetting to anticipate that something was gonna happen for my brithday. I came into the lobby and signed in. That was when jennifer came up to me with a letter from Michelle - it touched me SO MUCH that she remembered! It just blew me away. I stood there alone in the lobby talking to myself, "Oh, this is so sweet ... thank you so much ..." I walked down the hall to the girls dressing room and just as I walked past the guys dressing room door, Brett came hurtling out looking around frantically. Then he saw me and SHOUTED, "HEY! Happy Birthday!" and swung me up in a huge tight hug. Then he dragged me into the dressing room. Liz and Joe sat there waiting - they saw me and burst into song. Brett kept his arm around me. Liz presented me with a wrapped package and an envelope. I was so moved, so touched. As they sang, I just stood there saying, "Oh, you guys - " holding my present, beaming at them. I love them all DEARLY.

I opened the envelope first. I burst out laughing. It was a picture of a marionette with an eerie grin on his face. Inside it said, "Happy birthday, Dummy" - and they wrote under "dummy" my ame.

I felt so honored and special and thankful. Just that I was there - that my life was the way it was. I felt a little bit of trepidation in opening the present because the box looked rather suspicious. I thought that it was gonna be a dousche, or condoms - or something embarrassing. I could feel myself trying to think up a reaction before I even opened it. I opened it - and the minute I saw the words on the box - I burst out laughing. It said: THE SPERM BANK. Total mass hysteria broke loose. They all yelled, "Open it!" So I did.

Diary, it is a big hollow white china sperm - with a slot in the top so it is, indeed, a sperm "bank". It now holds an honored position on the top shelf of my bookcase.

Then Brett said, "Hey, did you sign in?"

I n odded. They all glanced at each other. Brett said, "You did?" I nodded. Brett pushed me towards the door. "Well, go and sign in again." I didn't know what he was talkig about - the 4 of us went back to the lobby and I peered at the sign-in sheet to see if my check was there. Yes - there it was. Then I glanced up - and tacked up over the sign-in sheet - was a HUGE sign - I felt this jolt inside - it said HAPPY BIRTHDAY - in huge round gold and silver letters - and SHEILA O'MALLEY in block red and blue letters. Then there was a 17 in block numbers - and on the top was written in purple, "And you KNOW what you can do!" (That line was my main stumbling block in the play). Brett made the sign - I LOVE IT SO MUCH. If the house was burning down, I would grab that sign. I adore it. It's hanging on the wall right above my sperm bank. I hugged everyone, Joanna came running in - she remembered too - gave me a big tight hug. PERFECT BIRTHDAY. My best one yet. Brett told me a few nights later at Giro's: "When we went shopping for your birthday I saw this thing that I was gonna get you - I don't know why - a big James Dean poster - it just seemed like a thing you'd like." "Brett - I am obsessed with that guy. How did you know?"

Anyway, that's a long story to explain why "sperm bank" is listed as one of my favorite objects in my senior blurb.

Oh - and under Favorite Person - I just put "all my friends" - also Don Juan - which is a whole other story. I am glad I can somehow incorporate these Picnic stories in. Okay - there was a party at Brett and Joe's on November 16 and I was gonna sleep over. Eventually I didn't but it was a good time - only Picnic people - it was really quiet and intimate. These people are all so into ghost stories that it isn't even funny. Apparently our theatre has its own ghost - George. Everything bad is blamed on him. They told a lot of weird true stories about things that happened to them. For atmosphere, we turned off all the lights and lit one candle so it was really creepy. Jennifer is so cute - she's so free with her emotions. Someone would be telling a ghost story and you could hear her moaning, "Oh my gosh" in the corner. After that, we turned on the lights and played Dr. Shrink. What it is is - we sat in a circle. Someone started, like, "If Linda were a food, what food would she be?" Everyone writes down their answers and passes it in to the person who asked the question. Then the person reads them aloud and you have to guess who wrote it. As you can imagine, it got pretty personal.

Liz's question was, "If you were an alcoholic drink, what drink would you be?" I groaned. I have NO idea! So she changed it to any drink. "And anyone who says lemonade is in big trouble." I wrote down, "A glass of damn milk, okay?" which ended up bringing the house down.

Lenny said, "If there were a movie made about Brett's life - no - no - If there were a movie made about Brett's sex life - what would it be called?" When he said that, I almost dropped out of that round. I have NO idea - it feels so personal - I had no idea what to say. Everyone was around me, giggling as they wrote down their answers. Bretet just sat there grinning resignedly. "Okay. Okay. I can take it." I didn't want to make too big a deal over how lost I felt. So I fianlly just scribbled something down and passed it in. When Lenny started to read the answers out loud - oh my God, it was so hysterical.

Jennifer's was 'The Big Chill' - that was the #1 favorite answer
Liz wrote (a line from Picnic) "Beggars can't be chooser"
There were bursts of hysteria at every answer - and as Lenny kept reading I realized that mine was like the only semi-nice one. I wanted to sink through the floor. I wanted to somehow subtly disappear and take my answer with me. [hahahahahaha] I sat in agony. Waiting. Then Lenny came to mine - he read it to himself and then said, "Okay - who wrote Don Juan?" Everyone started screeching with laughter - the blush crept up my cheeks - I got totally hot in the face - my big huge smile gave me away - I sort of raised my hand - Brett shouted, "THANK YOU! OH! THANK YOU!" and practically attacked me. He had really been ragged on for about 5 minutes. I was so glad that it all turned out okay and I didn't hate myself for writing Don Juan anymore.

And that's why I put Don Juan as one of my favorite people. [Sheila, you do realize that by saying a 'sperm bank' is your favorite object and that 'Don Juan' is your favorite person - you may be giving people an incorrect impression of you???]

Other Picnic entries:

Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
Part 20Closing Night party - part 1
Part 21 Closing Night party - part 2
Part 22 Brett and I go see 2010 - part 1

The Books: "The Girl Who Wanted a Boy" (Paul Zindel)

Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):

Next book on the shelf is The Girl Who Wanted a Boy by Paul Zindel.

There's a funny story behind this book - which I loved as a teenager. I signed it out of the high school library. I read it. I loved it. Months later - perhaps YEARS - Betsy and Mere were going through a library-hijinx phase. I think it was Betsy and Mere. They had a free period, they would hang out in the library, and basically scroll through the shelves looking for silly-sounding books, and then sign them out (at least put their names in the back) to people they knew. So suddenly it looked like I had taken out a book called How To Get a Boy to Love You in 30 Days. Stupid stuff - but very funny, too. Betsy even took it far enough to make an announcement over the loudspeaker one morning - I think she might have even made up a fake contest for Mere to 'win' - so Betsy went on the loudspeaker and said, "Congratulations to Meredith - winner of the such-and-such contest - and her prize is her very own copy of her favorite book: Programmed for Love!" Needless to say, Programmed for Love is not and never was Mere's favorite book. But those words blasted throughout the school. I still remember sitting in math class, hearing Betsy's triumphant voice declaring, "Programmed for Love" over the loudspeaker and sitting there shaking with laughter. The point was to embarrass each other over goofy-titled books. So. I happened to be in the library with Betsy and Mere, and we were goofing off in the stacks, getting more and more hysterical. We were pulling books off the shelves, checking the back to see who had signed it out (this was when there were little actual library cards in the back of the book) - and making jokes. Then the worst thing possible happened. Betsy saw a book on the shelf - drew it out - and immediately started making fun of the title - which was The Girl Who Wanted a Boy. Yes!! Horrible title! I knew immediately that I was in big BIG trouble - but it all happened so fast I didn't have a chance to defend myself - Betsy pulled it out, and said, in a cooing voice, "Ohhhhh, isn't this cute? The Girl Who Wanted a Boy!! So adorable!" Then she opened the back of the book, pulled out the library card - and there was my name. I had actually signed it out. Ahhhhh! I could not defend myself! We all just LOST it - Betsy gaped at me - and then we were out of commission, laughing so hysterically that we had to leave the library. I kept trying to say, "Guys ... guys ... it's a really good book!" - but naturally, with a title like that, they were both like, "Suuuuuuuuuuuure it is."

The main character is an oddball girl named Sibella. She's 17. She has no real friends - and her parents are very worried about her. She's not a normal girl. She's a mechanical genius, can fix anything, and walks around with a toolbox - which should just let you know how unsuccessful she really is, socially. But inside, Sibella is all heart. She is waiting for the right one. She lies in bed at night, aching for "the right one". You kind of worry about Sibella, to tell you the truth. It seems like she is gonna get her heart broke BAD. So then - one random day - she sees a picture in the newspaper - of a young race car driver who lives in her town. I guess maybe there's a small race-track on the outskirts of town -can't remember. But anyway - she sees this guy's picture and she immediately knows: That's him. She's never seen him before - he's 24 - she's in high school - he has no idea who she is ... but she knows. She just knows in her heart that he is The One. So she goes out to find him. It's all kind of awful and awkward and comedic ... Zindel, in my opinion, doesn't make a misstep here. Dan, of course, turns out to be just a guy - not perfect, not The One ... but ... Sibella was right ... there is something about him ... Sibella, frankly, acts like a crazy person and Dan is right to be wary of her. But against all odds - a kind of strange friendship starts up ... but you can see that one of the reasons Dan likes her, and tolerates her - is that he likes being seen the way she sees him. He's kind of a loser, truth be told. Down on his luck. He likes having Sibella see into his soul, see the good in him, look up to him.

Here's an excerpt I always loved. Sibella goes to confide in her father about all of this. Her parents are divorced - her mother is kind of a pain - she's a busybody, she's a dating maniac, she thinks her daughter's a weirdo - and her father, a scientist who works in a lab - is the guy she goes to when she has real problems.

Excerpt from The Girl Who Wanted a Boy by Paul Zindel.

Sibella made it to the laboratory by ten-thirty, and took the elevator to the fifth floor - where she remembered exactly which door led to her favorite person in the world. She knew he would be preoccupied, probably wouldn't even notice the door opening. Most of all she knew he would love being surprised. Inside, she looked across the half dozen lab tables and labyrinthine tubes connected to retorts and distillation apparati. He was alone, busy with a titration, carefully watching the drops fall into a beaker to see when acid would become base.

"Daddy," Sibella called softly.

Her father looked up. "Sibella! How are you? Come on over. I'll be finished in a second."

"I don't want to interrupt."

"No, no, don't worry about it."

She watched him expertly guide the titration to its conclusion. He still looked exactly as he did in the big photograph on her bedstand. Kind loving eyes, distinguished - just a touch of gray in his hair. He was the one person she felt hadn't changed on her.

"Your mother called," he said, taking her into his arms and giving her a big hug and a kiss.

"I figured she would," she said, unwrapping his coffee and doughnuts. "I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving, so I thought I'd just take a ride in."

"Ah, my favorite doughnuts." He beamed and then added, "Your mother sounds as spaced out as ever. She was telling me about her new boyfriend. How affectionate and considerate he is. But she seemed very disturbed about Maureen and what she's been doing to you - giving you a hard time as usual."

"Yes, Dad."

"There's a kit to build a computer I could get you. You could just make a code and keep your diary in that. Nobody would be able to pull it out and retrieve it except you. You look like you're feeling pretty good." He smoothed the hair on top of her head.

"Well, I am," Sibella admitted. "So I said this morning, to hell with school, I've got to go and see the wizard."

"I don't know how much of a wizard I am. But I've been meaning to tell you, I've got a secondhand binocular microscope for you for Christmas."

"Oh, Dad, you didn't!"

"Look, I said I would. I did. It's a honey. They were using it in the National Aniline Division on Rector Street - but they're phasing that lab out. Remember when I had you doing the experiments on supersaturated solutions and you ran up here with those flasks of copper sulfate? This is the same kind of scope."

She couldn't resist wrapping her arms around him.

"I miss you, Daddy."

"I miss you, too," he said. "But you're coming along fine, just fine. Please don't be too impatient. That's all I wrory about. You're too smart, Sibella. I think you made yourself too smart just to make me happy, so maybe it's my fault, but I'm very proud of you, very proud."

"Daddy, I needed to ask you about something," she said gently, solemnly. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"From what I hear, you're going to ask me something about love."

"Right on the nose, Daddy. You taught me about atoms and condensers, foot candles and electrodes. I know Ohm's Law and horsepower and the corpuscular theory - but I don't know anything about love."

"Why don't you tell me about this boy? Your mother says he worked at some kind of midget racetrack. Tell me about him. Is he special?"

"Daddy, I feel like I'm going to die if I don't have him. I want to own him. I want to pick him up in my arms and go running down the street with him and tuck him into my tool kit," Sibella said desperately. "I love him so much I wish we could explode together. That our atoms and electrons could get inside each other. I'm so sad. I love him so much, I'm sad, that's how special he is."

"Did you tell him this?" her father asked very seriously.

"Yes."

"Well," her father said, "then you've given your heart away."

Sibella lifted her head from his shoulder. She looked into his eyes to find out whether that meant she had done right or wrong.

"I used to give my heart away," her father said. "Not to Pauline," he clarified, evoking in Sibella the memory of her dad's girl friend. "I gave it to your mother, and you know what she did with it. I think it's very good to give your heart away a few times at your age, just so you know what dazzling love can be like; but then you learn that there are laws of science. I can only really tell you what you will learn to do eventually, and this law I call the law of love's reciprocity. It means you don't give your heart to anyone unless you know he wants it, and wants to give you his."

"How can you know this?" Sibella asked, listening to every word as though he truly was a wizard.

"Well, you see there's a lot of pieces to the human body and soul besides the heart. When you learn to practice the law well, the next time you see a boy you think you could love very deeply, you first say Hello. You start very small and see if there is any response. If the boy says Hello back, then perhaps you offer him a piece of candy. If he takes the candy, then you wait, perhaps days, weeks. And if the boy is interested, if he's going to be the right boy for you, he's going to offer you something, perhaps a piece of cake. And then one day you might offer him your hand, or even a kiss, or say, 'I've got some tickets to a good horror flick' - and if he takes that hand or that kiss or that movie then you wait again. Give him a chance to measure out some act that will signal you that he values you in equal weight. No matter how short or how long it all takes, finally the day comes when you'll know it's time to give him your heart. And when you do, be absolutely certain you want him to give you his. You'll know when he's ready. And when you accept his full love, then there is just one final rule I have to give you. That rule is Don't then turn into the same kind of pain in the ass your mother did. This world is teeming with men and women who have won the hearts of their lovers and don't know what the hell to do with them."

"Dad," Sibella whispered, understanding every word he had told her, "I think I'll be able to do that next time, but what do I do now? I feel so crazy. Daddy, I want to do something crazy. I love this boy so much and he's very freaked out. He's lost. He couldn't offer me a stick of bubble gum, much less his hand. This boy is going down the tubes. There are so many heavy trips lying on his head, I feel as though the entire world has let him down. Daddy, I want to do something crazy to make it up to him. I want to do something so nuts that I think maybe he'll believe again. I want to give him a chance. Am I crazy to want to give him a chance?"

Her father looked at her thoughtfully, again smoothing her hair with his hand.

"This all comes under the category of desperate acts," her father said with a little laugh. "The only rules I would say you would follow now are two: One, don't hurt anybody; and two, don't get knocked up. Anything else I think most of the world would consider as just a part of growing up, and I don't want to interfere with any of that. I knew from the moment I held you in the nursery, all eight pounds, seven ounces of you - I said, 'This is a special girl. This is a sexy, little, brilliant girl, and she's going to have one of the most spectacular lives of any girl in the world.' You're always going to be original, Sibella. And some people will call that crazy. I find it daring, beautiful, and you are the most cherished invention I have ever made. Do your something crazy, Sibella. Shock a few people. I trust you, Sibella. I've always trusted you, and believed in you."

Sibella lifted her lips and gave her father a big, solid kiss. "Oh, God, you're a sweetheart. You're one big, one-hundred-percent-pure sweetheart." And then she laughed, singing, "Crazy, crazy, here I come! ..."

David snippets.

In honor of his birthday today. Some of these will make no sense without the surrounding context. But my friends will get it.

-- David, bandana round head, no shirt on, shorts, major hot bod with the big sculpted arms ... standing in his living room and repeatedly punching a helium balloon - which was tethered on a string - attached to something immovable - David kept punching it like a punching bag, saying over and over - as though the helium balloon was giving him some lip: "Whose fuckin' birthday is it? Huh? HUH? WHOSE FUCKIN' BIRTHDAY IS IT?" He looked absolutely insane. And terrifying. That poor balloon.

-- "And you know the courtesans will burn."

-- "I looove the feelin' of that ROCK in my NOSE in the MORNIN' - BING!!!"

-- The plate dance. It has to be seen to be believed.

-- "I'm all talk no action!"

-- Standing in the parking lot at Ed Debevacs in Chicago and mooning the passing cars

-- Carving pumpkins at David and Maria's house. It was me, Mitchell, Jackie, David, Maria, and Bobby. Jackie had some problems while carving. She had some good ideas ... but then - disaster - she cut out too much and the eye opened up into the lid-top. This was no good. Jackie got upset. David pretended to scorn her horrible pumpkin carving capabilities and started shouting at her, making it into one word: "LIDEYE - LIDEYE - LIDEYE!" I kind of can't put into words WHY this was so funny ... but we still say, on occasion, "lideye" whenever we are talking about any kind of disaster. "Lideye, lideye."

-- Mitchell and David, pretending to be announcers at the Tony Awards: "Ladies and gentlemen ................................... CHITA." Which then morphed into: "A womannnnnnnn ... a performer ... a singer ... a dancer ............ a pudendum extraordinaire ........... CHITA." Seriously. It makes total sense. The funny thing was that Maria, Jackie and I had left the apartment to ... go shopping? Do errands? We left Mitchell and David there, and they were relatively normal - we came back a couple hours later ... and THAT was what they were doing when we walked back in. And they had apparently been behaving that way for hours. Completely happy, entertaining each other.

-- Pictionary on Saturdays at David and Maria's. Those were the wildest games EVER. Mitchell, Jackie and I looked at David and Maria's apartment on Greenview as a total haven. They had big thick water glasses, and nice china. There was always something yummy that Maria had cooked. Everything was cozy and beautiful. There was also the famous couch. You walked into that apartment - and maybe James Taylor was playing - or Marc Cohn - or Des'ree - and Maria had made a pot of coffee, and the light outside was wintry and chill - and you just felt safe, and happy to be there. The two of them have always created such spaces. It's a joint effort. You walk into their house - and you just sink into the couch thinking, "Ahhhhhhhhh".

-- Window-Boy called me at David and Maria's to ask me out. I have no idea why this night, of all nights, stays so vivid in my mind - it's not even a big deal - but David and I still laugh about it. This was ... my... second time going out with the guy? After meeting him on that crazy cosmic-tumbler night - and then meeting him again months later when he finally got my phone number. So anyway - I was, to put it mildly, OUT OF MY MIND about Window-Boy. And I was much younger then so I was blabbing about Window-Boy to eeeeeeeeeeeveryone. It was one of the funniest and craziest adventures I had ever had, and I invited everyone to be a part of it. Window-Boy tracked me down at David and Maria's. I was playing Pictionary - hooooooooping he would call. Hoping so hard that it actually was unpleasant. That was how much I was into him. David LOVES stuff like this and lives it vicariously. Window-Boy called - and he and I made plans to meet at Southport Lanes. Meanwhile, David and Brian are both screaming in the background, all testosterone - and Window-Boy said, tentatively, "Who are they?" Like: uhm - where is she right now??? I hung up the phone and just scurried about the apartment like a crazy person, putting on makeup, involving everyone there in my love life. They all laughed openly at me. David and Brian drove me to Southport Lanes so I could meet Window-Boy. I even remember my outfit. I was wearing a black derby. This was my inspriation. David and Brian actually escorted me into the bowling lanes - They wanted to get a good look at the guy who was making their friend soooooooo insaaaaane! He wasn't there yet (thankfully). I don't think showing up with two guys in tow when you're going on a date with someone - even someone as WILD as Window-Boy - would have been a good idea. But for some reason, David and I still talk about that night. And Brian - who was already dating the girl he would end up marrying a couple years later - and they now have 3 kids - totally had the impression of me (he didn't know me that well) that my life was ALWAYS as crazy as it was that summer. Anyway - David's total support and non-judgment of me during the entire Window-Boy thing - which went on for YEARS - has always meant the world to me. And I still laugh when I think of the three of us parading our way through those old-time bowling lanes, me in my derby, the two of them - big guys, football players - escorting me to my crazy date ... beautiful.

-- David and I met when I was 16. He was 19.

-- During a show once in college - he came up through a trap door into the middle of a scene that he wasn't even part of. During a performance. He did it on a dare. Just stood there grinning at the other cast members who were stunned into baffled and terrified silence, like ... "Uhm ... what the hell are you doing here?" He got into trouble but he didn't care.

-- Once at a party in college - at around 5 am - David and I wrote down a vow that we would always be friends, and there was even a pricking-of-the-finger thing that happened - I still have that vow. With this ancient blood-stain on the piece of looseleaf.

-- Every day with David is a journey. I see him once every couple of weeks - and he is always living, learning, growing, struggling. He is one of my dearest and most cherished friends. He knows how to listen.

-- David, Maria and I were all together on October 27, 2004. It's a memory that will remain vivid for me forever. I couldn't have asked for a better place/group of people to be with on that night.

-- I stood up in the Barnes & Noble on Diversey - I had been sitting in the same position for a couple of hours - I stood up, had no feeling in my foot, my ankle twisted beneath me and I plummeted down onto the floor, my coffee flying up out of my cup. Employees rushed over. Concerned. This is before we all had cell phones. I didn't know what to do - One look at my ankle - and how huge it got - it was like a blowfish - terrified me. I couldn't walk. The Barnes & Noble employees helped me over to the payphone - and I couldn't think of what to do. So I called David. "David??? Uhm .... my ankle is .... I really hurt myself ...." You could HEAR the focus in his voice immediately. He's like a fireman that way. "Where are you. I'm coming to get you." He arrived 10 minutes later - and now my ankle was so huge I was afraid to take my shoe off - He got me into his car, I wasn't hysterical or anything like that - just hurt and kind of pissed at myself. Did we go to the hospital? I don't think so. Mitchell was with him somehow. Mitchell and I lived on the third-floor of an apartment building. We got into that lobby - and I stared up the stairs silently. Thinking, "Okay. Just gear up for the climb." Before I even put one foot on the first stair - David scooped me up in his arms, as though I weighed nothing, and carried me all the way up to the apartment. Even to this day I get a little choked up remembering that. At the time, though, I was just mortified and kept making comments about how I was going on a diet soon ... "I'm sorry ... I'll be going on a diet soon ..."

-- "In you In you In you In you In you" ...

-- David and I spent a year working on the play Summer and Smoke with our mentor. It was one of the most intense and real and awesome acting experiences I have ever seen. And nobody, except the people in that class, saw our work. I talk about it a bit here. He's an amazing actor and working on that play, in particular, with him - was truly one of the greatest gifts of my life. I experienced some soul-growth during that year - I kept a detailed journal of the whole process -which I've thought of posting here, for you acting fanatics. It's very technical and analytical - but man, we worked our BUTTS off. Acting with David is one of those things where - it never feels like acting. It's real. You listen, you talk - he's unpredictable, I'm unpredictable - it's not LITERAL ... It's marvelous and exciting. I STILL would love to do that play with him. Even if only 20 people see it.

-- The relationship that he and Mitchell have is truly hysterical. They are like Long Lost Brothers, seriously. Sometimes they get so out of control that you almost want to say, "Boys. Time for bed."

-- New Englanders - he's the one in that commercial with Tim Wakefield - where Wakefield pitches to him and hits him on the head.

-- Oh God, and then there was that morning after the craziest college party ever (all my college friends will know EXACTLY the one I am talking about) - and it was a "formal" party - so we all were dressed to the nines - David had on a tux - I had on a black lace flapper dress ... We all ended up sleeping over the house - pig piled all over the place - but of course nobody had pajamas or anything - so we all just slept in our formal clothes - people lying in pull-out couches here and there, dressed in tuxedos - and then we woke up the next morning - and all of us - still dressed like that - went out to breakfast at a local diner - and then drove to the cinema to see Seventh Sign. That was the name of it, I believe. With Demi Moore. David looked like a gigolo. His bowtie was bright red, he had loosened his white shirt, opened the collar - but he kept the bowtie on like a Chippendale - he had on mirrored sunglasses - I could not even look at him without bursting into laughter - and we all walked into the Showcase Cinema for a matinee movie dressed in last night's formal wear ...

-- He talked to me until my train came. He kept me on the phone.

-- "Clip it or cloak it, Chloe."

-- The sun hurt my eyes that day. We sat outside at Cafe Avanti. I was so heartsick that I had become physically sick. I couldn't eat, sleep. I called in sick to work. It was one of the worst and loneliest days of my life. David came and got me and we spent the day drinking coffee, talking. I remember hunching over the table, protectively. Heartsick. And these words: "Just because something is meant to be, Sheila, doesn't mean that it will be." Yup. Healing. In raw moments like that ... his big strong presence is healing.

-- He ran into Window-Boy at an audition for something. Of course David knew WAY too much about Window-Boy because ... well. I was a blabber-mouth and out of my mind about the guy. They had met before. Window-Boy walked in - David observed his behavior for a while - watching him - watching this guy who was such a HUGE part of his friend's life - it was like he was watching a rare bird in his natural habitat - hahahaha So finally he went over and said, "Hi ... I'm David ..." Window-Boy, awkward at all times, kind of winced at David - like: "Oh God. Who are you? What did I do?" David said, "Yeah ... we've met once or twice before - we have a friend in common .... Sheila." Again: I have the best group of friends in the whole world because David and I STILL laugh about this ridiculous 2-second exchange. Which probably isn't funny to anyone but those who know me. So at the sound of my name - Window-Boy visibly relaxed - his whole tense demeanor changed, it was like this sudden softness and fondness came over his face - David saw the whole thing (and of course I made him do an imitation of the facial expressions a gazillion times. "Do it again.") - and - awkwardly - Window-Boy said, "Sheila? Yeah .... yeah ... Sheila .... She's ...." (Long agonizing pause.) Then out came: "She's a good girl." Okay - nobody knows any of the participants - but ... to those of you who DO know Window-Boy, you will know how ridiculous this moment is. He was a tough gruff kind of guy, completely insane, brilliant, funny, a big jock - and ... well. He truly had feelings for me - but instead of saying it in a normal way, like, "Oh, she's so cool! I've really liked hanging out with her" or whatever ... he fumbled for words, said my name a couple of times ... and then said, "She's a good girl." And the second it came out - David said he saw the MORTIFICATION flicker through Window-Boy's eyes - I'm laughing out loud - like he KNEW - "Oh shit. Did I just refer to her as a 'good girl'? Did I just say, 'Sheila ... she's a good girl' to one of her best friends? Can a hole open up in the ground right now for me??" But funny thing: the stories about Window-Boy were always kind of wild - and my friends had to kind of just think, "Okay - well, Sheila knows what she'd doing ... " But after that moment with Window-Boy - the shy awkward wince, the "she's a good girl", etc. - David completely got it. Totally saw what I saw. It was important to me that David "get it". It always is, I guess. Explaining myself to David, and working things out with him as a listening ear is one of the most important things I can do in my life - and it's been that way for YEARS.

-- He's one of my "ideal readers". By that I mean - I feel totally comfortable showing him first drafts of things. Not only do I feel comfortable - but his input has always been invaluable. It's not about praise - it's that sometimes he has this way of seeing what I'm TRYING to say before I even can see it ... He's a deep reader. His insights have helped me figure out what I'm trying to express.

He's one of the funniest people I've ever met in my life. One of my dearest friends.

So David:

Whose fuckin' birthday is it?

Yours, my dear friend.

I know you're off on some island in Maine right now - and out of contact - but when you get back - just know: that your crazy friend Sheila ("yeah ... Sheila ... she's ... she's ........... She's a good girl.") said: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

O'Malley commentary accompanying our group viewing of ....

Follow That Bird:

It was me, Bren, Melody, Siobhan, Jean, and Cash:

-- "Ohhhh! There's Barkley!" (in a fond tone of: "There's my old friend!")

-- "How does Grover fly?" "Why is he a superhero?" "Is he a real superhero?" "Why does Grover fly?" (all of this from Cashel. We each tried to explain Grover's clumsy super-hero status ... but Cashel obviously still didn't really buy it.)

-- "Uhm ... why is Linda cuddling up next to Gordon at the campfire?"

(This concerned us greatly and we kept talking about it. What about Susan? Just because Susan is stuck back at Mr. Hooper's store manning the phones means Gordon isn't married anymore? Uhm - no. Back off, Linda!! Also - not to be too cute about it: What about Bob? Do you have no feelings for Bob anymore, Linda? Are you just using Bob for sex? What the HELL is going on with you, Linda?)

More in this realm:

-- "Linda's behavior at the campfire was completely inappropriate."

-- "Cookie!! Stop eating the car! Please!"

-- I discovered, yet again, how much I love Gordon. Even though he is obviously cheating on Susan with the deaf chick who has no boundaries at the campfire. I LOVE Gordon. He might be my favorite of all the humans on that show. And he gets to do a big stunt on a moving car at the end of this movie which was thrilling.

-- "I don't trust Linda. I really don't. I feel bad for Susan."

-- "Ohhhhh, Snuffy. It's gonna be okay."

-- "Poor Snuffy. Does anyone believe in his existence yet?"

-- We absolutely DIED when the Count was counting the keys, which were being held by Gordon's floozy deaf mistress. Everyone was supposed to be quiet. Linda took out one key - Count, because he just can't HELP IT - declared loudly, "One! One key!!!" Everyone shushed him. Linda took out the next key. The camera goes back to Count, standing there next to Cookie. And Count whispers, "Two keys!" We DIED. Like ... he CANNOT help himself. It is a compulsion and we must not get annoyed with him!!

Speaking of Follow That Bird (which is really really good, by the way) - here's a trivia quiz!!

Follow That Bird Trivia Quiz

I got 70% right. Bah. I bet Jean and Siobhan will KILL on this quiz.

Funny, though - no mention of Gordon's infidelity on the quiz. Hmmmmmm.

Happy place

Uhm ... never seen this image before. How much do I love it?? No wonder people fell in love with her.

Miker just sent me a 900 page biography of Howard Hawks - and words cannot express how excited I am to start it in earnest - 900 pages about him????? I've already flipped through it - and there was a whole section on how Hawks handled Hayworth on Only Angels Have Wings - her first big role. She happened to have a sexy body - but she didn't feel sexy, and couldn't "act" sexy. She was no Marilyn Monroe who knew how to turn that on. Hayworth was shy, and kind of damaged, psychologically. She also was a very new actress - and this was her biggest part she had ever had. She was stiff as a board at first. She couldn't do what Hawks asked her to do. So he would basically just "trick" her. He told her where to go, how to stand - and then made sure that the costume designer had given her a bodacious dress. So Rita didn't have to 'act' anything.

For example: she was in that flowy dress with the flowing V-neck. And Hawks said to her, "When you come into the room, close the door behind you, and then lean against the closed door, with your arms behind your back." And ... you know what? Rita Hayworth does exactly what he asks - you can see it in the film - and Hawks is right. The dress does 90% of the work for her. The pose does the final 10%. If he had said to Hayworth, "Okay, so walk into the room and be really sexy" - Hayworth would have been shy and awkward. By giving her very specific (and indirect) direction - he got her to do just what he wanted.

I was very impressed with that story.

Anyway.

HAPPY PLACE!!!! Beauty! What a smile!

The Books: "The Undertaker's Gone Bananas" (Paul Zindel)

Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):

Next book on the shelf is The Undertaker's Gone Bananas by Paul Zindel.

All I remember about this book is that two kids - Bobby and Lauri - become convinced that a tenant in their building has murdered his wife. They begin to "investigate" the crime - and all kinds of crazy shit starts happening. It's very much like Woody Allen's awesome Manhattan Murder Mystery - but to be honest, I can't really remember much about this one. Not like Zindel's others. I do remember this: Bobby and Lauri are 16 years old and they are (naturally - since Zindel wrote it) kind of odd kids - they don't really fit in in high school - and the two of them are best friends. Best. Friends. Like John and Lorraine in Pigman are best friends. Lauri, however, is secretly WILDLY in love with Bobby -(the book kind of goes back and forth from his perspective to hers ... we get to see inside both their heads - Bobby appears to be oblivious to any romantic feelings, while that's all Lauri can think about). Anyway, Lauri is just convinced that the two of them are meant to be together and she just wants him to make the first move ... so whenever she's doing anything mundane, washing dishes, vacuuming, she's writing these WILDLY romantic letters to Bobby in her head, telling him how much she loves him, how she just wishes he would put his arm around her and kiss her, how they should be together ... Meanwhile, though, the two of them are creeping around the apartment building in the middle of the night, investigating their neighbor, Mr. Hulka. Who also happens to be an undertaker!

So that's what I remember. I also remember that - for some reason - Lauri is a nervous wreck. She has constant nightmares, and she has a morbid fear of death. She is pretty damaged - and her fears really impact her life. It's some kind of psychological issue. Bobby helps her with that. He doesn't judge her. But for Lauri - to suddenly be creeping around in an undertaker's apartment ... looking for the body of his dead missing wife ... it makes her come right up against all her fears, of course!

Here's an excerpt from the beginning of the book - when Bobby and Lauri sit out on the terrace of Bobby's family's apartment - and talk about Mr. Hulka, and other things. It's not a plot-heavy excerpt - I just love how Zindel writes. It's soooooo specific.

Excerpt from The Undertaker's Gone Bananas by Paul Zindel.

Then the rest of the afternoon they hardly spoke about Mr. Hulka at all. There were too many other important possibilities for the summer coming up. And before long they were into their favorite pastime - which was looking off the terrace and over the terrain of their past exploits. The things they had done on the Palisade Cliffs and the George Washington Bridge - and then across the way on the New York side of the river where The Cloisters was set on top of th ehills above the Henry Hudson Parkway. At least a couple of times a week they looked off the terrace and reminisced about the time they borrowed choir robes from Grace Methodist Church and got dressed as a monk and a nun. Lauri had spent three days making the hat which looked a little bit like a giant dove sitting on her head. And they had gone up to the grounds of The Cloisters which was a religious museum that housed the intricate Unicorn tapestries. Bobby h ad added a hood to his robe so he really looked monastic. And Lauri had also fashioned a stiff white bib, and they strolled The Cloisters grounds all day sipping Coca-Cola and speaking loudly so the tourists could hear them. They kept saying that they were appointed by the archdiocese to guard the Unicorn because of their chosen spiritual identification with all things mystical and magical. Another time, right on the edge of the Cliffs, they had held a marshmellow roast which the Fort Lee police had raided and made them extinguish. Bobby had told them he was the son of the Rockefellers who owned all the land but they had chased them away anyway. It seemed like Fort Lee had only about three or four policement who worked the Cliff areas and in less than a year Bobby and Lauri had gotten to know all of them through their high jinx. The one who usually caught them was Patrolman Petrie. Patrolman Petrie was also the one who came after them on the middle of the George Washington Bridge the day Lauri and Bobby decided to walk across wearing ape masks. Some of the cars did start to swerve and Lauri thought it might be a little bit dangerous but in the end she really did think the police made much too much fuss about the whole event. After all, there was no law against walking across a bridge with ape masks on.

"There's no such specific law on the books," Bobby had said. And the cops just sort of scratched their heads and drdove them off the bridge.

"You two just like to get everybody's goat, don't you?" Patrolman Petrie had observed.

Of course the worst thing Bobby and Lauri ever did they never really got caught at and that was throwing balloons filled with water off Bobby's terrace. They did that almost all of April and it was a lot of fun watching the big rubber balls tumble twenty-four floors and then splash near Rucci sitting at the garage cage. One exploded right in front, splashing the glass in front of him. One time they threw a water balloon too far to the right and ti landed right in the middle of some people who were on their way home from a wedding. That was the same evening Bobby and Lauri had their very profound discussion about how Lauri thought that Bobby was really a reincarnation of Jack in "Jack and the Beanstalk". And Bobby had decided after a lot of thought that he thought Lauri was the Sleeping Beauty. They both had no trouble finding out this information because all they had to do was ask each other what their favorite childhood story was. Bobby always thought of himself as Jack, the devilish kid who would trade the family cow any day for a pack of magical beans and when the vine grew he knew he'd be the first to climb it, especially knowing there was a giant waiting to do battle when he reached the top. The only thing was that Bobby didn't plan on beiong knocked off; he figured he would knock off the giant. Bobby could just see the headline in the Fort Lee newspaper if he ever did that. BOBBY PERKINS DEFEATS BIG GUY IN THE SKY. Lauri had literally fallen out of her terrace chair when Bobby had come up with that line. He always loved to think of headlines but when they got around to her as Sleeping Beauty she becamse more pensive. She knew, like Sleeping Beauty, she didn't really want to die at all. Inside her, part of her felt like a young princess, especially when she was with Bobby. Nevertheless, Lauri did feel an evil curse was put on her by a witch. The witch of Edison, New Jersey. And when she reached a certain age she would stick herself with some kind of needle and fall dead. There would be no commutation of her curse to sleep for a hundred years, though, she felt. Unless of course someone did come along and give her a last-minute gift of life. That was the way the story went. Sometimes in the middle of the night Lauri would actually wake up from a nightmare where she knew no one was going to save her. The real Sleeping Beauty had awoken only when a prince came along and gave her a kiss, and she just felt sure that Bobby was never really going to like her the way she wanted him to. She sort of accepted that and she'd make up these letters sometimes in daydreams. She'd say, Dear Bobby, I understand that we can only be buddies and I really feel terrible about that but I accept it all and so I'm going to die anyway but promise me, Bobby, that when I do die you won't let them cremate me, okay? Because I don't like fire.

Happy place

I like this new "happy place" thing I'm doing.

I know where I need to go to find the "happy place".

I love this photo. It struck me immediately as a really cool image. It's artificial - obviously posed - and yet he looks natural, totally unselfconscious.

Now THAT is a movie star.

No words ...

Go read.

The Books: "Pardon Me, You're Stepping On My Eyeball" (Paul Zindel)

Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):

Next book on the shelf is Pardon Me, You're Stepping On My Eyeball by Paul Zindel.

Of all of Zindel's books, this might be my favorite. Don't let the title throw you off. It's sort of a One flew over the cuckoo's nest for the adolescent set. It's about two MISERABLE teenage misfits: Marsh Mellow and Edna Shinglebox. I mean, with names like that .... Marsh is a troublemaker, a loner, he carries a pet raccoon with him in his pocket at all times, his mother is a raging drunk whom he calls Schizo Suzy - and his father has disappeared. Marsh's story is that his father has been institutionalized - and he's been put into an insane asylum because the government fears him so much, fears his insights, his truth ... Marsh is a FANATICAL conspiracy theorist. There are powerful forces at work ... there are powerful men behind the curtain controlling everything ... and his father is the latest victim. He only tells this whole story to Edna Shinglebox, though - once they become friends, in a weird kind of way. He wants Edna's help in breaking his father out of the asylum. He lets Edna read his father's letters to him - which are phenomenal. Phenomenal in terms of what Zindel has created - a frenzied stream of conscious voice - going on and on ... in a typical radical voice, he sounds like a member of the Weather Underground. Edna is horrified. She wants out. But somehow ... she can't abandon Marsh. She gets deeper and deeper involved with him ... and all KINDS of insane things happen. Edna, meanwhile, is a long-haired clumsy freak, whose parents are ashamed of her - or actually, it's more her mother who is ashamed of her. Her father is kind of weak and ineffectual, and her mother is basically in a PANIC because her daughter is not attractive and has never been on a date. She takes Edna to psychologists, and bitches to the psychologist about what a loser her daugher is. Edna just sits there, hiding behind her hair, waiting for it to be over.

Now all of this may sound, uhm, depressing?? And I guess it is - but Zindel's writing is such that this book makes me laugh out loud almost every other page. Every single person in this book is nuts. And yet ... you love them. You also see that ... we're ALL nuts. But does that mean we cannot connect? Marsh Mellow is locked up in his own private agony - he has a secret - he is too ashamed to tell anyone - it's much more romantic to believe that your father has been incarcerated by some frightening bureaucracy than to deal with the truth ... and yet ... Marsh is lovable. Marsh looks at Edna and realizes, in the first second, that this girl is so insane herself that she will not reject him out of hand. She's "the one" for him.

I ADORE this book.

The whole climax of the book takes place at a party - given by Jacqueline - a girl that Edna has kind of befriended. This is the beauty of the book, too: Jacqueline is gorgeous, rich, smart, and popular. She has everything. She is dating the quarterback (who, actually, is a horrible human being - but he's hot and perfect, etc.) But even with all the outer stuff, the material stuff - Jacqueline, too, is nuts. She's lonely. She's depressed. She knows people only like her because she's rich and has a swimming pool. Nobody goes through adolescence unscathed. Not even the ones who SEEM like they have it all. Zindel knows this.

Anyway - Jacqueline decides to have a small party at her house. And things get out of hand. HUNDREDS of people show up. Mayhem ensues. Nobody does teenage drunken mayhem like Zindel. An entire cult shows up - a bunch of Jesus Freaks who follow around a golden-haired teenager who calls himself God Boy ... etc.

I'll post an excerpt from the party. It's SO stressful to read because you can tell that things are very quickly spiralling out of control - and Jacqueline is only 16 and she's not supposed to have friends over while her parents are away - and now there are literally 300 kids running all over the house, and out on the lawn God Boy gives a sermon to 150 crying kids and everyone's drunk. Edna has decided that she needs to tell Marsh that she loves him so she has written him a letter. She's freaked OUT.

Also, notice Zindel's names. He's SO good at names. Member when Jay Gatsby has that big party, and Fitzgerald lists all the names of the people there? My teacher in high school, Mr. Crothers, spent an entire class with us analyzing all of those names - each of which had a double meaning ... Zindel's names are just as good. Every one is a joke.

Oh - and I won't get to that in the excerpt - but what ends up happening at the party? A fire starts and Jacqueline's entire house burns down. Burns to the ground. Everyone gets out in time except for ... Marsh Mellow's beloved raccoon.

Horror!!!

Excerpt from Pardon Me, You're Stepping On My Eyeball by Paul Zindel.

It didn't take Edna more than a minute to realize there was going to be a lot more than forty kids at the party; in fact there were already more than that and half the football team wasn't there yet. Butch was supposed to be leading the way for the kids from Marblehead, Massachusetts, and as it was, Edna knew only about half the kids there. Most of them weren't even on the football team. Some had been in one class with her or another; some she recognized only because some pictures had come into the Crow's Nest. Richard Kay, Vincent Rolio and Gilbert Barker came with Joan Canyon, Joan Hybred and Norlicka Tobinson; those three girls were known as the three easiest girls in the school, except for Norma Jean Stapleton. Then there was Ed Skahn who was the type any girl would love to run into, especially if she was driving and he was walking. He was with Greg Cutter, John Kenny and John Mell. Renee Rare arrived with Chris Phlegm whose father was an alcoholic district attorney. Chris Phlegm's brother, Nick, arrived with Bonnie Hilderstraw who always went to parties with her own record, and would dance "Slaughter on Tenth Avenue" at the drop of a hat. Betty Slagen and Tillie Roe came intogether, and they said they had been invited by Billy Selmond who was on the football team. Some very freaky kid by the name of Hansen came in with Maureen Clapper, and they were both sporting matching riveted jeans which looked ridiculous. Then there was Lucille Bore who was so cranky you had to say things to her like, "Tomorrow will be Monday, if it's all right with you." Marmaduke Jones came by himself, and as good as he was as a Junior Class politician, he was a complete bust trying to be the life of the party. Gert Ronkiwitz came in looking like she was still wearing her crown as last year's football queen. She had such an artificial laugh. Edna couldn't stand to be near her. Edna realized half of what she was thinking was only because she was so nervous keeping an eye on the front door for Marsh to come in. She wanted everything to go right. She'd have to decide just the exact moment to give him the letter she'd written. She'd wait until he'd had a glass of wine maybe, and then she'd just saunter over to him and press the letter in his hand. Maybe she'd whisper, "Please read this." Then she'd just turn quickly and go away. That would probably be the best approach. Maybe she'd go upstairs. She fantasized that Marsh would take the letter out by the pool wanting to be alone whil he read it. Maybe if she went to one of the decks on the second or the fourth floor, she could pper over and watch him reading it from above. She'd give him a few minutes and if he didn't come upstairs looking for her, she'd come down. Maybe she should wait longer upstairs to make sure he'd come up, then the could be alone and talk. On the other hand, if he didn't see her downstairs, maybe he'd think she just left the party. She'd have to make sure that didn't happen. Or maybe she should just tell him, "Here read this -- I'll be waiting upstairs."

By nine o'clock there was a nice buzz to the party. The sliding glass doors on the first floor had to all be opened, and a lot of kids were straying out near the kidney-shaped pool. Richard Kay and about a half dozen others had gone upstairs just to take a look. They'd asked permission from Jacqueline and Jacqueline said it was okay. Then a few others went up, and somebody turned the stereo system all the way up until the entire living room was beginning to vibrate.

"We're going to need more sauce," Jacqueline moaned.

"I'll do it," Edna offered. Several of the other girls were willing to help too, except for Joan Canyon, Joan Hybred and Norlicka Tobinson who were already practically throwing their bodies at every guy on the football team.

"Great grinders," a lot of kids commented, as they moved around the buffet table. Most of the boys were putting two or three veal cutlets on each grinder, and Maureen Clapper must have been drunk before she and Hansen arrived because it wasn't five minutes before she dropped her grinder in the swimming pool. That really burned Edna up. It just seemed a very revolting and careless thing to do. Edna used her annoyance at Maureen Clapper for energy to stir the big pot of sauce. Then she happened to glance out of the kitchen window, and there at last was Marsh. Edna felt her heart starting to dance on her diaphragm again. She was very excited, and she felt that tonight was going to be a wonderful evening. She could see Marsh was wearing the same outfit as the night he came to take her to the Magic Elephant. In fact, maybe that's why he's dressed that way, Edna thought. Just to remind me of that wonderful evening. Instinctively, Edna put her hand in her pocket to make sure her note was ready. At exactly that moment, Edna noticed that there was something attached to the end of Marsh's left hand, Edna almost passed out when she realized it was Norma Jean Stapleton. In fact, Edna was so startled, she froze, looking out the kitchen window.

"What's the matter?" Jacqueline asked, noticing Edna's stiff position.

"Nothing," Edna said.

Jacqueline leaned over to see what Edna was staring at. "Oh my God," Jacqueline said. "When Norma Jean Stapleton comes to your house, you've got to fumigate it in the morning because she leaves cooties all over."

Edna buried her head in the sauce pot and began stirring like a madwoman. She hoped Jacqueline wouldn't notice her reaction, but it was too late.

"You do think he's groovy, don't you," Jacqueline said. Jacqueline winked, and then disappeared into the crowd with a fresh tray of sliced Italian bread. Out of the corner of her eye Edna saw Marsh and Norma Jean come into the kitchen and then stroll by hand in hand. They shot towards the buffet table like piranha going for a calf that had fallen into the Amazon River. They started fixing themselves grinders like there was no tomorrow. Edna knew very well Marsh had seen her, and she could hear him laughing extra-loud and artificially. Edna also noticed Raccoon's little head peeking in and out of Marsh's jacket pocket. She thought it was unforgivable that he had to drag that poor, cute, little innocent victim along. Edna also heard a lot of kids cracking their usual cracks about Norma Jean Stapleton. Like one kid said, "I didn't know this was going to be a pig party." That line always got a big laugh, because the worst thing that had ever happened to Norma Jean Stapleton was the time the tennis team decided to have a party where each guy had to bring the ugliest girl they could date. Nick Phlegm took Norma Jean, and his job was to arrive last and bring a live baby pig. He had told Norma Jean that the baby pig was a door prize and she didn't suspect anything until they arrived at the party. Norma was petting the baby pig, but after a minute all the girls took a look at each other and figured out what kind of party it was, especially when all the boys roared with laughter. Some of the girls broke down crying, included Norma Jean, who was supposed to have stood there with the baby pig in her arms until she was so pathetic, Nick Phlegm even felt sorry and took her home.

It seemed every time Edna looked up from the stove, Marsh was looking her way and slurping up his grinder. He'd also suddenly become animated and do something like stroke Norma Jean's hair, or pat her on the back, or let out another horselaugh as though Norma Jean was the most sensational date in the world. Finally it seemed Marsh was waiting only to get Edna's attention, and when she'd look at him, Marsh would spring into action with his arm around Norma Jean, and finally he took her strolling out to the pool. Raccoon's head was still popping in and out, looking very bewildered. Edna felt the sad, big black eyes of the cute little furry ball were pleading with her for help. She didn't know whether Raccoon would even remember her; she'd never read anything about whether raccoons had good memories or not. But Edna had grown very fond of the animal. Edna had told herself she shouldn't feel that way; it was probably just because the animal belonged to Marsh that she loved it.

At that moment a van and a bus pulled up outside the glass house and all hell broke loose. Kids were running around saying, "God Boy's here! God Boy's here!" Almost everybody ran out onto the front lawn like rats deserting a ship. The van had what looked like a hundred thousand dollars' worth of amplifiers and speakers, and the members of the band looked like they had the kind of mentality that would go to see toe dancers at a ballet and wonder why the management didn't hire taller girls. They all had long hair and hillbilly clothes, and they mvoed fast to get the equipment set up around the poola rea. Butch Ontock came running up to Jacqueline to explain that God Boy had brought a busload of kids from his commune up in Marblehead. And from what Edna could see, it looked like most of that crew had gone the way of all flesh.

"I don't have enough grub!" Jacqueline yelled.

"Who cares," Butch said. "This crew is already stoned out of their minds." Butch ran back towards God Boy's bus.

A minute later, almost everyone was off the bus and a group of kids from the commune began lighting candles and walking like paraplegic geese towards the house.

"Oh, my God." Edna heard Jacqueline groan as she ran back into the kitchen. "They've got a procession going on out there! A procession!"

Edna poured the batch of new sauce into what was left of the old batch on the buffet table, and went out on the lawn to watch God Boy make his entrance. The kids with the candles were parading in the front gate, and Butch Ontock and Greg Cutter were flanking a very tall boy who looked sort of plain and simple, but was wearing jeans and a phosphorescent, Renaissance-prince shirt. But as he got closer, Edna could see that this boy had the most beuatiful smile Edna had ever seen in her life. It's like you would hardly notice him unless he smiled, but the minute you saw his smile you couldn't take your eyes off him. He smiled at all the kids who were lined up staring at him on the lawn, and Edna could tell they were all fascinated by him. It was a very weird phenomenon. There was something tremendously magnetic about this boy in the phosphorescent shirt - the way he moved, the way he carried his head - and the sound of his voice was angelically sincere. "Hello Brothers, hello Sisters," the boy said. He reached out and touched some of the kids as he moved by them, and at one point he gave Butch Ontock a big hug. Then he singled out Bonnie Hilderstraw and put his arm around her. She kissed him even though she'd never met him before. God Boy was saying other things, most of which Edna couldn't hear because she was on the outside edge of the crowd, but as he came closer and more light hit his face, Edna was aware of an enormous tension lurking beneath the slow, steady motion of his movement. "Tonight will be your night," God Boy said at one point, and then turned his head