Pick Up All The Pieces and Make an Island

As I inserted coins for a can of Dr. Pepper from a vending machine I inspected each of my quarters to see what state they represented. (I hate using Vermont quarters because they�re my favoxrite). Suddenly my eyes grew wide and my jaw dropped when I flipped over the third quarter and saw nothing less than my new motivation for wanting to move to Indiana in the fall:

The Indianapolis Fivefucking-hundred, motherfuckers.

First of all, I�ve never lived in a state with an �-apolis� and furthermore, who doesn�t love racing cars! Wow� and I get to LIVE IN an entire state made famous for this whole genre of car racing. Indy car racing! This is fortuitous because I was beginning to worry that Indiana�s offerings would not bring me happiness, and now THIS!!

I mean, shit! I love anything indie� right?

I grew up in Atlanta.

Lived in Vermont for a while.

Went to school in the Tennessee Valley, cradled by the Ocoee and Tennessee Rivers.

Spent the last year in New York.

Now Indiana?

The first time I went to Indiana was last June � driving to and from Chicago for a wedding � and I remember the scratch-my-eyes-out scenery of flatness and corn. Not impressed. Couldn�t leave fast enough.

The 65mph speed limit was posted on a two-lane road that curved not once in fifty miles. Not even a bend.

A cop coming the opposite direction spun around and caught me on cruise control at 100mph. Wrote me a ticket for 85. Considered not paying the thing, but then I thought, �hey, I might apply to this grad school.�

Ain�t that some shit?

I anticipate some gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, at least.

Days Go By by Dirty Vegas, or Breathe by Telepopmusik are not �my� kind of music, but when they come on the car stereo my foot leadens, the windows drop, and I snake through traffic. Like I�m in my own car commercial.

everybody rappin like it�s a commercial � actin like life is a big commercial � so this is what I gotta say to you all: be true to yourself and you will never fall; so now I�d like to pass the mic to A, say, what�s your name, Yauch? My name is MCA�

I�m thrilled to be going to the Field Day Festival � even though nobody is going with me (please!) � mainly because I have always wanted to see The Beastie Boys. I�ll never forget the first time I heard Nettie�s Girl in highschool.

Can�t wait to meet a guy who tells me, girl, you are the one! The fuckin one! You got yo shit together! I�m talking hip, hop, pow! Boomin system up top� in the back�

*so sad Scrubs is over!*

I made a fatal mistake on Wednesday night and turned on the television. While I awaited Matthew to finish watching the season finale of Dawson�s Creek I too decided to flip channels, and there before me was the last half of an episode of Six Feet Under - a show for which I had seen subway adverts and the like and thereby knew it would reel me in like trout, so I had resisted � until then, and I stared with the remote in my hand (as if I could have turned the channel) until ten o�clock. I mean, with those two peole from Can't Hardly Wait, that guy from Clueless, and that chick from the John Cusack films ("Joe lies, when he cries"), I'm excited.

Silly fool that I am! I�m helpless now and must watch every week.

Good thing Buffy is over next Tuesday so I don�t have to hate myself for doubling up on televisionic stimulants.

[Neologism!]

So, did anyone else watch Friends last night? Did anyone who watches Friends notice the song played in the very very last scene? Joey kissed Rachel (ew) and they played Interpol, the Untitled first track. I was "psyched".

One should not confuse �sensuous� and �sensual� (or �seshual�).

Can you � my darlings � list five(5) indispensable elements of faith (i.e. personal philosophy; that which you believe based on what you have seen) for which you would die?

I walked along the shoreline yesterday afternoon in a small village called Sea Cliff, NY. A zigzag of stony beaches and waterfowl. Smoky clouds diffused the sunlight and made it reflect like platinum on the calm bay.

I walked in prayer, for the first time in many months.

Since my earliest memories I have always talked to God. I was the little girl staring out the car window with her mouth quietly forming soundless words.

But I reached a point where I felt completed and without a need for prayer.

This is probably a common folly for an intercessor.

There is one thing I have sensed hearing from God that is �indispensable�. At seventeen I was struck in mid thought with a beckon, �I want your mouth,� I heard.

My mouth? I talk trash, man.

The response was obvious, and immediate, �I didn�t create it to talk trash.�

Okay, then. If any good can come from it, I�m willing.

And yet�

And yet�I consistently am the �poor steward.�

I can see some of you editing your buddy list now and removing me, but I have got to stop pretending�

I have spoke with the tongues of angels, and I have held the hand of the devil, it was one in the night, I was cold as a stone�

This is the perfect weekend for David and Amy to visit. WOW! I can't believe I'm actually going to be in the company of a friend from home. For so many years... so many classes...

It's been so long!