My little-little brother is going down the street to collect free candy from strangers.

My big-little brother is trick-or-treating with a Scarlet-French-Maid-Woman of the Evening. (And that will only make sense to you if you have a reliable thesaurus and a twisted imagination.)

And me? I am sitting at home, with my mum, filling up the house with lots of nice Estrogen, and wondering why in heavens' name my parents let my brothers out of the house while they were still minors.

Why, oh why, did my parents have to have boys?

I think I'll make some hot chocolate...

Well, it's time.

Time to finally bite the bullet. Time to get it done and out of the way.

Homicide lawyers, be at the ready.

I have never been at the receiving end of this particular peice of advice, so I'll be quick, so as to damage my cringing reputation as a non-licensed personage little as possible: all you innocents out there, stay off the sidewalks.

I'm doing Driver's Ed next week.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I just realized that today is Friday! Which means tomorrow is Saturday!
Which means that I am going to be singing downtown with my mum and a bunch of other Theatre Maniacs in LESS THAN 24 HOURS!

Does the fact that costumes aren't required make it easier, or harder?

I know I haven't been writing very much lately, but that is simply the cross I bear for theatre. Now that the most recent of Fabulous Productions is over, I can once again give you my undivided attention! Aren't you lucky!

'What's in a Name' was stupendous. It was more of a musical review, rather than a play, and the songs were fantastic!
I won't say it was perfectly perfect, but considering that we had all of fourteen rehearsals, it went really, really well.

I was a little nervous at first, since this production was also at Franklin Academy (and we all know what happened last time), but after a few rehearsals of not walking into anybody and hitting my notes every time, I was sufficiently relaxed to do the great and wonderful job I have always done.

(Oh, yeah.)

And this Saturday (the 13th) from about 12:30-1:00, down by the gazebo in downtown Wake Forest, the Theatre Maniacs will be performing selections from 'What's in a Name', including mum's rendition of 'In Buddy's Eyes', Gilly's 'Rose's Turn', and Morgain's 'Notice Me, Horton'.
(And-horay!-ME!!)

I know this post isn't up to my usual standards, but I'm a busy dame, and I've simply got to see a man about a dog...

Today is Rachel's 14th birthday.



Well, okay, today is Rachel's 14th birthday party. I really don't know when her birthday is. (Which is a really rotten thing, seeing as I've known her for so darn long.)



We are going out to the Eno river to wade and swim and feast on Carob Chews and probably catch hypothermia, but blast if we aren't going to have a fabulous time!



In other news, Mum, Eamon and I are slated to perform in the Theatre Maniacs (a name to inspire confidence) new musical review, What's in a Name, at Franklin Academy on October 6 and 7 at 7:00, and October 8 at 1:00 and 7:00. Judging from my EXTREMELY abused knees, it shall be quite a show. Eamon and I don't have any solos, but we do some cute chorus parts, and Mum does a solo piece.

Everyone: please, please, PLEASE come, or Koko will unleash her wrath. She claims to be very wrathful. I don't know how she does it with a name like Koko, but I've been told that actors can be deceiving, and I can never face wrath unless I have a full house.

Happy Autumn Equinox!

Today is supposedly the only day of the year that you can balance a raw egg on its pointy end. (However, it should be noted that you really can do this any day of the year, if you have the patience for it.)

Today also happens to be the day that the earth's tilt toward the sun causes static to all the satellites in orbit. So we can all say what we really want to on the phone! Yay! Isn't that exciting?

Yesterday, it was a balmy 79 degrees. The sun was shining, the birds were twittering, I was wondering when I should get my Winter Wardrobe out of the attic, and contemplating a glass of iced coffee.

Today, it is a frigid 71, there is a cold sun out, my winter wardrobe is taking up the better part of my room, and the iced coffee I made is giving me hypothermia.

And so, fall is upon us. Whatever shall we do next?

I see it on the horizon, a Winter Season of faux-shearling-lined coats, insulated gloves, and J. Peterman's Le Chameau Rubber Boots (wellies with class. And lining).

Meanwhile, I am readying myself for the immanent delight of the following Winter must-haves:

1. Mincemeat. All right, I've never actually had mincemeat, but I really want some. It seems like it's a really great thing. I mean, why else would they make such a big deal of it in 'State Fair'? It just has to be good.

2. Bonfires. Or any kind of outdoor fire, actually. Heck, it can be a Chimeneya as long as you have The Token Guitar Player, hot cider/mulled wine, and a box of strike-anywhere matches.

3. Popcorn and hot chocolate. Which is good anytime of the year actually, but it is just one of those things you NEED any time from September through March.

4. Siting on the dryer with a good book. Something you can't do very comfortably in the heat of summer. And if there's a warm, fuzzy cat on your lap, so much the better. Note: not a good place to fall asleep.

I went to the Bodies exhibit at the mall on Friday.

I loved it. Really.

I don't know why, but a bunch of plasticized bodies and parts of plasticized bodies don't freak me out. I was a lot more fine with it than I thought I was going to be.

The only problem I had with it, was that the brain was beige.

I hate beige.

Think of it: we're sending the next generation out into the world with beige brains. Who would be so cruel as to award this center of reason the altogether loathsome color beige??
Perhaps it was juvenile of me (okay, it was definitely juvenile of me), but I had always cherished the dream that perhaps, in actuality, my brain was green, or blue, or teal.

Other than that, I found the entire thing enjoyable, informative, and entertaining.

My mum, on the other hand, went MIA the entire two hours we were there.

At least, that's what I was told. At the time, I was freakishly absorbed in staring at this brain with all the tendons and nerves coming out of it and the spinal cord hanging down, and the eyeballs popping out of it.

And then there were the veins: all the veins and arteries were injected with this plasticky stuff, then the rest of the body was chemically removed and all you had left was this fine, delicate network of brightly-colored plasticky stuff, floating around in tanks of water like day-glo coral.

It wasn't just a piece of a body anymore. It was art.

Dear person or persons whom I have irrevocably failed and/or disappointed,

Facebook is evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
I really did try to sign up. I really did. My very best. You won't hate me forever, will you?
See, it just rejected me. I think it's because I'm a confessed member of Autodidacts Anonymous. They just hate homeschoolers. The System is trying to bring me down!...In fact, it's succeeding!
Facebook is evil. That is just all there is to it.

With too many apologies,

Me

The Summer has come.

It has come up to terrorize our gardens. It has bred many thunderstorms, but not nearly enough. It has evaporated our pools, fogged our glasses. It has dried up our reservours, killed our chickens, and gunned down many a resolution for Summer Fitness with its tempting array of cold and frozen sugary treats.

And the Summer has gone.

And with it, every friend I have over the age of 18.

I wish every one good luck for the coming year. And the nicest and most understanding of roommates, and very good cafeteria food, and very nice dorm rooms and fridges and professors and classrooms and whatever else you need.
Till next time...

Where's the Big Big Man?

Ever since I was a little girl, the Big Big Man has been in that field on 401 (or capitol blvd, or whatever). You know the one I'm talking about. Blue overalls, black beard, seasonally changes his shirt. I used to beg my parents to go out of their way so I could say 'Hi' to the Big Big Man. At Christmas, the people who owned the farm where he stood would rig up a star over their house, so high up I thought it was part of the sky. During Independence day week, an American flag would be clenched in the Big Big Man's hand.
He was a landmark. No matter where I was, I would think to myself, Okay, the Big Big Man's over there, so I must be...?
He's always been there, the unsung fiberglass watchdog of the capitol.

SO WHERE'D HE GO???
Is it normal for ten-foot-tall men to suddenly dissapear? I mean, he was an innanimate object, for crying out loud.
Or am I just overreacting? Was it 'his time'? Am I going crazy for missing some over-large portrayal of a farmer?

Does anyone have the faintest idea of what I am talking about?

I adore eggs. Almost as much as I adore mayonnaise. Or chocolate. Or Butter.

When we got our first five hens a few weeks ago, I was more than very, very happy. I was ecstatic. I was beside myself with uncontained glee. I was ready to burst with the idea that we were going to have more eggs! Yes! I had just been told that the meaning of life was in my back yard!

But alas, no. Not nearly. Aparently, chickens are slaves to routine, one of their routines being that they go on strike every summer, without warning (maybe there Italian?).

Estimated total egg consumption per week: Let seven eggs be assigned to french toast, three to toad-in-the-holes, six to scrambling/frying, six for hard-boiling, and twelve for baking and ice cream. Total: Thirty-four/Three dozen, at least five per day (and each one of those conclusions came to a completely different number, but whatever).

Actual laying amount per day: Two.

Apparently, our chickens do not share my family's love of eggs. There is a very distinct +/- thing going on here.

(Perhaps I shouldn't write this at lunchtime.)

And it is August.

Is it just me, or is really, really hot?

Alas.
Here's what happens: Harry is horribly disfigured and almost dies but his watch face saves his life, Voldemort gets blue contact lenses and becomes Minister of Magic, and Hermione and Neville get plastic surgery and Bellatrix adopts them. And Ron is blown up on the London subway.
So ends the turmoil and strife of the greatest series this decade.

I had a fabulous time at the Smith's pool today. We stayed all day, and ate cheese and crackers and had flourless chocolate cake, and got very wet. It was drizzly the first half of the day, but dad showed and it all cleared up and was very nice and sunny and the tops of my feet got tan. But the rest of me is lobster pink. How did I manage this?

Today is my Sixteenth Birthday

...And that's about it.
I'm opening a whole lot of cards, and eating a little cake (hopefully), and going to the Smiths' pool, and maybe maybe maybe watching the new Harry Potter movie, if my brothers and I can actually stay in the theatre to see them mangle another one for three hours.

...The Capitol Steps have their 4th of July radio broadcast up! All hail the deranged mocksters!

After Rome, it was a simple matter of our plane from JFK being delayed thirteen hours and an overpriced Starbucks meal to get home.
The limo was not nearly as much fun the second time around. Although that might have been because we spent the night in a deserted terminal under the florescent lights of the seventh level of hell.

And now our fabulous trip is over, and the boys are away at Summer camp, and when we pick them up, we will all go up to the mountains for a week of CFO. (Yes, the many reports you are hearing are true, mum will be camping. All week. In a tent. Without Laura Ashely.)

First thing tomorrow morning, we head out to get my guys, go to the nearest Laundro-Mat to wash a week's worth of boy camping laundry, then go to CFO, where they will just get stinky all over again, but this time with parental supervision.

See you when I get back (again)!

Sunday, June 10, 2007 8:23
The Hotel Osimar
Rome, Italy

This was a horrid hotel that hardened cab drivers drove over hell's half acre to find, on the outskirts of a horrid city.
When we got to Rome, we were all tired and rather unhappy and very hot, and to make things worse, the cab driver didn't know where our hotel was.
He made a few calls, and before we knew it, we were at a hotel in the middle of nowhere.
The best that can be said about it, was that it had a bidet.
We decided that no matter how hot it was, we couldn't just stay in our hotel rooms all day, so we ventured forth into the sticky, smelly, dirty crowded hordes of tourists to see what we could see.
Our first stop was the Colosseum, which I assume would be very appealing in the off-season.
It was...very...big? And hard. And old.
And on that particular day, hot, crowded, dirty and smelly.
Second was the Mouth of Truth, which was my absolute favorite, because the basilica that it was connected to was all stone with one or two windows, and very dark and cool.
From there, we went over to the Palaza de Spanga, to see the the overcrowded Spanish Steppes, and then to the Trevie Fountain, where we only threw coins in so we could ensure our safe return to a major airport next year.
After that, we got some gelato, and took an other taxi to the hotel Osimar.
We got dinner at a tiny place two minutes from our hotel, had a long dinner under the stars, and vowed never to return to Rome again.
Rome sucks.

Let me just say right now, that the Smiths throw the best parties in the known universe.
That's all.

Friday, June 8, 2007, 22:20
Hotel Atlantic Palace
Florence, Italy

After an obnoxiously long train ride, we got to Florence.
After oo-ing and ah-ing over mum and dad's room, we were informed by the concierge that not only was our room not ready yet, it was still vibrantly inhabited.
We could have told him that (he gave us the key).

Upon gaining entrance to our room, we promptly fell on the bed and turned on MTV, which is the only cable show in Italy that speaks English sometimes. The commercials were awesome, because they were all in a language we couldn't understand, so we didn't feel compelled to buy stuff.

Sunday, June 9, 2007 22:00
Hotel Atlantic Palace
Florence, Italy

Today was packed and exhausting and exhilarating and filled with old rocks and gelato.
First thing in the morning, we went to the Academia, where, amongst the old, the antique, and the Prisoners, we saw Michelangelo's David (YES! I SAW DAVID), which was about the only thing worth looking at.

On our way back to the Hotel, we were caught up in a big market, where we bought mounds of silk and linen and Pashmina scarves.
I fell asleep while dad went in search of a post office to mail out our billion and one post cards (if we didn't get one to you, it wasn't for lack of trying), and mum went back to the market in search of more bargains.
When I woke up, it was time to go to the Uffizi Galleria, but dad (who had gone in search of mum when she didn't come back from the market), was not with us.
We were outside the Uffizi for about half an hour (quite a while when you're on 24-hour time) waiting for our tour before dad turned up.
The tour guide was great. He had a bit of a lithp, and said, "believe me," and "by the way," a lot. We saw the Birth of Venus, and the Three Graces, and loads of Pieta, and a couple Adoration of the Magi. Afterwards, we had dinner at il Fratelini, a tiny sandwich stand across the piazza from the Duomo, and walked down to the Ponte Veccio.
It was crowded. Everybody was either watching the Harri Krishna parade that was noisily cavorting down the street, or hanging over the bridge, watching the sun sink into the Arno.
Mum disappeared on a mission of mystery, and the boys and I leaned out over the Arno while dad took pictures.
After about twenty minutes of this, mum reappeared, only to shang-hi me into one of the jewelry shops along the ponte, and after many tears, after much arm-twisting, and after hitting up my dad for a hundred fifty euro, we got a perfect cameo from a Russian lady who spoke English with an Italian accent.
We went back to the Hotel, and the boys went to the gelateria across the street from our hotel to get the Italian equivalent of ice cream take-out.

Day three of Italy
Thursday, June 7, 2007, 10:00
MY Hotels La Spezia

1. Riomaggiore
Riomaggiore is the first town in the Cinque Terre. It was there that we got our first tastes of mountain vineyards, brightly-colored Mediterranean houses, and clear, blue water. We started with a very exciting elevator ride up the mountain, so we could save ourselves for the long climb down.
We solicited sandwiches at the nearest grocery, and ate them overlooking the beach as it started to rain. An American woman had been teaching there for two weeks, and decided that as long as she was over there for the summer, she might as well stay there. Her mother was born in one of the five villages, and she and her sister were going to hike and explore her mothers' homeland.
We lost her in the hike through via Dell'amore, a meeting place for several hundred Romeo and Juliets over the years, decorated with creative graffiti and lots of padlocks.

2. Manarolo
We came through the via Dell'amore into Manarolo, the second village in the Cinque Terre, and immediately sought out fortification in the form of gelato.
Once obtained, it was a simple matter of walking through the village and trying to sight-see in the pouring rain, until the cold pound became too much for up and we ducked into a handy-dandy Basilica to wait it out.

We emerged after fifteen minutes into the sunlight, shaking out raincoats and starting back down the mountain to the station.

3. Corniglia
In Corniglia, we experienced the beautiful views and tastes and smells that I am sure make European adults so irresponsible.
Halfway up the village, mum and dad stepped over to take in a wine tasting, while the boys and I navigated the treacherous waters of a foreign language and got several enormous gelato cones to eat in the hot sun spilling over the buildings.

4. Vernazza
If the Cinque Terre has a village that can be described as more picturesque than all the others, this is it, as it has the best easily accessible beach on the coastline.
We walked through piazzas, past vias, and around endless fountains, slipping on the rain-slicked cobblestones and marble down to the waterfront.
A dog was gleefully ignoring the 'No Dogs' sign, and splashing in the water around a boat that was launching.
At mum and dad's insistence, I put my toes in the freezing cold Mediterranean sea (which turned out to be the Legurian sea) and then skipped over to the bench with mum and ate many yummy sandwiches.

5. Monterosso
Monteroso was a fancy, resort-y village, entirely populated by the rich, the old, and the tourist.
It kind of looked like the Florida keys, except there were gelato stands instead of ice cream trucks, and there were cigarettes on the beach.

Tomorrow at 13:00, we take the train to Florence.