The Comcast experience ...

Last week at this time, a New York City Comcast man from somewhere in Eastern Europe had no idea of the lovely scene he would encounter the next morning.

But, if you keep reading, you will ...

The scene: The darling Upper West Side apartment Heather and Kevin moved into a mere five days earlier. It is now 9:20 a.m. on Friday. Kevin has managed to get ready for work amidst the four girls who have invaded his space, and he has now escaped to the safety of his office somewhere in the city. Heather is asleep in their room. Jennie and Callie are asleep on the couch bed in the living room. Katie is asleep on the inflatable mattress next to the couch bed. Karli is, inexplicably, showered and dressed, hair and makeup done and looking perfect. She hears a knock at the door. She answers immediately, far too cheerfully, with nary a question or a glance at her four sleeping friends. It is, of course, the Comcast man, who had told Heather he would come between 9:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. and would call a half hour before he came.

So, the Comcast man takes two steps into the living room to see three not-so-fresh, we-rode-on-a-bus-for-nearly-six-hours-and-then-went-to-bed heads peeking up from an assortment of sheets and blankets and beds, which happen to be two feet from the television and the computer. That would be the television and computer where the Comcast man needs to do his Comcastic things.

Karli, remember, already looks like a supermodel. The kind wearing clothes. Heather has awakened enough to grasp the situation. The three of us in pajamas clearly are not and have not. We make a beeline for the bathroom. We huddle there, deciding what to do. We opt to be normal. Or as normal as possible, under the circumstances. Which means that two of us should leave the bathroom. One at a time, we get ready.

An hour or so later, the scene has changed. Now the television works. And the people have all showered. But somehow all end up back on the couch bed. This time, watching the television. And unavoidably watching the man, too, still working on said television. So what started with four sleeping girls in pajamas ends with them all sitting on the couch bed, fully clothed and presentable, waiting for the Comcast man to finish his Comcast things ...

A supercalifrajalisticexpialadocious week ...

I had a good week. Actually, a surprisingly great week.

Monday night, Jennie surprised me.
Tuesday morning, Karli flew in from Las Vegas. Surprise squared.
Wednesday afternoon, I found Katie from Cleveland on my doorstep. So, naturally, on Thursday we took the bus to New York City to see Heather.
Thank you, Provo.

Maybe because of the fabulous surprises, or because we now live in five different cities, I realized once again this weekend that I am really, really lucky to have such talented, witty, kind, stylish and just plain amazing friends. I am also really lucky that expert photographer Katie documented our week of fun in these photos:

Pretty much sums up how we act we when get together. In D.C. ...

or New York City ...

Cute Heather ... and baby!

Back in D.C. at our impromptu photo shoot.
The out-of-order photos add to the fun of the post, right?!

Times Square. College roommates. Classic.

Central Park, obviously.

Eating our way through New York. We also had delicious cupcakes, pizza and nutella on toast (thank you, Kevin and Heather). And yes, I am blurry in this picture. Apparently I am frequently blurry in pictures. I guess I am not so good at holding still. And that is required for some pictures. Picky, picky.

This was legitimate picture-taking movement. And they clearly didn't call her Karli Cartwheel for nothing.

The Brooklyn Bridge, always a favorite.

I took a few photos of my own, for good measure ...

The church next to the World Trade Center site.

A bench where firefighters working at Ground Zero would rest between shifts.

Still the church ...

We saw Mary Poppins. I LOVED it. Preview: It included tap dancing on the ceiling.

Thanks, girls ...

Did I mention I like books ...

Today it rained. I went to the National Book Festival anyway. Because I love it that much. When I think about how next year at this time I will be a Working Adult (again, since I did try that out for a while there) with an Actual Paycheck, I dream about the library I will create with said paycheck, with a really comfortable reading chair and a great lamp and lots of bookshelves and framed posters on the wall. And one of those posters will be the picture above. From the National Book Festival today. And I will remember this:

Listening to Jeannette Walls, of The Glass Castle fame. She told us that everyone has a story to tell. I agree. Next came Lois Lowry, who wrote The Giver and Number the Stars. I read The Giver for the first time this summer, thanks to the suggestion of a wise friend, and good news, Lowry told us that Jonas lived. She told us how she narrates her life in her head as she lives it in person. She said writers do that. I do that too. I like that. Then I listened to Sue Monk Kidd, who wrote The Secret Life of Bees. She came with her daughter, since they have written a new book together. Something about pomegranates and traveling through Europe, mother and daughter. Note to Working Adult Self: read that book. Also read book Laura Bush is writing. And, read book that came out this week, written by former White House speechwriter Matt Latimer, who, in my limited experience, never seemed to display any sort of human emotion. Yes, I met him. In the speechwriting office. Where I interned, and he worked. And I have absolutely no respect for people who pretend to believe in something and someone and then sell out three weeks later for a measly 15 minutes of fame and some cash. So, Working Adult Self: read that book because I met this particular sellout. But do not buy that book because that would benefit him. And I am morally opposed to that. Also, Working Adult Self: do not sell out. But back to the Book Festival.

I loved the last speaker, Azar Nafisi, who wrote Reading Lolita in Tehran. I wish I could remember everything she said, but I especially liked how she said that every culture, every civilization, has made some hideous mistakes and committed terrible atrocities, but a country grows stronger and becomes better by overcoming and coping with these challenges. She said it better. And so much more. I love the National Book Festival ...

Ode to the lost firefly ...

Two nights ago I smashed a firefly. Accidentally, but on purpose. With, ironically, a box of unlit candles. And I have been thinking about it ever since.

I am not opposed to killing insects. I killed a spider this morning and a mosquito last night and have not felt even a speck of remorse. But fireflies, well, I like fireflies. When I make the inevitable list of what I will miss most about living on the East Coast, fireflies will be on it. But I learned too late that fireflies look like regular beetles, until it gets dark and they decide to glow.

I know some people like that ...

Worlds colliding on a Thursday afternoon ...

So today I was partly listening to my professor talk about adult adoption but mostly debating in my head whether the name Naleigh (as in Naleigh the newly adopted child of Katherine Heigl) rhymes with the name Callie. Then I saw it, right there on People.com: an advertisement for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My very own church. On my very own People.com. Obviously, this validated my choice of reading material.

Today I also saw a picture of Ashton and Demi amidst a discussion of older women marrying younger men. In my casebook, not on People.com. Then a few pages later, a discussion about Pamela Anderson. Still in my casebook.

And one of my professors sounds exactly like Joan Cusack. I hope this makes the bankruptcy code more memorable.

So, let us review. Inane trivia about famous actors is more important than previously thought. Lesson learned ...

Happy Monday ...

I only have one class on Mondays. It happens to be my current tied-for-favorite class: Copyright Law. And it does not start until 11 a.m. And today I wore my new yellow shoes. And they did not give me any blisters. Thus, I like Mondays. Good logic, eh ...

Now, a paragraph from the reading for my other tied-for-favorite class, Law and Literature. This comes from a closing argument defense attorney Clarence Darrow made in a 1924 murder case:

"If there is such a thing as justice it could only be administered by one who knew the inmost thoughts of the man to whom he was meting it out. Aye, who knew the father and mother and the grandparents and the infinite number of people back of him. Who knew the origin of every cell that went into the body, who could understand the structure and how it acted. Who could tell how the emotions that sway the human being affected that particular frail piece of clay. It means more than that. It means that you must appraise every influence that moves men, the civilization where they live, and all society which enters into the making of the child or the man! If Your Honor can do it--if you can do it you are wise, and with wisdom goes mercy." ~ Attorney for the Damned, Clarence Darrow in the Courtroom

In which I attempt yoga ...

This week Carly joined a gym. I got a free one-week pass out of the deal. So today we went to a yoga class. The teacher came in five minutes late, in heels and a dress, and immediately began a continuous stream of instructions as she situated herself at the front of the room.

Being me, I did not completely follow her command to close our eyes and breathe. I am opposed to closing my eyes in unfamiliar public places, so I did not do that. But I am in favor of breathing, so I did that. Well, as I breathed she began removing articles of clothing. She seemed to be wearing shorts underneath the dress, but she definitely added a shirt and removed said dress as we all continued breathing and some of us closed our eyes. Apparently the eye-closing is less for relaxation than for some minimal form of modesty.

Despite realizing that this class might not be quite as Puritan as I am, and yes I know that few things are as Puritan as I am, for the first ten seconds of instructions after the breathing and eye-closing business, I felt pretty good about myself. I could totally do the whole turn-my-head-side-to-side routine. Then things became more complicated. For the next hour, I twisted and wriggled and tied myself up in knots and attempted a few maneuvers my body has not attempted since the age of 12. It turns out that I am not a natural at yoga. Shocker, I know. But apparently the skills required to repeatedly win the balancing contests in ballet class are not the same ones needed to remain balanced while flailing various limbs. Dang. Or perhaps one must work on such skills more than once a decade. Something to consider ...