pink macaroons and a million balloons and a paperdoll.

I have a few things of note before we commence with a Paperdoll party: 

I finally finally started using my Google Reader and I'm just obsessed. If you follow more than a few blogs, I would highly recommend it. Actually, you are probably already using Google Reader :) Just in case you're my neighbor here under the rock though, I wanted to mention it. You just need to sign up for a Gmail address. Then you can go to google.com/reader and type in the addresses of blogs you want to follow and voila. They pop up as they're updated! It's MAGIC! :) So that said, be sure you link your blog in the comments if you have one! I would love to follow along. I've clicked over to several blogs in the past couple of weeks and I thought they were all lovely, but I keep forgetting the addresses. With Google Reader by my side, I am more prepared. 

Adam was in the bottom two on American Idol WHAT?! Go Alison! Go Fieyro!

I pulled a muscle in my leg trying to do a new workout DVD (let us pause for a quick game of word association: lunges = Dante's Inferno). People have been raving about this DVD and my only conclusion is that some people like pain. Be gone, ye masochist exercisers! So I decided to ease back into working out with something a bit more low impact. I typed "low impact aerobics" on YouTube and this is what came up. Hilarity. I couldn't find my white Reeboks or my leotard, so I went for a walk instead. 

Takeila Bynam has a really sweet review of Paperdoll as well as an interview. Takeila is a lovely person and I had fun chatting with her about the book. Whenever I do interviews, or try to speak in front of people, I get nervous and stuttery and just generally awkward. That still happened (ha :) but Takeila made it fun. I know you're sweet enough to look over my awkward nerdiness, so I'm posting the link ;) Please try to ignore my twang. It is a permanent part of my voice. If you love books, you'll have fun browsing around on Booksalatte (she combined two of my favorite things to make a word!)

And now.

The time has come. You may now string up the pinata. You may fill up your hypothetical paper cup with fluffy looking pink punch. Release day is (pretty much) here! :) Yay! I wish I could throw a party we could all attend. Despite my rabid tendencies toward introversion, I really do like planning things like that. (Of course, parties I plan tend to involve really posh things like pizza rolls, brownies, Wii tennis, and multiple viewings of The Goonies. And usually there are only like three people who come.)  Alas, despite the many wonders the interweb has given us, I can't give you brownies (or heartburn) or a big bowl of Starburst. 

But I can do a giveaway! So if you're interested in nabbing a copy of Paperdoll, scriggity-scroll down to the end of this post for further instructions. :) 

I've told you a bit about Paperdoll already so there's a good chance I'll repeat something here. The book started late one night (April 27th to be exact :) a few years ago. I was reading John 4, which is the story of Jesus meeting with the woman at the well. Despite my intentions to skim through and then go to sleep :), the story started to resonate in some particularly awesome ways.  I realized all the questions the Samaritan woman (whom I began calling Sam in my notes) was asking Jesus were the same questions I was (constantly) trying to process in my life - particularly issues of romance, worship, and worth. 

In a very kind non-condemny way, Jesus told this lady the places she was currently looking for love were all leaving her empty. He listened to her smart questions and gave her smart answers (which is one of a billion things I love about the interactions He had with women. He spoke to them with the kind of respect some people didn't, and still don't, have). Not only does the story speak to the issues above, but it applies to all sorts of stuff: materialism and obsession and hopelessness and loss.  

My favorite part of the whole thing is just that he thought a very ordinary girl was worth waiting for. He loved her enough to remind her she didn't have to walk around in shadows anymore. She wasn't defined by her past or by her mistakes or by how many guys wanted to go out with her. She was loved, just like she was, more than she could ever fully comprehend or understand. And she had a fan-stinking-tastic message to carry to the world :) It blew my mind the night I read it. It still does. Paperdoll is my very feeble attempt to process how that story is getting tangled up in my heart. 

Here are some more interesting tidbits: 

Things mentioned in the book: broken seashells, mummified lions, go go boots, water, flux capacitators, everlasting gobstoppers, perms, scars, sparrows, secrets, wells, paintbrushes, sunsets, sunrise, freefalls, and perfect little paperdolls (of course) :) 

Things not mentioned in the book: weed eating, barbecue (sorry Aaron), bassinets, basset hounds, termites, aluminum foil, Thai food, politics, pit bulls, porta-potties, netti pots, rice farming.

People mentioned include: Chase, Melanie, Ashley Judd, my sister, my mom, Gilbert Blythe, Chris Martin, Katie, Jimmy, Reese Witherspoon,  Kate Chopin, Aunt Ruth, Bob Dylan and my Granny (how could you not want to be on this list?! :).

People I Do Not Mention: Ron Popeil, David Hasselhoff, Willie Nelson, Adam Lambert, the ShamWow salesman, Danny Tanner, Long John Silver.

Awhile back, someone mentioned the book sounded like a tear jerker, and there are certainly parts that affected me that way (not parts I wrote, just things I learned). However, I hope the book makes you laugh or smile at frequent intervals as well :) I'll post a couple of other segments later this summer, but I wanted to start with something a little but more fun and snarky. Are you comfy? Plenty of punch? Wah! I'm so nervous/excited (nexited?). This segment comes from a chapter about status and stuff obsession called Dear Veruca Salt.

(from chapter 5, p.190)

Dear Veruka Salt, 

Your grand finale song in Wonka Tower has always been a personal favorite of mine, and I think I have finally discovered why. For years, I've convinced myself that we are very different, you and me. I decided I wasn't as selfish as you (or as obnoxious), but I also decided that I would never scream over the silly things you seem to be obsessed with, like golden tickets or golden eggs. What is it with you and gold?

Lately, though, I've been rethinking this issue. I've tried to fill my life with silly things, too. I'm guilty of wanting all the wrong things -- golden eggs that scramble into big golden breakfasts and then are gone .(I would abandon that dream if I were you. Next year, the oompa loompas will probably build a more durable egg anyway, one that fits in your pocket and has internet access.)

I scream as loud as you because I am surrounded and inundated by the pressure to have more stuff. I think I'll taste life more fully when I have it, but sometimes what seems sweet goes sour in my mouth. I'm beginning to see that golden eggs are all too common in my world but that contentment is not. This is some dangerous ground you're dancing on, V. 

Take a look at all your greedy little friends. They're getting stuck in chocolate shoots and turning into blueberries and burping bubbles the size of baseballs. You are no different than them. You want something all the candy in the world won't satisfy. You keep screaming. You keep getting what you want. But what you want, or get, isn't making you happy.

I think I know why. 

For me, it sometimes takes sitting on a rotten egg pile to realize my heart's most piercing cry. I want love. I want something real. I'm tired of sugary imitations. I'm tired of buying the right clothes and driving the right car just to prove I matter. It's all egg shells and pottery shards in the end. The stuff you want is just stuff. A year from now, you probably won't even remember you wanted it. One hundred years from now, you'll be gone and the stuff will be dirt. Before you dust rotten eggshells off your designer dress, think about this: you have the potential to leave behind something good and real. You can experience a love that matters and moves you.

"Taste and see that the Lord is good," is what the Psalmist writes. That kind of love will root deep into your soul, flood your senses, change the way you see the world.  Golden eggs, golden tickets, and 10,000 tons of ice cream will never satisfy your deepest longing. Or mine. But this love, this one perfect love, will. 

You know what's kind of ironic? Gold doesn't matter much to Him. Gold is just pavement up there. You can put on your Asics and run on the stuff. His goodness doesn't shower down in gold coins and gold tickets. I see it in compassion, in passionate advocacy, in imagination, and in His people. He offers a secret to survive all the fake -- genuine gratitude. He offers a treasure too beautiful to be paired with a jingle - love that never crumbles or goes away. 

I've decided that's what I really want. Because when I'm living in the fullness of His love -- when I'm loving His people, when I'm walking through this world looking for how I can give, when I'm watching the sun sink down into the mountains, glittering, glowing, reflecting His glory for me to see - it's that moment, loved by God and sharing His love, that I feel like the richest girl in the world. 

His love will blow your mind. Taste and see.

Love (and golden eggshells),

Me

If you are interested in winning a copy of Paperdoll, leave a comment on this post and tell me what your favorite candy is (I'm trying to follow our Veruka Salt/party theme). Next Thursday, I'll toss the names in my I ♥ Jim Halpert coffee mug (I'll try to remember to dump out my coffee first) and pull out a name. And then volia! :)  Feel free to comment regardless, but if you don't put your favorite candy in the comment, I'll just assume you don't want your name tossed in the mug o'fun for a book.  Conga line, anyone?

Thanks for partying with me :)  What's new with you this week? 

something wicked.

The  friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children's godparents, the people to whom I've been able to turn in times of trouble, people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names for Death Eaters. - JK Rowling. 

I'm writing from best friend Sarah's house, overlooking her lake of cute turtles. Well. It's not her lake, I suppose. It's sort of a shared thing, a natural resource, but you get the general idea. I'm watching the water because, according to Sarah, there is a large monster fish flopping around somewhere in the depths. This place is like a wildlife reserve! I like monsters so I've been excited about seeing the Volkswagen Fish for awhile now. So far, no luck. Neither the fish nor the turtle population is particularly relevant to this post, I just wanted to mention them. Turtles are darn cute in cartoons, don't you think?  (As to whether or not they're cute in real life ... I'm undecided.  They're cuter than ducks but that isn't saying much.)

I've name dropped my two best friends, Melanie and Sarah, in various written form over the years. This makes them notorious, I like to think. I always assume as long as I say nice things about my friends, they don't care if I write about them. This plan has only backfired once (so far).  

Several years ago, I wrote a column detailing an adventure Sarah and I had at a high school football game. Whenever our team scored a touchdown, the cheerleaders threw Jolly Ranchers (the candy, not happy farm workers) into the stands. As is procedure in a candy toss, we tried to catch the goodness. At one point, a piece of candy hit Sarah's mouth and caused massive bloodshed. I'm not going to lie ... it was quite humorous. Later on, I wrote about the incident. I linked the experience to how even "good things" we think we want can bring lots of pain. I know, I know. It's kind of a trite/cheesy way to get to the point. It was several years ago.  I was still learning how to write that kind of article blah blah blah. Anywho. When the story went through the editing process, and I saw it in print, it made Sarah sound like Kong - like she stood atop the highest bleacher, bellowing threats to the kids trying to catch candy, demanding the jackets of the freezing masses so she could weave a giant net to trap the candy that would be all hers.  *evil laugh*

The article wasn't that bad, but it was close. The experience taught me to be more careful in how I wrote about my friends. Until now.  

Now, all these years later, I'm forced to rethink my decision.  The rethink started recently, when A Friend Who Shall Not Be Named was unabashedly teasing me.  I don't even remember what he was teasing me about. I just remember it was getting monotonous.  And so I murmured some pointless retort like, "I wouldn't say that if I were you." 

And he laughed and said, "Or what will you do about it?" People assume because I am small, I have no bite.  They assume because I am a weak and clumsy girl, I have no effective weapons in my arsenal. They are wrong. I raised one eyebrow and smiled, defiant.  

I said:  I will put you in my novel.

He said:  I would be honored.

I said:  Oh, you far underestimate my powers. 

When I'm not writing about my friends as snaggle toothed villains, I try write good things about them.   I'm just not above taking necessary measures.  

Still with me?  

Because that convo made me think of how funny it would be if I gave baddies the names of friends (would they still be my friend if I did that?).  Then, I started thinking about a few of my favorite villains in literature.  

Voldemort is the obvious place to start. He's terrifying and sinister without being remotely comical (have you seen the latest trailer for Half Blood Prince?  Did you scream and pretend to cast spells with the chopsticks in your take-out?  Cause, um, I didn't do that, of course.  I'm just wondering if you did).  I thought of Beira from Melissa Marr's book Wicked Lovely.  In the scene where Beira is introduced, Marr describes the paintings hanging on the wall.  They're grotesque and sick and I still remember them (in my mind, they look a lot like some of Bacon's work ... not Footloose Bacon, the painter Bacon).  Beira is no sweet little tooth-fairy.  The woman is all evil and ice. 

When you talk about villains, you have to talk about Charles, no?  Dickens gave the world Fagan and Madame Defarge.  *shudders*  Remember her?  She sat around knitting the names of her victims.  I pictured her with long spidery fingers (red thread making a slow deadly pile on the floor beside her chair...).   Shakespeare added Don Juan and Lady MacBeth and Hamlet's uncle (what was his name?  Claudio?  Or no?  I'm getting my bardwires crossed :).

East of Eden is my favorite novel (other than The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe) and I think, partially, it has to do with the villain; a human monster named Cathy.  Steinbeck goes to great lengths to make Cathy Trask unlovable.  She's intentionally evil. She skankily abandons her husband and sons (shoosting one of them), and consistently plots ways to bend people around her own sadistic will.  (I read some literary criticism once suggesting Steinbeck actually wanted her to be the personification of the Devil ... don't know if that's accurate though.)  There is nothing redeeming about her. And yet there's a scene in the book, a scene revolving around Cathy the Revolting, that helped me see my relationship with God in a completely new way.  I won't try to hash it all out here because I don't want to ruin the book if you haven't read it. Short version:  God loves heroes and monsters.  We all have a little bit of both inside our hearts.

  

In young adult or children's lit, baddies sometimes seem worse as a looming presence than in the the flesh.  Neil Gaimon put Bod in a graveyard with all sorts of friendly ghosts and the constant threat of The Man Jack.  Rudyard Kipling put Mowgli in the jungle with a bunch of friendly apes and the constant threat of Sher Khan.  Murderers in graveyards and the shadow of a tiger slinking through a jungle ... that's pretty scary stuff.  Just the presence was almost scarier than the final showdown.

But that is the good part:  Mowgli and Bod and Harry and Meg Murray (didn't mention her ... but kudos if you know her story :) and all the characters in books do eventually face their monsters.  And sometimes I get to live vicariously through them on a page to the point I think I can defeat mine.  Maybe that sounds kind of trite too.  I think the best story, the hardest kind to write, is the kind that makes a reader feel a little bit more brave in the end. You don't have to shove sugary morality down some one's throat to help them feel more brave.

"Fairy tales are more than true," writes G.K. Chesterton. "Not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." 

Books rock my world.  Have I mentioned this before? :)

*tangent*

Jenny is giving away a copy of her new book, So Not Happening.  If you scootch over to her blog, you can enter to win by leaving a comment about your favorite teacher.  Jenny also posted the cover of her new novel which looks fab :)  I'm about to spill her secret: Jenny is a magician.  She manages to write books that are 1.) lovely  and 2.) coherent at a rate I envy.  I've been working on a project I affectionately call "The It" for quite awhile now.  My friends, the ones who think I'm kidding when I say I'll name villains after them, they do not like this waiting business.  I let some of them read portions of "The It" and now they're dropping threats trying to get the rest.  Here in the swamp, writing tends to move at a slug's pace. 

I am presently fighting a mild addiction to purple fine-tip Sharpies.  I outline on cheapo yellow legal pads and the purple looks so pretty with the yellow ... 

I cannot, and will probably never, understand why "rompers" are in style for people over the age of three.   Your thoughts on this?

I finally got the glasses I ordered over a month ago.  They are dark-rimmed, big, nerdy, and awesome :) 

I went to LifeWay the other day to see if my book was there.  I walked casually back to the teen section, browsed around, and didn't see it.  Then I looked through music for a bit (did you know Phillip LaRue has a solo CD out?  Does anybody have it/like it?  I was a big fan of LaRue back in the day) and then made for the door.  And guess what?  Just as I was about to leave, I saw pink.  Paperdoll was up front in the New Releases section!  :)  

So it might be up front if you live near a LifeWay.  It got its first reader review over on CBD. The Paperdoll over on the sidebar is a portkey to Amazon, where it is in stock too.  It's out now (confetti!), but I still want to have a release day fiesta here on the blogaroo on May 1st.  I'm trying to think of something super exciting besides, uh, just telling you about the book and putting up a teaser.  We can't do snacks or muzak but I have some fun ideas.  :) 

When I told my parents the book was in a store, they went to see it. They bought a copy. This is funny because I gave them one already (actually they have more than one) but they got a kick out of buying it. Mom took a picture of the process. Proud parents are the sweetest :) My dad has read the book twice now. Real men read Paperdoll. ;)

Let me know what's on your mind. Happy Weekending :)

space music.

I got a note from a friend last night who told me I needed to update.  I aim to please, so here goes:

Peeptastic.  I didn't send my Peeps picture because it was so blurry.  I'm glad I didn't.  Did you see the pics that won? Clearly, next year, I'll have to up my game.  I must aspire to new marshmallowy heights with my Peeps.  If you go by the National Geographic site to look at the winning pix (my favorite is the chess board!), I would also recommend the article: "Moche 'King of Bling' Uncovered in Peru".   :)

Stay gold, Pony.  I have come to the conclusion leprechauns own the downtown parking system.  It costs like $3 to park downtown.  Whenever I put my money into the machine, I always get two gold Sacajawea dollars as change.  I'm not a purist when it comes to how I want my dollar bills, but paying with gold coins inspires some weird looks.  When I try to buy coffee with my gold dollars, the baristas look at me like I'm not sane.  I feel like Captain Barbosa, tossing out cursed coins. Tonight after Sarah and I did our American Idol recap (this "sing for a second chance" shtick is pretty lame. I'm glad they can't save anybody else), I started talking about my gold dollar dilemma.  I said, "why do people act funny when I pay with those? They're legal tenders, right?"  And she said, "No, legal 'tenders' is like chicken.  They're legal tender."  Then she laughed at me, not with me. (I laughed at me too, it's all good).  The moral of my story is that the pot of gold is on Market Street, not at the end of the rainbow.  *cue Mitch and Mickey song*

Inspired.  Let's talk Susan Boyle.  Have you seen the You Tube video? Did it make you almost cry a little bit too?  I didn't actually shed tears ... but I came really close.   At first, I was just nervous. She seemed like a sweet woman and I was afraid they were going to make fun of her. And they all did in the beginning.  The audience was laughing.  The judges were making snarky comments.  Then the music started and Susan Boyle gave the look.  Do you know the look I'm talking about?  If you watch the video, it's the look she gives just before she starts singing.  In that split second, she looked confident, despite all the heckling.  She looked like she was in on a really great secret nobody else knew about yet. It was the gloriously defiant "watch me show you what I'm capable of" look.  When she gave the look, I cheered.  

I think there's some universal law about the amazingness of the moment before the big moment: that little nano-second before a kiss, or before you do something you know you were born to do, or before you step into the dream you've dreamed of your whole life.  That last slip of anticipation is almost better than the big moment.  Almost :)   After the look, she sang "I Dreamed a Dream" and brought the audience to their feet.  You can watch here if you haven't seen it yet.  

I like what Lisa Schwarzbaum from Entertainment Weekly, says: 

"I'll get back to pondering how Vin Diesel's future might change with the success of Fast & Furious soon enough, but right now I'm pondering why the experience of watching and listening to Ms. Boyle makes so many viewers cry, me among them. And I think I've got a simple answer, at least for me: In our pop-minded culture so slavishly obsessed with packaging -- the right face, the right clothes, the right attitudes, the right Facebook posts -- the unpackaged artistic power of the unstyled, un-hip, un-kissed Ms. Boyle let me feel, for the duration of one blazing showstopping ballad, the meaning of human grace. She pierced my defenses. She reordered the measure of beauty. And I had no idea until tears sprang how desperately I need that corrective from time to time."  (Full article here.)

Lately I've been pouring my heart into a dream that seems far-fetched to the point of redunkulous.  Just when I'm about to give up, I get a little dash of encouragement from somewhere.  My mom cut out a gorgeous quote and left it for me to find.  I got a sweet note about Paperdoll (a note which did elicit some tear spillage in Starbucks, but it's okay.  The management there already thinks I'm a nutter because I sometimes pay with gold coins).  I got a coupon for a free rental from Blockbuster.  Sarah called and reminded me it was free breakfast week at Chick-fil-a (!).  Hang in there dreamers. Some kinds of impossible are worth it.  

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto?  A few years ago Jimmy, maker of amazing films, purveyor of cool, kept bugging me about watching a movie called "The Iron Giant".  I looked up the movie on Amazon and noticed it was about a big robot.  Thus, I politely changed the subject whenever he talked about it.  I don't remember why I finally came around (most likely a threat.  My friends are not above threats), but I finally watched it and I was smitten.  I had to eat my words immediately because The Iron Giant, the very reason I thought the movie wouldn't interest me, completely won my heart.  He is one of the sweetest most wonderful characters ever.  Watch it, and I promise you'll fall in love with a big hunk of metal too :)  The movie isn't as much about a space robot as it is about learning to love and learning to let go.  I checked the book out from the library today.  I've never read it before, but it is quite lovely in a very sing-song sort of way. This is my favorite part: 

"And the space-bat-angel's singing had the most unexpected effect.  Suddenly the world became wonderfully peaceful.  The singing got inside everybody and made them as peaceful as starry space and blissfully above all their earlier little squabbles.  The strange, soft, eerie space music began to alter the people of the world.  They stopped making weapons.  The countries began to think how they could live pleasantly alongside each other rather than how to get rid of each other.  All they wanted to do was to have peace to enjoy this strange, wild, blissful music from the great singer in space."  (Ted Hughes, The Iron Giant)

How's your week going? :)

like every sparrow falling.

Oh, how I love holiday weekends!  I'm watching DVDs with my brother.  I'm justifying catching up on magazine reading.  I'm going to see a movie at a real theater.  I'm getting sucked into random TV shows.  Example:  This weekend, my sister called.  The conversation went like this: 

Her: So what are you doing? 

Me:  Watching Antiques Roadshow.

Her: *silence*

Her: Wow.  Don't get too crazy.

Before you judge me, or send me some Ensure in the mail, you should watch an episode. Antiques Roadshow is more fun than The Price is Right (except when they play Plinko).  The best part is guessing the dollar value for things people find in yard-sales and dumpsters and attics.  Equally fun (in a sick sort of way) is when someone brings a coin they think is from the Titanic and turns out to be a token from Chuck E. Cheese.  Riveting television.  It has edged my former favorite reality TV show: British House of Commons.  

I'm not a regular viewer of Antiques Roadshow.  However, I figure since it's a long weekend (or maybe even your spring break), it might be fun to talk about what I am watching/reading/listening to this Spring.  I would love to hear from you too :)  I'm always up for discovering new stuff.  I just got an iTunes gift card, so I'm particularly interested in songs you think are download worthy.

listening to:

The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists.  

"Every Grain of Sand".  One of my favorite songs is "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan. I like the version The Byrds sing, but I like Bob Dylan's version more.  The song is bittersweet, I think.  It sounds like a perfect Spring day when you're thinking about someone you miss, or something you want to do, or something that feels a little bit undone.  The song makes me feel content and restless at the same time ("I'm ready to go anywhere/ I'm ready for to fade.").  I think it's possible to feel both.  Another one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs is "Every Grain of Sand".  That's the song that has been on my mind for weeks ("In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand/ in every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.").  This is a plus because sometimes the songs that get stuck in my head are lame.  Remember the song called "How Bizarre" that came out in the 90's?  That one drives me crazy.  (You're welcome :).  "Every Grain of Sand" is gorgeous.  Dylan wrote and performed "Every Grain of Sand", but I especially like the way Derek Webb covers it.  My brother was the first person to send me this one (of course :).  Here's a glimpse:

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night

In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,

In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,

In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

- Bob Dylan, Every Grain of Sand, 1981

watching

** Discussing the next two items will also involve bragging on some friends.  However, I don't just like their work because they're my friends.  They happen to be pretty spectacular artists too.

Bird in My House, Angel in My Heart

My friend Jimmy is a filmmaker who lives in Brooklyn.  Jimmy and I have been friends since high school.  High School:  when all the kids hung out at Dawson's Creek, not in The Hills. When "fun" was riding around in a truck on Friday night (we drove up and down "the four lane" so named b/c it was the only four lane road in town).  When cell phones were just tracking devices.  *sigh* 

Anyway.  I remember looking at Jimmy's senior art exhibit already ecstatic about the day the rest of the world could see his work.  He left the mountains for NYC, where he went to art school, and then married Kohli, an actress/musician (I know.  I KNOW.  It's like talent is never divided equally among the masses!  J&K have a dog too and I'm sure the dog sculpts or sings or something).  "Bird in my house..." is their latest collaboration and, even though I'm a fan of their work in general, this is hands down my favorite.  In case it isn't obvious :), I like birds.  I poems and songs about birds. I like bird silhouettes.  One of my favorite parts in the Bible is when Jesus talks about sparrows.  I don't decorate my house with birds or anything (no Norman Bates crazy up in here), but I like the image.  I think it's sweet how something so fragile can fly.  Here's the gorgeous, lovely, awesome (and many other adjectives) video: 

reading

One of the books I'm most excited to read this spring is a novel called So Not Happening, written by my friend Jenny B. Jones.  Jenny's first books centered about a girl named Katie Parker and, from the start, I knew Katie would rock my world.   She's genuine and vulnerable and tough. Love it.  I also like any novel with a sassy granny, and the Katie Parker series gave me exactly that in Mad Maxine.   It is rare that a book makes me laugh and squeezes my heart and those books did both things.  I also like that Katie processes her faith in an honest way.  Sometimes in novels, it seems like the God-factor is just tossed in.  The girl wears designer boots and her boyfriend leaves her so finally she prays, has a big epiphany, kisses another guy whose name is ____ Darcy, and the end.  That never feels real to me.  Katie Parker's story (and struggle) feels more genuine.  She moves through a difficult family situation with tact, grace, and sadness that seems totally realistic.  And there's some romance and I like that too :)  (FYI: This blog is officially Team Tate territory.)

Just when I was mourning my exodus from In Between (Katie's Texas town), I found out Jenny's new series starts this spring.  Wah! This time, the story revolves around Isabella Kirkwood who moves from snazzy NYC to Boringtown, Oklahoma (which, according to Merle Haggard is "A place where even squares can have a ball.").  I read the first chapter on Jenny's site and now I'm going nutters waiting for the rest.  I'm so going to break my rule.  Usually, if a book is a series, I won't read it until the series is about to wrap because I HATE waiting.  It's why I'm not reading The Hunger Games until next year (or whenever the last one comes out).  It's partially why I was the last person to get on the Hogwarts Express.  For So Not Happening, I will make an exception.   You can read the first chapter of the book at Jenny's site and you can also read her blog, which is fabulous.

The following authors are not my friends.  I like them though, and I like their work.  I thought you might wanna check it out too :) 

The Adoration of Jenna Fox

I shall admit it.  I like sci-fi/paranormal/fantasy as long as those books are still character driven (however, when the characters have names like Tron and Voltar, I get nervous.  Then it becomes harder for me to get interested.  Example: Lord of the Rings.  Like the movies.  Can't get into the books).  I also like futuristic (or dystopian) novels so The Adoration of Jenna Fox piqued my interest as soon as I read the synopsis.  The story begins with Jenna waking up from a year long coma, remembering nothing about her former life.  The novel is set in the future (after the last wild polar bear has died, after an earthquake has sliced off most of the West Coast ...).  The time and setting give off a helpless (and mildly creepy) vibe from the start, which is only intensified when you realize Jenna's parents are keeping some big secrets from her.  I don't want to give anything else away because trying to figure out those secrets is one of the best parts of the novel.  The novel is written in first person (a trixy way of writing a novel but it works here) so you feel like you are discovering the truth as Jenna discovers it.  The book is a quick read.  The prose is lovely.  Downer: the epilogue at the end felt unnecessary to me.  I think it detracted a bit from the story.  But that's just one little thing.  The rest of the novel is quite interesting.  It's also a great conversation starter about what, or who, defines "life" and what a soul really is.  I would say this one is definitely a book for older readers (late high school and beyond).   Also, there is a granny but she's not sassy.

"Monet Refuses the Operation" by Liesel Muler

I'm not going to post any of the poem here, even though I want to.  I would rather you find it for yourself (you can probably find it online, or possibly in your library, or in the front of a collection of Anne Lammot essays called Plan B). Once you find it, DON'T look at it.  Save it for a day when the rain makes everything smudged and blurry, when you feel like you're stuck inside one of Monet's paintings.  Then read it and let the storm clouds be your canvas.  :)  

And finally ... Happy Easter, friends.  :)  

Let me know about some books, music, and movies making you happy these days!  

Love (and a Chuck E. Cheese token),

Natalie

fortune cookies and frank.

Screamers Welcome

I'm watching the end of American Idol with my brother.  Luckily, Chase taped Adam's song last night even though the DVR ended early.  I must admit: I really like Adam.  I've liked him all along.  I like him even when the screamies get gratitutious.  Even when he gets a little to friendly with the mic stand.  He sounds different and that makes me happy.  I think his song this week, which is possibly one of the most depressing songs in existence (or is it just that version that's depressing?  What does the Tears for Fears version sound like?), is his best performance so far. 

Incidentally, the song reminded me of Donnie Darko, which is possibly one of the most depressing movies I've ever seen.  I typically like low budget artsy movies but that one didn't do it for me.  I remember a large freaky rabbit (named Frank?), a funny infomercial Patrick Swayzie did, and then a very bizarre ending. (I wanted to make a Donny Darko joke with my Peeps pictures but decided against it.)  That was the first time I heard Gary Jules version of the Tears for Fears song Adam sang this week.  Didn't like the movie, but really liked the song.  It reminds me loneliness is, weirdly enough, a very universal feeling.  We all just want to be loved. *cue music*

Scott got booted and it makes me sad, though I agree it was time for him to go.  Scott is such a sweetie, no?  I'm going to miss him on the show.  And I'm going to miss seeing his family.  It's always really inspiring/uplifting to see someone keep moving toward their dream despite some serious setbacks (especially physical setbacks).  I wish they wouldn't keep dragging out the end though.  Just let the guy go home and fix his own hair again.  ( In the flashback montage, I realized how much better Scott's hair looked before the show started.  I don't always like the makeovers they do on here.)  Still, my allegiance remains the same.  I want Allison to win and Adam to come in second.  Go Fiyero!

A Place of Great Fortune

SO. If you've been a friend of mine for a few years, you know one of my favorite local restaurants is a Japanese place called Ichiban.  Mom says it's sort of a mom-and-pop cafe in a Hibachi sort of way.  I think she's onto something.  It's family owned and the staff is sweet and funny.  They make volcanoes out of onions and throw eggs at people who are eating.  Both positive attributes. Another positive is that the fortune cookies have cool fortunes.  I'm a big fan of PF Changs, but the fortunes there are lame.  Changs fortunes remind me of the stuff you write in a yearbook for someone you don't really know.  You don't want to just sign your name, but you have nothing sentimental to say, so you go generic.  "Have a great summer."  "So glad we're friends!"  Etc. Changs fortunes say things like: "You are a highly valued friend."  "The sun feels warmer in Summer."  "Chicken".  Etc.   

But the Ichiban ... it is not like the others.  I crack open my fortune and feel as though I'm in the beginning scene of a really corny chick flick.  It's my favorite part of eating there besides watching the chef make the volcano (and then throw salt in the flame so it sparks so he can yell "FIREWORKS!").

Once, I got a fortune at Ichiban telling me I would find something I lost, something that mattered very much to me.  The next week, I found a very important yellow notepad I'd gone all over the city trying to find.  Turns out it was under a blanket, under my pink writing chair, folded to the page I'd been working on.  

Another time my Ichiban fortune read, "the one you love is closer than you think."  I almost choked on Diet Coke due to the excitement.  The next day (!), I was at Wal-Mart helping my dad find tape for his "manly photo album with notes"* when a handsome guy in a yellow polo walked around the corner, smiled, and winked at me.  This may happen very often for you, but for me a handsome guy clearly flirting with me is an event that ranks right up there with flying pigs and affordable Coldplay tickets.  I never saw him again, but that's beside the point.

I came to a simple conclusion:  One must trust the Ichiban.  

This week, I cracked open my fortune to read the following:  you will soon go on a vacation that makes you very happy.  Yessss!  I'm still waiting to see what it is, but I'm psyched.  I will keep you posted.  

Paperdolls Everywhere

Kaylene saw my book being stocked on a shelf in Dallas!  She walked in while they were putting it on the shelf.  And they faced it out, so thanks LifeWay associates near the toll! :)   She called and we had a screamfest together.  She also took a cool picture.  Kaylene is a nanny to uber-cutie Matthew.  The pic is of Matthew holding the book.  Trust when I say Matthew is cooler at five (?) than most hipster twenty-somethings I know. Knowing my book is Matthew approved is big compliment.  He preferred a Veggie Tales video but still.

This month's issue of Elle has a fashion layout called "All Dolled Up" where the theme is paperdolls (!). The paperdolls all have vintage paperdoll bodies and model heads.  A paperdoll, in my book, is a metaphor for longing and obsession ... particularly with celebrities and covergirls and the way their lives look perfect on a page.  One of the key themes in the book is finding peace with the body I have. Beautiful isn't a standard defined by modern media, but I forget that all the time.  The irony is, even when I'm focused on becoming a caricature of a girl who has her life together, when my only goal is owning more, and having the right guy notice me, and looking a certain way and so on (ie: when I'm looking for love in empty jacked up places) ... I become kinda flat.  No ambition, no thoughts of my own, no dreams or goals, no restless feeling over all the horrible stuff happening in the world.  The book is a reminder (I hope :) that you're free to be you, and that you get to do something amazing with your life, no airbrushing required.  Which is why I love the Kelly Clarkson interview in the same issue of Elle.  When asked about her new album cover, she said the following:  

"...I wanted my fans to know how airbrushed those photos were, so I wrote about it on my blog: 'I hope you all know, no one really looks like this.' I think it's awesome to point out the reality of what goes on, because I remember when I was a kid looking at those images in magazines and being like, 'How can I ever live up to this?' The truth is that its just makeup and lighting; this industry is not normal." 

She also discusses her new song "I don't Hook Up": 

"It's a great pop song and at the same time it has a cool message.  It's saying it's okay not to be the girl who parties too much and sleeps around; it's okay to be the girl who wants something solid.  I believe that."  

Kelly Clarkson is definitely, decidedly, not a paperdoll :)  Sarah and I saw her in concert a few years ago and the concert was a blast.  She's my favorite American Idol and "Since You've Been Gone" is still one of my favorite treadmill songs And if I like a song even when I'm listening to it on a torture device that is a treadmill, it's a keeper.  

In case I don't update again this weekend ... Happy Easter everybody :)  

*My dad retired from the Navy last year.  He's been putting together a book full of all his amazing pics.  The nature of this project led me to call it a "scrapbook", and thus tell him he was "scrapbooking".  Dad thought this was too girly an explanation.  He told me his book was a "manly photo album with notes."  :)

Love (and prize eggs),

Natalie

chewy crunchy words.

As I migrated all over the rainy south last week, various issues worthy of discussion began swarming in el braino.  And we go:

Thoughts about same-side-booth-sitters (SSBSers):

Here's the thing:  I consider myself a very romantic person.  I go bonkers over love stories. Love songs make my arms tingle.  I am highly affectionate.  And yet, and yet.  When it comes to sitting on the same side of a table and/or booth as the handsome guy I'm all gushy over (when it's just the two of us) ... meh.  I don't really see the point. Obviously you want to sit beside someone if there are lots of people.  But what about when it's just a regular date?  When there's no TV you're watching?  When there's really no reason to sit on the same side?  How is that convenient?

Example: I took my Dad to one of my favorite restaurants this weekend, a burger place in Knoxville called Litton's that is a pinnacle of deliciousity. While there, I noticed an adorable (high school) couple at the table behind us.  It was just the two of them.  He pulled out her chair for her (aw :) then moved to sit down across from her.  She said, "No, sit by me." SSBSers. Sometimes that situation becomes too much.  Sometimes I see SSBSers feed each other.  I've never understood why feeding another person is sometimes perceived as romantic.  Just in general same-side-booth-sitting lends itself to problems.  Isn't it a little bit harder to talk when you're sitting side by side?  I guess the perk is that, if you're a messy eater, nobody is going to see ketchup squeeze out of the bun and onto your shirt.  I wanted to put a poll here but I don't know how to make it show up, so you tell me:

In your opinion SSBSers are ... 

A.) adorable and romantic.  "Sit by me sweetie, and I will feed you all the fries on my heart shaped plate."

B.) annoying.  "Back off, Bucko.  I'm trying to eat my burger."

Thoughts about magazines and music:

The new issue of Rolling Stone has a picture of ... (I don't know his name.  Looking ... looking ... looking ... found it!) ... Lil Wayne on the cover.  It would appear that he has tattoos on his eyelids.  ON HIS EYELIDS.  I think tattoos are cool; gorgeous even. But on your eyelids?!  In the book Pretties (or was it Specials?), Tally got a funky tattoo around her eye that spun and swirled.  That was cool.  In one of the Indiana Jones movies, I remember a girl writing "love you" on her eyelids and then batting her lashes at Professor Jones.  That was funny.  In real life, I cannot fathom the pain tattooed eyelids would entail.  Also, I cannot fathom the point of having a tattoo in that location but perhaps I'm just not seeing the big picture. 

That's not what I was going to rant about.  I just get carried away sometimes. 

RS mentions the new Decemberists album, The Hazards of Love, which my brother has been raving about.  RS calls Love a rock opera and Chase says that is accurate.  I really like it when musicians make a story of a whole album.  I listened to a few songs yesterday and they were lovely.  (A note: any cool music I hear is usually because my brother told me to listen to it.  The rest of the time, I google the song I heard playing on Smallville).  In RS, Colin Meloy lists some of the art that has inspired his music over the years (I love it when artists write about the art that inspires them!).  Most are folk CDs (Anne Briggs, Belle and Sebastian, etc.), but he also lists Under the Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas.  Meloy says this: 

"If there is something nonmusical that has influenced me, it's this.  It was a radio play - a play for voices, Thomas called it.  It's part prose, part poetry, telling about a day in the life of a Welsh fishing village.  The musicality of the language is gorgeous - if you read it aloud, you can chew the words." (p.26, April issue)

I like that :)  Well done, Colin!  The last song on your new CD is my favorite.

On things that make me nervous (and booky information :):

I'm doing a couple of interviews for Paperdoll this week plus a few little radio blurbs.  This means  you'll have an opportunity to pipe my twang through your very own speakers in a matter of weeks.   Confetti, etc.  

On a more serious note, this venture is giving me heartburn. :)

Both interviewers are kind, intelligent, sweet people with great ministries. They both liked the book (yay :). I'm floored (and more than a little surprised) they wanted to talk about it on their podcasts.  But, if I have to be honest (and I do because honesty is valued here in the swamp) ... I'm all kinds of jittery nervous.  I'm better at writing than I am when it comes to talking about what I write.* I tend to trip over words a great deal or say something I think is funny that isn't really funny at all.  I'm anticipating many flubs.  Still, I figure everybody gets nervous about something, si? And it's good to occasionally get over yourself and do something you're afraid of.  I'm happy with what the book became and the message made a big impression on me.  It will be fun to have some conversation about it (not scary - FUN - this is what I keep telling myself).  And if I say something stupid, like if I say "fart" instead of "part"** or whatever, we can all laugh about it and still be friends.  

Also in the way of booky news:  even though the release date isn't technically until May, Paperdoll is already in stock over on Amazon (click the book in the side to get there if you're procrastinating).  Wah!  It will be in stock over on CBD.com pretty soon too (and it's cheaper over there :)  And get a load of this: 

*electronic drumkit roll*

It's on a shelf!

I went to dinner with my two best friends on Friday night.  Before meeting up with Sarah, Melanie and I ran in a bookstore to see if it was there, and had minor-nervous breakdowns when we found it.  I didn't even have to plant one there for pictorial purposes.  Not that I had considered that, of course.  We did do a bit of modification though.  Paperdoll was pretty and pink and all alone on the shelf so we pushed some books over beside it.  :)  Friends who help you manipulate coolness are keepers.  

About comments:

I hear from various sources that leaving comments on here is sometimes difficult.  Blog is a cranky monster.  My apologies. :)  First of all, you don't have to have a blogger or wordpress or anything like that to comment.  You can click the Name/URL category (and you don't even have to leave a URL) and use that to leave a comment.  Friends with Firefox seem to be able to leave comments easier.  If you use Explorer, you might have to click it twice or click for a preview and then click "post".  Let me know if Blog is still being feisty and I'll get my technology wizards (ie: my awesome friends) to check it out again.  

Happy Monday! :) 

* This is a bit different with fiction.  Why is it harder to talk about something real?

** Actually happened.  Back when I was a youth intern, I was talking about a passage in Corinthians and I said "a fart" instead of "a part".  Lovely.

Love (and eye tattoos),

Natalie