Assume we're ALWAYS grading on a curve

I've been quiet here lately, by virtue of the fact that I have things to say, but wringing them out of my brain is tricky (delicate understatement), so when they do start to flow (deeply regretting this metaphor), I need to make sure they end up in Important Places (because oh my God, there are pieces of this damn book I've been working on for five (5!) years already, and can it be done now so that I can give my friends copies and afford rent?).

But today I needed to document something pivotal. Today I finally settled on my song of the summer. Now that I've said that, I will, of course, change my mind tomorrow.

Last summer, this was my song. (Key lyric: Decisions to decisions are made and not bought/but I thought/this wouldn't hurt a lot/I guess not...)

This summer, it's this.*

I still hear that first lyric and think it's true. I know it's true. But I hear Ms. Spektor singing "Good is better than perfect" and at LEAST 15% of me is willing to entertain the possibility that she could maybe perhaps be right. Just a little.

We are calling this "progress."

Also, not for nothing, but I think if I met the man this song describes I'd fall in love instantly, if not sooner. This is the point at which one of you is going to tell me that I'm missing something really creepy about it all, like the time I thought "I Will Poeses Your Heart" was really romantic, and it turned out it was about stalkers. Incidentally, I also thought "I'm Every Woman" was "Climb Every Woman" until well into my teens, but that is perhaps less relevant to what we are discussing now.

*Give it a minute to buffer. (That's what she said?)

The name itself sort of funny. Just. FYI.

So, I just did a Facebook search for the (unusual) name written in the front of a used book, then found the person and started trying to figure out, based on their profile, why they would want to sell said book, and then stopped abruptly, because oh my God, I'm the woman alone in her apartment wearing popsicle-stained pajamas and stalking strangers in a triumphant melding of book resales and the Internet, and THAT IS CREEPY.

Sometimes you just Know.

I'm watching Nicholas Cage in the Criterion Collection Release (just kidding) of Knowing right now, and I'm less than ten minutes in.

So far the film has included a precocious child in the 1950s, the preparation of a time capsule, a marching band, a well-intentioned but clueless teacher, the precocious child (possibly an orphan?) found in the school basement after something terrible was done to/by her resulting in blood, endless scrolling numbers, images that appear to be satellite photos of the entire world or something, a precocious child in the present day, a pet rabbit with an excellent-looking hutch, an over-sized telescope, the rings of Saturn, a child's conversion to vegetarianism and a parent's over-the-top protestations to same, antlers, two tigers gettin' all playful with each other on the Discovery channel, a house that is supposed to be "quirky" but is really just somewhere Nicholas Cage's character could clearly not afford given what appears to be his current station in life, Nicholas Cage's character drinking a glass of red wine with a bit too much gusto, Nicholas Cage's character grilling hot dogs, and last but CERTAINLY not least, Nicholas Cage's both bewildering and beguiling forehead.

This will be the greatest cinematic experience of my life, obvz.

Selective Memory

Me: Man, I really don't remember anything about our graduate school graduation.

Friend: That's because you stayed home to watch the season finale of The Office.

Reality Television Scares Me To DEATH.

New York update to come. Pinkie swear.

Too soon?

Sarah: farrah fawcett was a BABE

me: I KNOW

I feel bad for her

because this [Michael Jackson's death] will steal her thunder

media-wise

which is what I'm sure she cared about on her deathbed

Sarah: total babe

yeah, like when mother theresa died right after princess diana no one really cared.

me: you know, though, if any good comes out of this tragedy, it's that I'll no longer confuse farrah fawcett and goldie hawn

Sarah: is it innapropriate to write that on my facebook right now?

me: hahaha

I don't care if you do

Sarah: this morning when i heard the news i was like 'i loved her in On Golden Pond!'

me: hahahahhahaah

Sarah: and then i was informed that that was jane fonda

THEY LOOK THE SAME

me: yeah, I worried all day about HOW KURT RUSSELL WAS TAKING IT. I'm probz gonna blog this whole dialog

Sarah: HAHHAHAAAAAAA

yeah, please do

The disclaimer, of course, is that OBVIOUSLY her death is properly tragic, &c. And other than the abstract "he died and that's sad" (with a side order of sorrow about how he probably felt very, very alone), I don't have strong feelings about Michael Jackson's death. This is odd, given that I have strong feelings about basically everything else in the known universe. Huh.

31

Tonight I sat around with my parents, brother, and future sister-in-law, listening to a tape we recorded for my grandmother when I was a little girl. We were a ridiculous, lovely family back then (and we still are), and so the tape included such highlights as my use of the word "unpredictable" at the age of 3, my fretting over forgetting to make a card for my uncle's birthday, an all-family rendition of "Children of the Heavenly Father," a refusal to recite a poem blamed on my imaginary friend, and a recounting of the plot of The Great Mouse Detective.

We moved on to dinner afterward. My family's long since given up trying to find a restaurant that serves "Lauren food." I'm a notoriously picky eater -- I'm better than I once was, when I went off to college with a roster of maybe five foods I enjoyed eating. I settled on pesto pasta, which I usually like, but what arrived at the table wasn't something I enjoyed. I finally passed a forkful over to my mom.

"Taste this and tell me why I don't like it."

She chewed slowly. "Too much basil." Exactly right.

Just an ordinary night, spent celebrating a 31st wedding anniversary with my family. Nothing too special. But when I think about how lucky I am to have them, it knocks the wind out of me.