Kick-Ass Songs!

Today, I bring to you my list of “Kick-Ass Songs.” Otherwise known as the songs on my iPod that I clean to.

Back in Black by AC/DC
Smooth by Carlos Santana
Elevation by U2
Punjab Paddy by Gaelic Storm
Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N Roses
American Idiot by Green Day
Jump in the Line by Harry Belafonte
Brown-Eyed Girl by Jimmy Buffett
Hell by Squirrel Nut Zippers
Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi (who are going to be on The West Wing! Would someone explain that to me, please?)
Goodbye Earl by the Dixie Chicks
Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes
Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show by Neil Diamond

Before you know it, the apartment won’t smell like cat pee anymore.

I'm bored...

I apologize in advance for this exceedingly stupid blog, but I was bored and thought I'd torment the four people who read this! Have fun...

Nicknames: Kate, Annie, Kati-Bug, Kati-Kins, Ducky Daddles, and Ladybug.
Date of Birth: December 28, 1979
Parents: Possum and Critter
Sibs: Do cats count?
Pets/names: Quincy the fat-ass and Brid the lady. (Albert the fish kicked off yesterday.)
Jobs: In the past: generator repair, dance teacher to munchkins, bill payer for McDonald’s, and stocking slave at Hastings. Presently: web referral specialist for 1-800-Dentist.
Hobbies: Stage managing for Banshee, reading, sewing, and tormenting the cat.
Things I collect: Ticket stubs.
Best advice ever given: Carpe diem.
Word or phrases you use too much: "What do you want from me?"
Non-sport game in which you excel: Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit!
A non-sport game you enjoy: Clue or Rummikub.
Favorite amusement park ride: Space Mountain and Indiana Jones at Disneyland. California Screamin’ at California Adventure.
Character traits I look for: Loyalty, a sense of humor, and fearlessness!
What I want to be: me.
Denomination: How about you guess that one…
Favorite music: U2, Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Buffett.
Favorite Food: Clam Chowder and lettuce wraps at P.F. Chang’s.
Favorite Vacation: That I’ve been to: London and Tuscany. That I’d love to go to: Ireland and Egypt.
Favorite Actors: Hugh Laurie, the beloved John Spencer, Viggo Mortensen.
Favorite Actresses: Allison Janney, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Maggie Smith.
Favorite Movies: Men in Black, Raiders of the Lost Ark, A&E's Pride & Prejudice (or the new one, actually), the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Batman Begins.
Favorite music video: Vertigo!
Favorite animals: Otters! They're fun to watch!
Favorite T.V. show: The West Wing WITH Aaron Sorkin and House. Also, The Daily Show and the Colbert Report! I love Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert! Can't wait for the Oscars...
Favorite Day of Week: Friday or Tuesday (That’s House night!)
Favorite Months: December!
Favorite holiday: Christmas and my birthday! They're SO close, they count as one!
Favorite part of the newspaper: The Comics (Get Fuzzy!) and Dave Barry's column!
Favorite books: The Blue Sword, The Beekeeper's Apprentice, Killer Angels, A Pirate Looks at Fifty, and A Man on the Moon!
Tartar control or whitening: Tartar control.
Favorite Cereal: If I have to eat it, Fruit Loops.
Peanut or Regular M&M's: Regular
Favorite M&M Color: Couldn’t care less.
Soda or Pop: Coke!
Favorite beer: Bass.
Favorite alcoholic beverage: Gin and tonics or ruby slippers.
Hardest thing for you to do: Admit weakness and step out of my comfort zone.
Biggest fears: Snakes, clowns, and E.T. (Shudder!)
Carnivore or Herbivore: Carnivore, but less so as time passes.

Queen of Quotations!

I am a quote FANATIC! I thought I’d share a small fraction of my favorites!

“For all times coexist and the future can sometimes affect the past, even though the past is a road that leads to the future.”
-The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper

“And below, in the cool cellar, lie row upon row the dusty bottles, each an enchanted glass coffin in which the sleeping beauty of the vine grows ever more ravishing in sleep.”
- “The Bibulous Business of a Matter of Taste” by Dorothy L. Sayers

“Roses are for love. Not forget-me-not, honeysuckle, silly sweethearts’ love but the love that makes you and keeps you whole, love that gets you through the worst your life’ll give you and that pours out of you when you’re given the best instead.”
- Rose Daughter by Robin McKinley

“You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.”
-Henry V by William Shakespeare

“All right, that’s confiscated. All of it. And I want you on the next transport off this rock or I’m gonna shoot you where it don’t grow back.”
-Men in Black

“Did you know that your navel is a good place to keep salt when you’re eating celery in bed?”
-Red Noses by Peter Barnes
(For Andrew.)

“His whole manner suggested one continuous train of solid, round, furry thought, and he was mumbling softly to himself.”
-The Mouse and His Child by Russell Hoban and David Small
(Furry thought! I love it!)

“Why don’t we put a camera on your head? That way we can get your POV. Julie-cam!”
-Speechless
(Just for you, Possum!)

“Words ought to be a little wild, for they are the assaults of thought on the unthinking.”
-John Maynard Keynes

“Your actions today would get the Archbishop of Canterbury declared non-compos.”
“I’m not the Archbishop of Canterbury!”
“That will come at a later stage of your illness.”
-What the Butler Saw by Joe Orton

“A book reads better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog’s ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.”
-Charles Lamb
(For anyone who has seen me read the same book 15 times!)

“Death is just another path. One we all must take. The gray rain curtain of this world rolls back and it all turns to silver glass. . . and then you see it. . . . White shores. . . and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”
-The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien (Tweaked by Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillippa Boyens)

“They sent me two turkeys. The more photo-friendly of the two gets a presidential pardon and a full life in a children’s zoo. The runner up gets eaten.”
“If the Oscars were like that, I’d watch.”
-The West Wing, “Shibboleth” by Aaron Sorkin (and his cronies)

“Possum is nasty!”
-An unknown soldier of the Civil War, quoted from Mine Eyes Hath Seen
(For Sean.)

“At last the secret is out,
As it always must come in the end,
The delicious story is ripe to tell an intimate friend;
Over tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its design;
Still waters run deep, My Dear,
There’s never smoke without fire.”
-W.H. Auden

“I will buy you a coat. Chinchilla. Something that was once small and innocent, but is now . . . a coat!”
-Tango ‘til They’re Sore by Matthew Hancock
(For Robyn!)

“I have a plan so cunning, you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.”
-BlackAdder Goes Forth

“Union rules. I can’t examine this guy’s seeping gonorrhea this close to lunch.”
-House, “Autopsy”

“I’ve woken to a dream of Africa; to torchwood trees and veldts and the rustle of savannah grass. This is a land of wonder, of drums in darkness, of wild teak and nesting doves. All around me, the rhino ambles, the zebra quietly roams, and tall birds wade along the deep lake’s edge. Who knew the velvet ink of night, the splendor of the sun above the mountain’s rim? Leopards weave their trails across the landscape of my heart. Here is a mystery for my spirit as it softly wanders; a riddle for my seeking soul: Africa has spoken, whispering, just drink of me, and I will share the secrets of the Earth.”
-Debra Bokur (Found on a Celestial Seasonings box!)

Banshee, the Bathroom, and My Bra

I’m stage manager for a local theatre company here in Burbank. (Insert shameless plug here. Check out Theatre Banshee at http://www.theatrebanshee.org/) I was thinking about one of my theatre nightmares the other night and thought I’d share. All actors have some sort of “Nightmare Scenario” running around in their heads. Well, this is a stage manager’s worst fear.

One night during our last show, I realized that if I didn’t go to the bathroom right then, I’d have to battle the crowd at intermission. I waited until a nice long scene, crept quietly out of my booth, and sprinted around to the back of the theatre and into the men’s bathroom. I think Josie (one of our actors) was in the women’s. Now, the lock on the door of the men’s is a little temperamental. I know this because I had a guy walk in on me one day while I was peeing. (He was so embarrassed and I really didn’t give a damn. Poor guy.) So, anyway, I finish my business and turn around to open the door and it won’t budge. I’m pulling on it and thinking, “Holy hell, that next cue is in just a couple of minutes and it won’t happen if I’m not there! The actors will be standing there, waiting for something to happen and it WON’T!!!” My cell phone was in the booth, of course. After many FRANTIC seconds (although, it felt like a decade), I got the damned door open and made it back to the booth RIGHT before my cue. My breathing didn’t return to normal for about an hour.

Another amusing stage managing story I have is from a show called What the Butler Saw. (For no apparent reason, really, as there’s no butler in the story AT ALL.) In the course of the show, which is a farce, just about everybody ends up in their under wear. The story of the second act picks up RIGHT where the first act leaves off. We had a clock on the set and before we started the second act, I would go out and move the minute hand back the 10 minutes that had passed during intermission. Well, one night I decided to do it without my shirt on. Long black skirt and black bra. The actors looked at me like I was slightly crazy (which I was) and when I stepped out on stage, a hush fell over the crowd. Then the clapping started. And a friend of mine said, “That’s classic!” After that day, it was common practice to lose my shirt before changing the clock.

All That Jazz!

So, shortly after I moved to LA, I went to see Chicago at the local movie theatre. Now, there are three of them within a fairly small space. I left nice and early so I could get there, park, get a big Coke, and find my seat. The first theatre (that I thought was the right one) wasn’t even showing Chicago! I walked over the second theatre in the mall and found they didn’t have another showing for an hour and a half. Damn it. By now, it was time for the show to start and I thought, “Well, there will be fifteen previews and 20 commercials, so I should be fine.” I got to the third theatre to find the show had already started and I had missed half of “All that Jazz,” which is my favorite song. I wasn’t too disturbed. This just gave me an excuse to go see it again.

Since the show had already started, I had to sit in the back in one of those seats next to the handicapped spaces. About halfway through the movie, I hear someone come in behind me. And they were mumbling to themselves. I also heard what sounded like a two liter bottle of Coke being dribbled onto the floor. I thought, “No, that CAN’T be what I think it is!” Sure enough, the dude was peeing right behind me. In VERY short order, some nice theatre employees had come to escort Mr. Piddle out. I made sure my purse was off the ground and decided that if it started to smell, I’d move.

When I left, they had a wet floor sign over it, but since it was carpet there wasn’t much more they could do. (That theatre was torn down shortly later and replaced by a fabulously nice theatre right next door.) I got home and asked my aunt if this was a normal happening in LA. She was most emphatic that it was NOT NORMAL for anywhere!

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Utah anymore!

The Little Things

Being in Utah for Christmas made me remember the things that I love about it. It’s the little details. The branches of the mimosa tree outside my bedroom window and how they look when it snows. The silence. It gets so quiet that you can hear the train whistles all the way down at the station. In Burbank, there’s this constant white noise from the freeway and it’s kind of eerie when that’s missing. I miss the field of goats on North St. and their little billy-goats-gruff bridge. I miss Ben Lomond and how beautiful it looks on a clear day. And that’s just it. A CLEAR day. So much less smog. And you can see the stars at night. You also only pay $3.50 for the early movie matinee. (And no one pees in the movie theatre! Stay tuned for that story in a future blog...)

Jimmy Buffett says that where you’re from is home. He says he’ll never live in Alabama again, but he still considers it home. That’s how I feel about Utah. Sometimes it makes me crazy, but when I fly into the Salt Lake Valley and see the Wasatch mountains, it’s comfortable and reassuring. Home.

Snakes in Your Car

I recently went to visit my clan in Utah. When I got there, my dad greeted me with the news that one of my favorite actors had died. John Spencer was amazing on The West Wing. If you ever saw an episode, you know what I mean. (Particularly the episode "Bartlet for America," for which he finally won an Emmy!) He leant gravitas and poise to the show and watching him act was a pleasure. I loved watching him interact with his colleagues and, as much as I love the rest of the cast, Leo was always my favorite.

When they did that dumb-ass stunt of giving him a heart attack last season, I was the first to swear profusely and turn off the TV. (Me and Sean. That's why I love you, man.) I was reluctantly and only vaguely pulled back in. But, when it hit me that he would be running for Vice President, I was willing to give the whole thing another shot. My interest has been waning in the last few months and now that John Spencer has passed into that fabulous theatre in the sky, I'll be hard pressed to keep my interest up.

I can see how this new fangled, realistic West Wing would capture the public, but I have to say that I desperately miss the idealistic world of Aaron Sorkin. The beauty of the writing and the fabulous mix of humor and profundity. The DVD's let me remember how wonderful it was.

So, here's to John Spencer. I won't forget him easily and I hope that where he's gone he can drink as much scotch as he wants.

"If the president's wearing a hat or that thing has a Bartlet button, I'm hiding snakes in your car."
"Leo, don't say that! Not even as a joke!"
"You'll never know how many there are or if you got 'em all out! Gonna lay their eggs right in your glove compartment."

The Day I Slapped Bobby Yacovetti

A phrase that catches the eye, yes? My mom thinks it should be the title of a short story. But, I did indeed slap Bobby Yacovetti. In elementary school. He was a toad and I'm glad I made him cry.

We were on the way in from recess and I was calling for my friends to wait for me. Bobby Yacovetti looked at me and said, "Shut up, Kati." He used a very slimy, nasty tone and I slapped him as hard as I could across his pudgy little cheek. He broke down in sobs.

The best part is, I don't remember getting in trouble for it. My mom didn't know until YEARS later and was more amused than mad at me. I don't remember scoldings from my teacher either. But talk about a funny story. Sigh.

Here Comes the Sun!

The Solstice is my preferred religious winter holiday. Christmas is about family and food, but Solstice is more about my beliefs. Solstice (for those who don't know) is the shortest day of the year and the longest night. For those of us who practice more... nature centered religions, this day is the celebration of the return of the light. The days start getting longer and it stays light later. It's pretty simple, really. And a lovely idea if you think about it. It's been cold and nasty and dark and with the 21st of December, all that turns around.

Now, I don't have any special traditions to go with Solstice like I do with Christmas, but my mom and dad and I have a glass of wine with our tasty dinner and drink a toast to the very beginning of spring. Blessed be.

'Tis the Season... to EAT!

So, Christmas in my family is a big to-do. Not that we're hugely religious about it. No midnight mass, no nativity scene on the mantel (Or as I used to call them, to my mom's amusement, "Jesus Things.") Christmas Eve is the big night. We all gather and we each have our food that has to be there. Uncle Kelly makes Hum Bow (Asian dumplings), Grandmother (or GM) makes chicken livers wrapped in bacon (and may, or may not set them on fire in the oven), GM also makes champagne punch, I make hot artichoke dip, Brenda brings shrimp, Grandfather (or GF) makes those little cocktail wenies, Debbie brings fluff salad (which involves cottage cheese and probably Jello), and if you're lucky Auntie Vind makes egg nog. (No, you can't leave the rum out!)

We sit around my grandparent's living room and eat until we think we'll all pop. Jennie, my best friend, usually stops by. She'd rather come to our party than her own family's. We exchange our psycho presents. (Last year, I gave her a tank top that said "Heathen." And this was for CHRISTMAS. The year before, I gave her a shirt that said CORONER from the L.A. County Coroner's Office. They have a kick-ass gift shop on their website, by the way.) Sometimes, GM and Debbie can con Wendy, Amanda, and me into singing Still, Still, Still for everyone. It usually makes Amanda cry, though, so it doesn't happen every year.

Occasionally, someone sets something on fire. Now, my family has this amazing propensity for combustion. One year, GM almost set the chicken livers on fire and filled the kitchen with smoke. Another year, Kelly leaned over a candle on the coffee table and set the arm of his sweater on fire. He smacked at it and it went out. The only thing that let you know something untoward had happened, was a slight toasty smell about his persona. We aren't fazed at all by open flames. There was a summer when GF was grilling salmon on the BBQ and something caught fire. Before we knew it, there were two foot flames shooting out of the grill. Smoke was filling the house. Our friend Susan was asking if we should be calling the fire department and the rest of us are just watching and saying, "No, it'll be OK." There was a badminton set behind the BBQ that was sent to the gameroom in the sky that day. There were also some BIG panes of glass, waiting to go into the windows on the patio. The sound of them shattering was like cannon fire and there was glass EVERYWHERE! The salmon was a little charred, but very tasty.

But, back to Christmas. No presents are opened on Christmas Eve, although sometimes I'll get a new dress for the party. It used to be that the whole family would spend the night. And Christmas morning would be an orgy of present giving. And GF would burn all the wrapping paper in the fireplace. Now, we do the present giving in waves. As people show up, they get their loot. After the presents are done, we all sit around playing our new games, watching our new movies, and being sloths. My favorite Christmas Day was spent watching it snow and snow and snow, sitting inside by the fire, watching episode after episode of The West Wing. And eating leftovers, of course. Christmas morning, we always have breakfast casserole (egg, cheese, and sausage goodness). Mum buys pastries. And we having Morning Glories. That's what they are in Utah. Everywhere else, they're Mimosas. For Christmas dinner, GM makes ham and cheesy potatoes (aka funeral potatoes, because they're at EVERY Utah funeral).

It's amazing how set in our ways we are, since most of us aren't Christian. It's more about the food and people we love. I look forward to it every year. I'm counting the days. To quote the song, "Although, it's been said many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you."

Next week, we'll talk about the other end of the spectrum and Solstice...

Strange and Splendid

A number of people have asked me if it's true that my mom organized a coronation for our cats. Yes, she did. A few years ago. It involved pound cake and a can of whipped cream. Each cat got a piece of cake with cream on top. They all licked off the cream and ignored the cake. That was when we named them. There was Her Royal Highness Titania, Queen of the Fairies; Sir Piwakkit Percival Softcat; Lord Michael of Yore and Anon; and Lady Gwendolyn of Light and Music. Now, this wasn't just my mom's doing. Oh, no. My dad and I played our parts as well.

But, my mom is a fascinating woman. At the moment, she's getting ready for one of her infamous teas. She has one about four times a year. Since, I would be put to death for revealing any details about the upcoming festivities, I'll flashback to one of the previous teas to give you an idea of how enthusiastic -- that is to say, crazy -- she is.

The last one I attended was based on a children's book called "When the Sky is Like Lace" by Elinor Lander Horwitz. It's old, but if you can find it, it's definitely worth a read. It's about how on "bimulous" nights, the sky looks like lace and everything is a "strange and splendid plum purple."

Part of the book is about how everyone gives gifts on bimulous nights. Red marbles, kites, anything chartreuse, honey, home-made marshmallow fudge, and coconuts. Well, mum took one of these items to each woman with her invitation. And when the time came, during the party, we all whipped out our presents and exchanged with each other. (I had to talk her into the coconuts, but they were a huge hit! And I really did home-make the marshmallow fudge. Who says I can't be sucked in?)

Another one of the gifts you can give on bimulous nights is three fireflies in a jar. Mum was looking on the internet just for a picture of a firefly, but found instead a RECIPE for a cocktail called a "Firefly." (Check out the Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails at www.lupec.org for a fun time. Motto: "Dismantling the patriarchy one drink at a time.") Most people would have served them in highball glasses and have been done with it. Mum, however, got those little canning jars, PAINTED fireflies on them, and THEN served the drink in them! (Don't run them through the dishwasher! Wash them by hand!)

Another thing about bimulous nights when the sky is like lace, is that the grass smells like gooseberry jam and if you walk on it barefoot, it feels like the inside of a very old violin case. So, one of the party favors was a jar of gooseberry jam. (Did you guess?) And to find out if there's going to be a bimulous night, you look at the man in the moon through a clean white handkerchief and if he winks his left eye, then you know it's time. We all got a handkerchief as well. The food to eat on bimulous nights is spaghetti with pineapple sauce. I have to say, we did skip that part.

Her other quirks seem to escape me at the moment, but I'm sick. I'm sure I'll have other blogs about my beloved Possum, so for now, I'll end with my favorite bit from the book...

"The snails sulk under the cinnamon bush until the moon is high. Then they line up two by two and march down to the grove to watch the trees dance. Because, on bimulous nights when the sky is like lace, the trees eucalyptus back and forth, forth and back, swishing and swaying, swaying and swishing - in the fern deep grove at the midnight end of the garden."

Feed me, Bitch! I'm FAT!

It starts each night at 5:15, or so. The meowing. The staring. The trying to trip you every time you stand up. It's almost dinner time for Quincy. Quincy is the cat. My roommate, Robyn's cat. He's large. No, you don't understand. When I say large, I mean Jabba the Hutt LARGE! When she took him to the vet recently, he weighed over 24 pounds! He's no pixie. And his attitude is that of a disgruntled postal worker that hasn't had a day off in 15 years. Despite the fact, that the most strenuous thing Quincy does in his life is jumping on and off the bed.

One of my hobbies is tormenting Q. It takes very little effort on my part and Robyn and I find it to be highly amusing. Just touching him in the wrong spot or moving when he's on your lap will set off the growling. Robyn always says that he doesn't like to be touched in his "bathing suit area." We figure it's one of those 1910's, one-piece, knee-to-neck numbers, cause he'll get pissed pretty much anywhere you touch him. The top of his head is really the only safe spot. (But, it has to be his idea.)

Dinner time is very important to Quincy. From his woeful meows, you'd think we never feed him. He's absolutely certain he's wasting away and will die at any moment. We won't feed him until seven, but he starts asking nice and early. He thinks we'll cave if he annoys us enough. And sometimes, we do.

Living with Q was just peachy until we got our newest addition. Brid needed a home. Brid is a ladylike, normal-sized cat who's the softest creature ever to grace the planet Earth. And Quincy hates her. I have to say, the feeling is mutual. To Q, she is Nermal. The adorable, annoying interloper who has invaded his space and stolen part of his affection. To B, Quincy is the gigantoid, mutant behemoth that lurks in the kitchen doorway so she can't get to her food. They growl, they hiss, and -- worst of all -- they pee.

"My apartment!"
"No, MY apartment!"
"Bite me!"
"Watch me!"

What a mess it was! With a little tweaking and a lot of swearing, we seem to have, at least, lessened the damned peeing. (It was when someone peed in my laundry basket on my dirty clothes that I came closest to the bag-in-the-river method. I'm not naming names, but I know it wasn't me and I'm pretty sure Robyn only pees on her own laundry.) They've come to a reluctant armed truce. They still growl and hiss and, occasionally, Quincy will have a lapse of sanity and thwack Brid on the ass. But then, he runs like hell.

B gets the apartment during the day and Q gets the nights. So, she sleeps next to my pillow and goes digging for the Ark of the Covenant in the cat box five minutes before my alarm's going to go off at the butt crack of dawn. I love cats. I really do. But, they're weird, weird little animals. Much like myself, actually. Maybe that's why I understand them so well.

"This, I Believe..."

I was listening to NPR on the way home from work today and heard an essay that's part of a series called "This, I Believe." I have to admit that I completely ignored what he believed in and started thinking about what I do. Being that it's just past Thanksgiving, it might interest you to know that these are also the things I'm thankful for. Here goes...

I believe in my family. Well-applied starter fluid, impact wrenches, and vice grips. Setting things on fire at parties. Mormons and heathens side by side. Dog parties. Blow torches to melt ice. Cordless drills to whip cream. Wordless workshops and applying spray paint so it doesn't drip. Instructions are for rookies!

I believe in my friends. Good theatre. Well-acted, well-produced, and well-directed. I believe in those of us who lurk behind the scenes, but without whom you would never see the show. I believe in banning cell phones and being able to fire anyone who doesn't learn their damn lines. I believe in good directors who are crazy, but my kind of crazy. I believe in quitting if you're in hell! I believe in Banshee.

I believe in off-the-wall, out-of-the-blue funny things. Rubber chickens, Animaniacs, civil war posters over the bathtub, and brain diagrams over the stove.

I believe in my mother. Her joyful, over-the-top teas. She always seems to out-do herself. Her complete acceptance of other people's ideas. Her concept of mental health days. Her love of a lap full of cat and her coronation for three of ours.

I believe in my father. His love of life. His playfulness. The fact that he still plays tennis and can still kick ass at it! His love of my mother and the fact that he let go of a trip rafting down the Grand Canyon (something he's wanted for years), so he could go to Jamaica with her.

I believe in the power of the written word and that a book can change your life. I believe in reading your favorites over and over. They only get better with time and as you grow, so does your insight into the story. I believe in vivid characters. Laurie R. King's Sherlock Holmes & Mary Russell, Gandalf & Aragorn, Lord Peter Wimsey, Sir Percy Blakeney, Albus Dumbledore, Jane Eyre, Jack Dedham, Elizabeth Bennett, Ranger, and anyone in Killer Angels.

I believe in small things too. Artichokes, cat meows, well-organized crayons, a tidy script, Grandmother's christmas tree, anything written by Aaron Sorkin, sugar cookies, colored see-through stuff, Chihuly's, that second when the lights dim in a theatre, KV5 and Kent Weeks, the smell of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland, Bono's sunglasses, the days of Gemini and Apollo (okay, those weren't small), electric mattress pads, sexy high heels, Peter Jackson, and the benefits of a pot of tea when it rains (or anytime, really).

This, I believe.