Well, at least I'm better off than these guys...

I had to laugh when I read this article on Reuters Oddly Enough this morning:

ATLANTA (Reuters) - Two U.S. car thieves failed to make their getaway in a car they had just stolen because they couldn't figure out how to use its manual transmission, a witness said on Wednesday.

The teenagers armed with a gun approached a man outside a pizza restaurant in Marietta, Georgia, late on Monday. They stole his wallet and the keys to his Honda Accord, got into the car but couldn't make it start because it had stick shift, according to John Williamson, 18, a restaurant employee.

"The kid was just sitting in the car trying to start it but he had no idea what to do. He looked dumbfounded. The only thing he had going was the radio," said Williamson who witnessed the scene.

While the thief was trying to start the car, restaurant employees called the police who arrived and caught the teenagers as they tried to escape into nearby woods.

Unlike many parts of the world, the majority of cars in the United States are automatic and many drivers are unused to driving "stick shift" vehicles, in which a clutch pedal must be depressed to change gear.

Movies in the Park

I went to "Movies in the Park" tonight at Centennial Park. If you have never been to this family-friendly event under the stars, I highly recommend it. I have only been one time before tonight (to see Grease), but it was such a lovely experience two weeks ago that I knew I had to go at least once more before the summer season ended.

I got there around 6:45 p.m. (which is late, if you're trying to get a good seat, even though the movie doesn't start till 8:15 or so), so I didn't have too many blanket-spot options. It was a choice between either far to one side, waaaay in the back, or right up front. I went with right up front because although I knew the sound would be loud (it's turned up to concert volume levels so that all the people waaaay in the back can hear, too), I also knew that I'd be able to see well and that the loud sound would cut down on any crowd distractions.

Last time I went, I didn't bring any pillows and regretted it, as the grass is quite level and once you lay down on the blanket, you can see the stars really well, but you have to crane your neck weirdly to see the screen and even then it looks all distorted because of the angle. This time, I had an extra blanket for my head, so I was all set.

My friend Kenzie came with me and got to the park in time to grab a Rotier's sandwich and an ice cream cone (I'd had pizza earlier, but joined her for the ice cream experience), and then we settled in and got ready for the movie.

Tonight's feature was Singing in the Rain, a movie that I'd seen a few years ago, but couldn't remember the plot of at all . . . so it was basically like seeing a whole new movie. Of course, by the end of the first scene I was completely in love with the dashing Gene Kelly, and our on-screen / off-screen romance continued until the credits were rolling at the end. The American Film Institute rated this movie #10 of their Top 100 movies, and if you ever see it, you'll know why. Unlike some musicals, which have at least one somber, downer scene, this musical is light and fun and entertaining the whole way through. Great dancing and great songs! I'll be tapping my way to work tomorrow, while humming "Good morning, good morning..."

The highlight of my week so far.

A new ipod

Well, I took my little sad-faced ipod into the Mac store in Green Hills (yes, aren't you impressed that I'm driving a stick shift in Green Hills?!) after making an appointment online. I tried the drop-in method at the Mac store on Saturday night which just didn't work out well. So back I went today.

The upshot is that it looks like I'll be getting a new ipod. This one is fried, and he didn't think they could even save what's on the hard drive. Thank goodness for having a warranty that still has three more months on it. Now, I have to find the Keane CD (Under the Iron Sea) that I've been craving. It's not on our Mac right now because Les accidentally erased our entire iTunes library a few months ago, and I had downloaded the Keane CD before the Great iTunes Disaster of 2007. I guess I'll be digging through some boxes. Wish me luck!

Father's Day (my sister's perspective)

My sister is totally creative when it comes to cards and presents. She always makes her own cards out of family photos and then makes up her own funny captions (based on my other post about the difficulty I have finding Father's Day cards for my dad, it seems that I could learn something from my sister!). Sometimes she draws pictures or uses construction paper. I have not gotten any glue-and-macaroni cards yet, but I wouldn't be surprised to see one arrive in the mail from her.

For Father's Day, my sister got my dad his favorite thing EVER -- chocolate! She got him one candy bar for each year that he's been her dad. For those of you who don't know my sister, that's 30 candy bars! Around each bar, she wrapped a piece of paper with a memory of my dad written on it. When I read the list, I laughed out loud a few times and got a little teary by the end. Although I know some of these items are "you had to be there" moments, I am posting the list here for folks to see because I feel that it's such a great snapshot of the way my dad is and what a fun and interesting person we have as a father.

(1) Red wagon rides from the top of the hill all the way to the house
(2) Convincing Mom to let me go visit Jonathan (my sister's husband) in CA before we were married
(3) Getting the joke about 20 seconds later than everyone else and bursting out laughing, spitting tea all over me and the table in Russia
(4) Your Russian dances at your daughters' weddings
(5) Going to the Farm Show
(6) Hiking the Appalachian Trail with us in several states
(7) Making jokes when Lisa’s head got pooped on by a seagull at Sea World
(8) Saying that the huge Saint Bernard in a nearby yard would clean up after me when I got threw up on our road trip out west
(9) Waking me up with a drum made out of a Quaker Oatmeal container after a nap
(10) Rescuing a wild and weak stray cat (Twinkie) from the farm
(11) Going along with my great idea to vacuum Twinkie to reduce the cat hair around the house, then getting scratched by Twinkie as I operated the vacuum
(12) Asking if I needed money (деньги) in Russian
(13) Hiking up to Katadin with us to finish the Appalachian Trail
(14) Never making it through a whole movie without falling asleep, but talking about it as if you had watched the whole thing
(15) Cleaning up Twinkie’s puke for all those years
(16) Joking about sending Uncle Chauncey a video of stunt bike tricks after he fell off his bike and broke his hip
(17) Trying to keep Lisa and I in line during family prayers when we would always start laughing
(18) Staying up late to put all our Christmas presents together
(19) Stacking up change on the table to get me to eat my veggies
(20) Making me cry at every meal before we went to Russia, because whatever we were having was the only thing that they served in Russia, and if I couldn’t finish my plate, I would never survive in Russia. Interestingly enough it worked, and I ate everything in Russia while Lisa lived off Tootsie Rolls
(21) For always asking “What’s for dessert?”
(22) Helping me to get a clear version of Mona Lisa
(23) Taking care of Charlie (our dog) and making him fat and happy
(24) Being supportive of whatever it was that I was interested in or wanted to do
(25) For cursing when you found the moldy spaghetti sauce I had thrown out in the trash ("We can just eat around the mold...")
(26) Picking us up almost every night when we hiked the AT through PA
(27) Making sure the house is stocked with my favorite foods when we come home to visit
(28) Hiding in corners around your office to scare me when I was walking around
(29) Warming up the car for Mom and I in the winter time, so we wouldn’t be cold
(30) Cleaning off the porch of dead animal parts that the cats had left for us as presents before we went to school so that we never even knew about it

Dad, I hope you can feel the love, even if you don't read about it here!

Father's Day (a.k.a., I love you, Dad!)

Well, a person really can't let a Father's Day go by without posting a little something about their dad (even though my dad doesn't use the internet and may never see this).

My dad is a very unique individual. I am reminded of this every time I go to buy him a Father's Day card. He's not into normal dad things, or at least what it appears that normal dads are into based on the Father's Day cards available. He doesn't read The Wall Street Journal. He doesn't drink beer. He doesn't oogle at sexy ladies. He doesn't sleep on the sofa in a shirk-my-honey-do-list sort of way. He doesn't obsess about his yard, driving around on his riding lawn mower. He doesn't wear a lot of ties. He doesn't go hunting. He isn't into fixing cars or other stuff around the house. He doesn't grill. He's not into sports. He doesn't use duct tape to repair things. He's not really known for loving to burp and fart. When you have a father like my dad, buying a Father's Day card can be quite challenging.

Here, then, are the topics for Father's Day cards that would work for a guy like my dad (Hallmark, I hope you're listening):
(1) A picture of a dad sitting at a table with all kinds of empty dishes around him (my dad loves to eat).
(2) A picture of a dad cuddling with his kids, reading a book (my dad was the sweetest guy when we were litle -- and he still is today).
(3) A picture of a dad having fun with a dog (my dad is great with pets).
(4) A picture of a dad out in an open field (my dad grew up on a farm and loves nature).
(5) A picture of a dad holding up an empty wallet and smiling in a "yep, that's how it is" kind of way (my dad will always give his girls all the dollars in his wallet before you head back home).
(6) A picture of a dad wearing a funny hat and glasses (my dad loves attention and loves to ham it up).
(7) A picture of a dad riding down a hill on a sled or in a little red wagon (my dad was just a big kid when we were little and loved to play with us).
(8) A picture of a dad shaving with a little girl (not just a little boy) looking up at him (my dad loved to chase us around the house asking us for kisses, with a shaving cream filled face).
(9) A picture of a dad carrying kids on his shoulders or piggy-back or both at once (my dad was a jungle-gym in human form when we were kids).
(10) A picture of a dad tossing a little kid up in the air (dads just know how to have the most fun ever).

Even though I am reminded at least once a year on Father's Day that my dad isn't a "normal" dad, I am so glad to have someone as unique and funny and creative and special in my life. I love you, Dad!

Money for Nuthin'

My friend Lisa (not me, another Lisa) and I have decided to do some walking after work to get a few extra steps on the ol' step counter. We're supposed to be doing this to burn calories, but on our first trip we walked to Sonic for root beer floats and on the second trip (today) we walked to get Mexican food, so I think it's really more for fun than for dieting thus far. We usually walk about four miles each outing, but I don't know that four miles is enough to burn off a large root beer float and some onion rings, though I must confess that I haven't actually done the math.

As we were walking back from the restaurant, I suggested that we cut through an vacant lot just for the sake of adventure (in general, Lisas love adventure). As we stepped off the road, Lisa (not me, the other Lisa) said, "Maybe we'll find some MONEY!" Just then, I looked down to see a crisp $1 bill on the grass right near her feet. I said, "Look! Money!" Lisa (not me, the other Lisa) was so shocked that she fell down on the ground and started laughing hysterically. "Quick," I said, "Say something about finding a husband out here!" Lisa (not me, the other Lisa) has determined that this is the year she's going to get married, but she isn't even dating anyone at the moment so I thought this magical vacant lot wish fulfillment was worth a try. She said, "I hope I find a husband out here," and we looked around on the ground but didn't see anything that seemed promising.

A friend later pointed out that you probably shouldn't consider a guy laying around in a vacant lot good husband material. I think that's a pretty safe guideline to live by, but you never know...

Postcards Post

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I have a postcard collection. I can't really remember how it started other than I've always loved sending postcards (on road trips I usually send 50-100 postcards a week . . . while Les drives, of course!) because they're just the perfect amount of space (even though I do try to cram a lot in) to say a few things and then be done and on to the next one.


Because I've always enjoyed sending postcards, I guess I just collected free or artsy ones as I traveled to have a ready supply. Slowly my collection grew. Then I inherited the postcard collections of my grandmas and Les's grandmas after they passed away. In just a few years, my collection grew from 100 postcards to 700+! Of course, not all of them are cool postcards, but sometimes that's just the fun of postcards -- a small snapshot of cheesy Americana.

The cool thing about inheriting postcard collections is that some of them were already written on, sometimes sent to and sent from people none of us had ever heard of. It was interesting to see how much it cost to send a postcard back in the days when my Grandma A was still single (1 cent) and to see how vague some of the old addresses were on these cards (Mr. & Mrs. Karpenko, Kief, ND), although I must add that all of my family members have always lived in small towns, so that kind of addressing would probably still work today!

Here are a few excerpts from my collection...

From my Grandpa Laubach to my Grandma Laubach, dated June 6, 1992, from Heidelberg: "Honey, I wish you were here. I miss you. I'm on their fine train, but got a wrong ticket and I wound up in Switzerland!"

From my Grandma Laubach to their employees at the Stihl Chain Saw Shop, no date, but the stamp cost 13 cents, from Los Angeles Airport, probably on their way to Hawaii: "It better be great weather where we are going -- cause we just got here by 9. This is to be a hard day -- just like work or probably a little worse. The crew says the isles are great cause they were there 2 weeks ago."

From someone named Ruth to my Grandma and Grandpa Karpenko, dated October 13, 1940, from Sidney, MT: "Yes, I landed way over here for a change. Yesterday we visited the sugar factory. My, it's wonderful to watch them make the sugar. Well, we must be going to church now. Will see you soon. Nice scenery."

From my Great Uncle George to his sister (my Grandma) Anne before she was married, dated July 7, 1935, from Twin Falls, ID: "Dear Sister Anne, Your both letters are received. The one was addressed to Boise got here about 5 days sooner than the last one. I ain't working yet but may in a short time as I just got in touch with some people around here. Everything is okay with me and was glad to hear that all is fine and well at thome. I may write a letter in a few days or after I'll be someplace else, but you can use the same address yet."

Right now my postcards are organized by state (my favorite state postcards are the ones that show a drawing of the state with all of the regional exports or activities drawn on the map), and then the non-US postcards are together with some other miscellaneous ones. It's been great to live in another part of the US because I've gotten postcards from new areas as we have traveled around a bit down here. And now Les is traveling quite regularly, so my postcard collection continues to grow. It's so much fun to look through them and see all the interesting places people I know have been. I really does give you an urge to shake the dust off your shoes and head out to do some of your own exploring.

On one of Les's recent trips, he bought some funny postcards made by a company called Duckboy. I checked them out online and laughed out loud at a couple of them. My favorite is "Row vs. Wade: The Great American Fishing Controversy." It shows a man fishing in a rowboat and another fishing in waders. To me, this is postcard humor at its finest.

As I've been looking through these old postcards, I've been motivated to write more to people. It's a great way to jot a line to someone and then perhaps leave a snapshot of your life for future generations.

Stuck in Neutral

As an anniversary present, Les took my Honda down to Florida to get it painted. Its original "eggplant" clearcoat has been eaten off by both the Florida and the Tennessee sun rays, and it's only getting worse. Fearing that rust is next, we decided to invest in a new paint job before it was a total crisis situation. Les had a little time off and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to be sweet to me and also visit his mom and sister in Florida in one trip.

The bad news for me is that this leaves me driving our other car, which is a stick shift. I hate driving stick shift. I'm passable at it, but not good, and I don't feel like I'm getting any better. Getting into first is the worst. Getting into first on a hill is the worst of the worst. As a result, the sight of a red light strikes fear into my heart. The sight of a red light where I'm on a slight hill is even worse, and if a car pulls up behind me and inches ever closer to my bumper . . . well, my hands start sweating, my left knee starts shaking violently, and I am convinced I might spend the rest of my life stuck at this light, coasting back ever closer to the car foolishly hugging my rear bumper. Due to stress, I either stall out or totally squeal my tires in these situations, which only makes me more nervous and more likely to stall out again.

To make it worse, my car is the SVT model (although no one outside of Detroit probably knows what that means) so theoretically the driver of my car (me, in this case) has purchased this particular car for its low-pro tires, six-speed transmission, premium gasoline guzzling engine with 178 hp worth of performance . . . not because it's a good "learner car." It's the equivalent of seeing a muscled-out mustang with a blower, two tailpipes emitting flames, and a bumper sticker that says "Born to drag race" stalling out in front of you. Or to put it in Music City terms, it's the equivalent of going to a singer-songwriter performance and noticing that the next performer doesn't know how to tune his guitar.

Although everyone has told me that if I just drive a stick shift for two weeks, I'll become a pro before I know it, I don't know if that's really true for me. I don't feel like I'm making any improvement. Besides, maybe I'm just not meant to drive a stick shift. Maybe my body just isn't made for it (annoyingly weak left leg!).

What if this is just like playing the piano for me? I took lessons for eight years, practiced, did recitals, and at the end of the day, I'm just not good at it. Sure, I can read music and plonk things out, but I still don't understand the general concept of how chords work, how progressions progress, or what makes some notes sound better together than others. Because I'm not technically good (as in, my technique is poor) at it and I also don't understand the theory behind it, I'm just not a lover of playing the piano even this many years later. There's no joy in it for me.

So, I have to accept that I may never be good at driving a stick shift, no matter how long or how often I drive it. I am thinking about becoming a mechanic so I can at least enjoy the technical side of things. But someone might have to drive the stick shift cars I work on into the garage for me.

Technological Meltdown

I hesitate to even spend any time typing on this computer at the moment, worried that something may happen to it, thereby shutting me off from the modern age completely. We are experiencing what appears to be some severe technological meltdown in our household, and I feel that it's a miracle that I still have a CD player and a computer (with its multitude of parts) that work.

It started on Friday when we had a brief thunderstorm that wiped out our power for 0.3 seconds, but destroyed our router forever. It was an old router that needed to be replaced anyway, so Les rolled with it and ran out and got a new one and had us back up and running by the end of the work day (I was working from home that day so it mattered a little more than normal, but I still had a lot to do offline, so it was no biggie). After he got the new router installed, he couldn't get it to communicate with our wireless printer unless there was no encryption on our network whatsoever (not a workable solution). After spending three hours on the phone with technical support and another hour or two just messing around, he gave up and went to bed.

Meanwhile, our DVD player also stopped opening or playing, although it was on and pretending to try to open or play. I took it apart to get out the disc that was stuck in there and finally pried the CD out, just barely. Even after taking out all the screws, there were parts that seemed to be melted together or something. Thank goodness for slightly-bendable plastic.

We tried fixing the network again the next day to no avail. On Sunday we dropped in at the Apple store to see if they had any advice for us. They suggested that we purchase the Apple router, saying that it's really easy to set up and we should be up and running in 20 minutes or less. Personally, we would have been happy with anything under five hours, so our expectations were low. It couldn't successfully communicate with our printer either (which is under two years old and an HP and not particularly tricky or anything, but it does have a built-in wireless card that we paid extra for -- hence the drive to try and get the wireless thing to work). Now, we had two new routers that didn't work and no printer unless we connected up wired, which doesn't work great for our crowded house.

Les decided to take the printer down to his mom in FL who doesn't actually need a wireless printer (in case we can never get it to work wirelessly again), and we'll return one router and buy a new printer and a new DVD player.

Then today my ipod stopped working. I got the dreaded (so I hear) "sad ipod" face on my screen. Fortunately, we bought the extended warranty and it's covered until September, but it feels like a close call. I'm actually pretty careful with my ipod (okay, I have dropped it a few times at the gym, and actually fell on it on cement another time . . . so maybe I'm not exactly that careful with it), but I did unplug it from the charger without disconnecting it from the computer first, so Les thought that's maybe what happened.

We're beginning to wonder if there's a message here. I grew up in PA around the Amish, but didn't actually learn much about living "off the grid" other than the fact that many Amish horses are retired racers and if you're an unmarried man there is some flexibility about how much technology you can own and use. Les is basically out of luck there, but maybe that's how he would like it anyway after this past weekend.

If you don't hear from me again, you'll know what happened at least.

Wee Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town, upstairs and downstairs, in his nightgown. Rapping at the windows, crying through the lock, "Are all the children in their beds for now it's 8 o'clock."


This nosey, bossy, peeping-Tom character from a nursery rhyme book that I used to read as a child at my Grandma A's house (I had a Grandma named Anne and a Grandma named Beatrice -- also known as "Grandma A" and "Grandma B") was one of the answers to a clue in my crossword puzzle book last night. I hadn't thought of this little guy in years, but the more that I pondered the poem, the more that I think he and I have quite a bit in common.

Although I don't wear nightgowns, obsess about bedtimes, or yell outside of people's doors, I too take nightly walks through my neighborhood, peering in at the well-lit interiors of apartments, curious to see who has big screen TVs, well-decorated living rooms (people hang things on the walls as if committed to living here for the rest of their lives), toys scattered all over the floor, a crowd hanging out at their place, or bored pets peering out at the exciting outdoor life just beyond their grasp. In these moments, the rooms are a collection of movie screens, lined up on a museum wall, and I march past, peering at each of the snapshots of human existence, piecing together random stories about the characters in the scenes.

Every once in a while, however, someone peers back at me and our eyes meet. The gig is up! They've looked at me looking at them, and I speed up to move quickly on to the next tableau, while they wonder about my story and wait for the next passerby to break up the monotony of the view from their sofa.

The songs of our youth

I don't mean to over-sentimentalize "the greatest generation" but it does seem that at least the songs of their youth had some style and panache. Think of the Big Bands, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby. Think of the lyrics to God Bless America, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, or even All Shook Up. These are songs you could hear as an 80 year old and think back fondly to the glory days of happy times, a unified America, and a world that seemed a little more simple and predictable than the one you're living in now.

This sentimentality about childhood is harder drum up for those of us who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, and this fact came home to me this evening while driving home from the grocery store. A song came on the radio that immediately took me back to the year 1983. I was instantly transported into the darkened recesses of my small-town roller rink, cruising along (crossing-over around the corners, of course) to My Angel is a Centerfold. Now that's a classy song (thank you, The J. Geils Band!).

At the age of 9 I had no idea what the lyrics meant and, in fact, remember singing along and kind of muttering through the "centerfold" part in the chorus because I didn't understand what they were saying. Ironically, the song is kind of about lost innocence and about people not being who they appear to be. These were the themes of our age, and it's hard to get sentimental about that.

Well, at least we'll always have the innocence of Puff the Magic Dragon to cling to. Nothing can tarnish that! Right?

Do I know you?

I wouldn't call myself an optimist, per se, but I do go through life expecting to be pleasantly surprised at any moment. I am, of course, often disappointed and am not pleasantly surprised, or sometimes I am even unpleasantly surprised, but I still believe deep down that these few moments of unpleasant-surprise-ness are the exception of my life instead of the rule. At any moment, something totally awesome could happen. I can just feel it.

One of the more extreme ways that this belief comes out is that I am constantly thinking that I see someone I know. Not someone I know from work or from church or from my neighborhood, however, but someone who lives across the US or even in another country, someone who has utterly no business being in my city. Yet, I could swear that I just saw them pulling away from the gas pump next to mine, or turning down an aisle in the grocery store, or on the jumbotron cheering at a hockey game. When this happens, the "expecting surprises" part of me is convinced that friends or relations who do not in fact live anywhere near me have made a special trip to Nashville and are driving around in cars past the intersection where I am sitting at a red light or walking down the road in front of my office to subtly surprise me with their presence . . . if I would just so happen to look up and notice that they're there.

Now, I do know that the chances of this actually happening are very unlikely. What friend would travel all the way across the country and spend the day following you around in a rented car, hoping that you'll look up and go, "Oh my goodness! Is that Stacy? Wow! It is!" Most people don't have time for this kind of tomfoolery and would instead call ahead to make sure you'll be in town when they visit, have you pick them up at the airport, make plans to stay at your house, and then go home when the weekend is over. Yet for some reason I hang on to the notion that one day I will walking into the post office to get my mail and I'll pass one of my friends coming out of the building, seemingly engaged in conversation on their cell phone, wondering if I've figured out yet that it's them.

Oddly, when I just coincidentally run into someone I know at the airport or at Disney World or at the Grand Ole Opry, I never think they've spent the whole day walking around just on the edge of my vision, waiting for me to turn my head and catch them in the act. It seems like a true coincidence that I'm there and they're there and we ran into each other.

Hmmm... Maybe I'm not giving people enough credit for their cleverness. Maybe they're so clever that their "I'm surprised to see you, too!" act has had me totally fooled. I may have more pleasant surprises in my life than I originally thought. What a pleasant surprise!

Walking the dog

Today I was eating lunch with some friends on the patio in front of the Panera at the Green Hills Mall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving across the ground and then I saw someone walking along, seemingly behind whatever object I had just seen moving. My first thought (my first thought!) was, "Is that man walking one of those 'invisible dogs'?" and I craned my neck to see.

Note: I haven't actually seen one of those stiff leashes that are supposed to be "invisible dogs" since I was about 13 years old.

Why would I think that a grown man would suddenly be walking around with one now, here (far from the seaside boardwalks where invisible dogs are bred), at the Green Hills Mall? The idea that I thought someone had an invisible dog suddenly seemed more ridiculous to me than if he had actually been walking an invisible dog. Whose mind jumps to invisible dog before real dog, bird, napkin (which is what I really saw), strangely-visible wind, or even hole in the fabric of time?

But it had been a surreal day at the Panera even before this happened. Just moments before, a 60 year old man wearing bright green shorts, a bright pink shirt, and matching pink crocs had strode past our table. I was so distracted by his loudly-hued outfit that I did not even notice if he was walking an invisible dog. And maybe that was his clever strategy.

My other favorite topic: Shoes

After living in Nashville for two years, I have finally stumbled upon the thing I will really miss if we ever move away -- the Marti and Liz shoe store in Cool Springs. It's in the same shopping center as the Kroger on Mallory Lane. If you have not yet visited this store (assuming that you love shoe shopping), please make a trip down there as soon as is humanly possible.

I first visited Marti and Liz after my birthday in January. With birthday money burning a hole in my pocket, Les and I found this legendary store and I spent a good hour there, trying on shoes and working to narrow down my purchases to a less outrageous quantity than every pair on the shelf in my size. I walked out the door with (only) five pairs of shoes, and it was a struggle for me to hold myself back to that number. Still, I only spent $120 dollars on five pairs, and I thought that was a great bargain.

In case I haven't explained it before, my mother created what I consider to be an ingenious system for rationalizing spending money on things. The system is this: Will you use/wear this item one time for every dollar you spend on it?

You can quickly see the wisdom in this system through the following examples:

1. A pair of sneakers for $90. Will I wear them 90 times? Yes, I'll probably wear them at least twice a week for a year. Okay, then I can rationalize buying them.

2. A dress for $80. Will I wear this dress 80 times? No way! Then I really need to think long and hard about buying it.

You can see where this system breaks down for things like cars or houses and other extremely high-dollar items, but otherwise this is a fantastic guideline for determining whether or not to buy something, no matter how expensive or inexpensive it seems.

But if you're going to spend money, just give Marti and Liz a try.

One of my favorite topics: Hair

One of my favorite topics to talk about with anyone is what they're planning to do with their hair, style-wise. My husband says that my sister and I are all about "hair and shoes" and, indeed, when the two of us are together, those two items usually come up in conversation within the first ten minutes. He suggests that talking about shoes made out of hair or a hair-style shaped like a shoe would be our ultimate bliss, but I fear that it would probably be too much of a good thing and we'd both implode as a result.

Right now I'm "growing my hair out." That is the official "girl phrase" used to describe the act of only letting your hairdresser cut off the minimum amount each time you sit in the beauty salon chair. Currently, it almost touches my shoulders, which is actually pretty long for me. If I tip my head way back, I can grab about an inch of my hair with my hand behind my back. I know that tipping your head way back is cheating when it comes to judging hair length, but every girl who has grown her hair out knows that you have to cheat a little bit to encourage yourself along down the long and arduous path of growing your hair into a longer style. Draping a towel on your head like hair and flipping it around is another good way to cheat and make yourself feel like you have really long hair. Not that I've actually done this. I'm just saying I've heard about such things. You know, from friends. Crazy friends.

There are many moments during the course of growing your hair out that you consider chopping it all off. Sometimes it gets in your mouth when you bend over to pick something up. Annoying! Sometimes you see a girl with a super-cute short haircut and you think, "Ooooh! I want that!" Or sometimes you just feel an overwhelming sense of futility about the whole thing -- "My hair will NEVER get long! What's the point of torturing myself?" But then you'll see someone with lovely, long hair and, even if your hair has never been long or lovely or long and lovely, you'll think, "I will also look that beautiful one day when my hair is long and lovely and swooshy!" And so you persist.

In high school, we used to actually wash our hair with some sort of horrible-smelling horse shampoo to make it grow faster. These days I know more people who are taking pre-natal vitamins (never mind the nausea!) for the same results. I am fortunate to have a very good hairdresser (Nikki at the Tip Top Salon) who just somehow arranges things in a magical way to enable me to have a good-looking haircut all the way through this challenging process.

Today I wore my hair in a ponytail all day and was so excited that it was long enough to do that. Next . . . braids. I can hardly handle the anticipation!

Bible Belt Bumpers

Something that has been fun about living in The South is that people tend to wear their religious beliefs on their sleeves a lot more than in non-Southern areas. This leads to a few interesting discussions with strangers, a lot of in-your-face t-shirts (that you have to read quickly and secretly to not get engaged in a conversation on the topic of the t-shirt), and some though-provoking experiences. This post is about my two favorite bumper stickers (so far...), but I'll veer down the tangential path of Christian subculture in general as well.

But first, the bumper stickers!

Favorite bumper sticker #1: Are you following Jesus as closely as you're following me?

Favorite bumper sticker #2: Try Jesus. If you don't like Him, the Devil will take you back.

Before I moved to The South and before I worked at a Christian company, I had no idea of the humor-filled (yet pointed) subculture that exists within the Christian community. Case in point, this music video by Sir Readsalot. I love it, but I had never heard of it before I started mixing with the Christians. What else have I been missing?

Similarly, someone just emailed me these "Christian vs. Christ-follower" parodies of the Mac vs. PC commercials. Well-done, and they do make a point.

Churches here advertise on bulletin boards, our free paper has a section on where to worship, and they even have a "Church of the Week" feature on the local news. It's so different from our experience in Michigan, and I have to say that I'm more thoughtful about my faith since I've been submersed into a culture (both at work and around town) that focuses on religion and spirituality so much.

If you weren't a Christian, I could see how this would really get on your nerves, or make you feel like an outsider here. But, that's the interesting thing about Nashville . . . there's the honky-tonkin', partyin', livin'-it-up side of the city as well. Although sometimes you'll find the same people at Tootsie's on Saturday night and in the pew next to you on Sunday, so you never can tell...

Construction Worker Kudos

Now, I know that giving props to construction workers is not exactly "up there" in the realm of popular things to do, but I just can't help it. I drive on Elm Hill Pike and under Briley Parkway every day on my way to and from work. I have been making this commute ever since I moved to Nashville, and construction on this intersection basically started as soon as I moved here (had I known, I would have looked for a place of residence on the same side of Briley as my office, but that's water under the bridge now), so I feel that I have seen the whole project from start to almost-finish. And I have to say, that things are really coming along!

When it comes to construction, I'm pretty much a six year old boy's brain in a 33 year old woman's body. I love all the various construction equipment, and could sit and watch them move earth around, break up concrete, and load rocks into trucks all day long. The power! The mobility! The excitement!

Every day is a surprise. One day I drove to work and the road was curving one way, and then I drove home after work and they had shifted the lanes over and things were totally different. I got on Briley by accident because I veered where I used to veer and it was an on-ramp instead of just a jog in the road!

But I back to the praise for the construction workers. They're really working hard and getting this project done. They work on Saturdays. They work early and late. They work at night with lights that are as bright as the sun. They hang from harnesses and balance on beams and eat dust for lunch and still keep plugging away at this big project that 98% of the people who drive on Elm Hill Pike every day would tell you will never be completed.

But I'm really seeing progress. I got on Briley Southbound and was on a whole new part of the road. They're pouring cement for the edge-of-road barriers so you can really see where the road will be, how the on- and off-ramps will work, and how they'll shift all the traffic on to the new bridge.

Maybe I'm a geek for being so excited about all of this. In fact, I'm almost sad to think that they're almost done. Erm, okay, maybe not. As much as I love construction, I love quickly flowing traffic even more.