Temptation.

Sometimes I think the Mister Softee guy knowingly parks his truck in the most enticing spot on my run--at the top of a mile-long steady incline--purely to torment me.

Two thumbs up.

Dear Fox Searchlight,

You produce good movies. (And apparently are also behind the upcoming Arrested Development movie. I approve.) This one was no exception:

The only problem is that now I have an almost uncontrollable urge to cut my bangs again. But I'm pretty sure I still won't look like Zooey Deschanel.

Thrill ride.

My trip home was lovely. By 3am PDT on Wednesday I had been up for almost 48 hours, with a cumulative 5 hours of sleep in the interim. Totally worth it. The rest of the week was spent lazing around, eating lots of red meat (thanks Mom!), shopping, and being silly with the fam.

As if to make up for my previous experience, my flight home on Sunday went swimmingly. I had a window seat, the movie was enjoyable, I had brought plenty of snacks, and we landed a half hour early. I had booked a seat on a SuperShuttle to take me home, since we were originally supposed to land at 10:30pm. And given my track record with air travel, I wanted an alternative to the 2+ hour subway ride home that wasn't a $60 cab ride.

My driver, a small Senegalese man, picked up myself and another passenger at our gate. Though we spent the next half hour driving from terminal to terminal picking up 8 more people (four of whom spoke animated French with the driver), I thought that as long as I was home by midnight, it would be worth it.

And then we hit the Van Wyck. They say nobody's ever beaten the Van Wyck, but our driver came as close as anyone ever has. He was weaving across lanes, swerving out to the shoulder to bypass lanes of traffic. He was cutting around cars turning onto off-ramps, and veering back into traffic mere inches in front of another car's bumper. My fellow passengers gasped and clutched their seat belts as tightly as possible. The French guy next to me was swearing under his breath and documenting everything on his camcorder. I can only hope the video is now somewhere on YouTube.

Being the farthest uptown, I was the last passenger dropped off. We pulled up to my building at 12:03am. Touché, SuperShuttle.

Dear Air Travel: Why do you hate me?

I was originally booked on a flight leaving JFK at the very reasonable hour of 11am. I was awakened around 2:45 this morning, though, by the incessant buzzing of my phone. I ignored it but a few minutes later it buzzed again. I stared groggily at the 800 number on the screen and, assuming it was some robocaller trying to discuss my nonexistent car warranty, tried to silence it. Thankfully, between my half-asleep state and the fact that it's a new phone, I accidentally answered the call. An automated voice proclaimed that it was calling from American Airlines and that my flight had been cancelled.

Now I was wide awake. Robovoice informed me that I'd been rebooked on a flight connecting through Boston and arriving in San Francisco at 11:30 pm. This itinerary would cause me to miss an extremely urgent appointment: the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince with Becca and Krissy.

"To accept these changes, say 'yes'. To reject them, say 'no'."

"Nooooooooooooo!"

I got an operator and found out that my only other option was the flight leaving at 7:05 am. I took it, and called Becca to let her know when to pick me up. By that time, it was about 3 am and I realized I might as well get up, as I'd need to leave for the airport in about an hour anyway (I heart public transportation).

I dozed as well as I could on the plane (considering I had an aisle seat that was right next to the bathroom... I also passed on watching Race to Witch Mountain) and was able to take a 3-4 hour nap when we got home. Assuming I'm still on East Coast time, this midnight showing will be starting at 3 am my time. These are the things I go through for Harry Potter.

All I'm saying is, if I'm ever in a job interview and I have to give an example of my dedication and perseverance, this is the story I'm going to tell.

Patriotism.

Is there anything more American than fighting massive crowds at Coney Island to watch a guy cram 68 hot dogs into his face in 10 minutes? I submit to you that there is not.


This was my first NYC 4th of July, since I went to Denver for the holiday last year, so I didn't really know what to expect. After a flurry of last-minute text messages to different people about what our plans were, a group of us decided to go to Coney Island for the sporting event that ranks just under Wimbeldon on the prestige scale: the International Hot Dog Eating Contest. It was a truly awe-inspiring experience; thousands of fans chanted "USA! USA!" while San Jose, CA native Joey Chestnut obliterated both his own world record and second-place finisher Takeru Kobayashi. Patriotism at its finest.


Afterwards, we went to Battery Park (on the southern tip of Manhattan) for a free concert by Conor Oberst and Jenny Lewis. We grabbed some lunch and a sweet spot in the sun-dappled shade, and spent a few divine hours listening to indie rock and lazing around in the warm breeze.


As afternoon turned to evening, we headed uptown and walked toward the river. The West Side Highway had been shut down to make room for people to watch the fireworks, so we scouted out a place. It was kind of freaky walking down this huge expanse of deserted highway, like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. We found a good (and surprisingly uncrowded) spot at the crest of a hill, and watched the sunset while we waited for the rest of our group to join us. (My friend Joe and his friends had come up from DC for the day, which just proves that July 4th in NYC is even better than in our nation's capital.) Darkness fell, and we watched as dazzling fireworks were shot off from six barges along the Hudson river. It was the perfect end to an amazing day.

More pictures here.

In passing.

"I love your red hair."

"Thanks."

"Dude, she actually answered! That's amazing! [shouting] You're amazing, redhead!"


If only all men had the discriminating taste and high expectations of the two I passed on my way to the library.