And now, a story that will make my father get a little teary-eyed

That is so totally a picture of me talking to Sandra Day O'Connor. I'm clearly in the midst of relaying a fascinating story (and talking with my hands, surprise). Although I know she kind of looks like she's barely tolerating me, I only monopolized her for about thirty seconds, and she was really exceptionally gracious and charming.

So here's what I was saying when the picture was taken, which I basically cribbed off my dad:

When I was a little girl, my dad (also a laywer) had the opportunity to meet the trailblazing Justice. As the father of two daughters, he thanked her for being a role model for his daughters so that they would grow up knowing that women could succeed at the highest reaches of the legal profession. (*sniff*)

And now, one of those little daughters has grown up to become a lawyer herself and was happy that she also had the chance to thank Justice O'Connor for being such a wonderful role model. (*blub*)

Justice O'Connor was lovely. She even laughed at my silly little speech. What a generous, talented, amazing woman.

The crazies are out there

This is clearly the worst side of Tennessee. Thank god for the ATF being on the ball.

Stuff! We have stuff!

With this post, we will clearly enter territory where it is quite possible that everyone who is not related to me by blood or marriage (and possibly even some of those people) COULD NOT CARE LESS. But that, I suppose, is the Blogger's Prerogative.

J-P and I bought some furniture in the last few months. It's exciting stuff, for us at least. This is stuff we shopped long and hard for, and that we'll have for a long, long time. In just the last month, we've taken delivery of a new couch and a dining room table and chairs. But unfortunately, J-P hasn't been here to see any of it yet, which is absolutely KILLING him. (It's not that big a deal to me, but whatever, I get to come home from work and gaze lovingly at the double pedestal table and new throw pillows.)

So I promised him I'd email him pictures of the table and chairs tonight. And then it occurred to me that these pictures could also constitute BLOG CONTENT. Self-centered and boring blog content perhaps, but hey, content is content, baby!

I present to you, our dining room table, which is as enormous as it looks, but keep in mind it has two leaves in it because I don't really have anywhere else to keep them:


The armchairs that go at the ends, which don't technically go with anything else, but that we got a CRAZY-ASS good deal on, and, yes the picture is sideways:


The side chairs, which are supposed to look coordinated but not too matchy-matchy with the other chairs:


And a close-up of the fabric on the side chairs, there's a little light blue in the middle of those diamonds, I swear, and yes, the rug is older than me and totally doesn't go, but one thing at a time:

Filling in the blanks

I love the fact that my mind insists on filling in the missing details. If there's a place I've never been, or a person I've never seen, or even an event or story that is missing some color, I fill in the details mentally. I sometimes don't even realize I'm doing it, and often the real and imagined details blur together in my mind, and I'm only able to sort the two out when I'm confronted with a reality that doesn't match up with the image I've constructed.

Two recent examples.

First. I just discovered the real-life name of a blogger I enjoy. This woman is around my age and strikes me as super down-to-earth, but funny and silly and weird (in a good way) at the same time. And smart. Definitely smart. I pictured her as a Jen (playing the odds of late-70s era girls' names on that one) or maybe a Sara or a Michelle. I think I actually believed in my head that I knew her name, so when I found out her name is actually Trixie LaRue (not really, but it's something nearly as over-the-top as Trixie LaRue), I was surprised, to say the least. At first, I thought, for sure that has to be a pen name. No way is this woman REALLY a Trixie LaRue. But so she is a Trixie LaRue. And a very smart, down-to-earth Trixie LaRue at that.

Second. Since July, J-P has been living in a walk-up in Queens with two roommates. Until last weekend, I hadn't seen the apartment or met the roommates. But I'd tried to picture it. (In this case, I tried intentionally so I could picture where my boy was eating and sleeping when he wasn't with me.) I knew where the apartment was, and J-P had described it to me in some detail. But I still got it all wrong. It's on the east side of the street, not the west. It's only a three story building, not four. The kitchen is in the back of the apartment, not in the middle. And the pink on the walls of J-P's room is far closer to Pepto Bismol than cotton candy. But even though I now have a reality-based image, the false image I'd relied on for all of these months hangs around. After all, it was the only picture I had for a long time, and it still seems more familiar than the reality.

Dougie Baseball

I have a soft spot for Doug Glanville. We grew up in the same area of New Jersey, graduating from rival high schools a few years apart. He played baseball at Penn, and, a few years later, I managed the baseball team there. (To clarify, managed as in kept-score-and-dealt-with-hotel-reservations, not managed as in determined-the-line-up-and-called-pitches.)

When I was in high school, my favorite teacher was a huge baseball guy who had played in the minors and followed local players closely, and his brother was the coach at Penn. So I've known about Doug Glanville for what seems like forever. In high school, he was the superstar playing for Penn, and, at Penn, he was the superstar making a go of it in the majors with the Cubs and, later, the Phillies. What's more, he was a well-respected guy, and smart to boot.

So as his career progressed, I got a thrill out of seeing a local boy do well. Every time I caught a glimpse of Glanville on the news or saw a report about him on ESPN, I got a swell of pride for Bergen County, for Penn, and for smart, nice boys doing well in the majors. When Glanville retired in 2004 I was a saddened, but glad that he had a solid baseball career behind him and a solid foundation for the post-baseball life that stretched in front of him.

And then, when I thought there was no way I could possibly think any higher of Doug Glanville, he started penning an occasional series for the New York Times. In the past few months, he has written thoughtfully and honestly about his life and career as a baseball player, about baseball strategy and superstition, and even about the drug scandal roiling the sport. Some of my favorite columns include this one about answering some long-forgotten fan mail years after it arrived, this one about the pressure of balancing a big-league career with a family, this one about the rules and etiquette of a bench-clearing brawl, and this one about the resumption of baseball a week after September 11, 2001. The entire list of his columns is here.

Doug Glanville, you continue to do us proud.

Scenes from a weekend

3:30 p.m.
M: Such a pretty church.
M: There's L and S! I have to go say hi.
M: Groomsmen in khakis and blazers. Perfectly preppy!
M: Nice bridesmaids' dresses. Purple with an orange sash, but different styles. Love that.
M: Gorgeous dress! Silk shantung, simple a-line, delicate decoration around the bodice.
J: Are we going up for communion?

5:30 p.m.
[J hands M a drink.]
M: Cocktail onions? You got me a GIBSON?! I LOVE YOU.
W: [Rolls eyes.] You guys are perfect for each other.

8:30 p.m.
L: Are you guys staying for the after party at the hotel?
M: I'd like to, but we got a ride here with N, and I don't think they're planning to go.
L: You HAVE to stay for the after party. It's D's WEDDING. Here, have another gin and tonic.

11:00 p.m.
N: You guys ready?
M: No, you go on without us. We're going to stay for the after party at the hotel. We'll get a cab home later.

11:30 p.m.
[M and J get on shuttle bus to the hotel.]
M: I think this may have been a bad idea.
J: No, it's fine. It'll be great. [Leads the shuttle bus in singing "American Pie."]

1:00 a.m.
[Much chatting around a hotel bar with the wedding couple and other good friends.]
M: This is fun. And I got a chance to talk to D. I'm glad we stayed.
J: Me too. Cab's here though, we should go. I just bought this drink, but I guess I'll just leave it.

1:05 a.m.
M: So, what's the fare to New Jersey?
C: $300.
M: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. No really.
C: $250.
M: HA HA.... HA. ha. Are you kidding? That's ridiculous!
C: What do you want to pay?
M: Well, first of all, pull over and stop driving until this is settled, because there's no way we're paying you $250. We'll give you $60.
C: [Pulls over.] $60??? $200. $150.
M: $80. That's literally all we have. You can take that, or you can turn around and drop us back at the hotel.
C: [Muttering because he has not succeeded in ripping us off, turns around drives back to the hotel.]

1:10 a.m.
M: WE'RE BACK! Now, who has an extra bed in their room for us to sleep in? L? How about you?
L: [Sways back and forth a few times, then wanders unsteadily out of the bar in the direction of her room.]
J: Now, where did I put that drink down?

2:00 a.m.
[M, J and S are all getting ready for bed in S's room.]
M: We still have to figure out how to get home tomorrow. Maybe I should call my sister. [Dials phone.]
V: Hi!!!
M: Hi?!? How are you?
V: DRUNK!
M: Ha. Us too. Where are you?
V: Crashing at X's in Hoboken.
M: Cool. So, uh, do you want to drive to Westchester in the morning to pick us up?
V: I thought you were getting a ride with N. What happened?
M: Well, we decided to stay for the after party. And then a cabbie tried to rip us off. And so we're kind of stranded.
V: Ok, but you'll have to give me directions. Tomorrow.

8:00 a.m.
[M returns from the bathroom and climbs back into bed in the still-darkened room.]
J: M? Are you hung over?
M: Uh. Yes. Why?
J: Because S and I were just commiserating.
S: I think they put extra drunk in those drinks.

8:30 a.m.
[S and L get ready to leave.]
M: I'd get up to give you guys a hug goodbye, but I'm naked from the waist down. Well, not completely naked. But naked enough.

9:00 a.m.
[M and J put on their party clothes from last night and hope they don't look too worse for the wear. M buttons her jacket all the way up so the Walk of Shame is not quite so obvious.]
M: We're too old for this.