This is the closest I came to standing still.

Seeing Boston in concert was truly a religious experience. Sure, I'm a Catholic and I go to mass and all that...but I can also worship at the [tasteful] altar of Tom Scholz. It was incredible. Not so much the fend-for-yourself seating- there was a line to get "into" the roped-off outdoor seating area, plus security people had no idea where seats were, nor did they care to help you. And when I tried to muscle my way through the hundreds of people standing behind the "seating area" to buy a tee shirt, I was stepped over, shoved aside, kicked in the ankle and pinched without mercy. Once at the stand, however, I discovered that they only take cash! Seriously? Thirty-five bucks for a [rad] tee shirt and you expect me to just have cash? Oh, okay, I'll just muscle my way up a hill, also crowded with people from the backwoods of Wisconsin (do they have backwoods? I truly don't know) to pay a three buck service fee from an unnamed ATM. It may have just been a dude sitting inside a box. But he gave me cash, so that's nice. I squoze my way back down through the crowd, back to the stand, got my [rad] shirt and wiggled back up and around the crowd to get back into line to squeeze into the seating area. Styx had already begun but that's okay. "Renegade" sounded good, though.

So, throughout Styx's set I was bouncing around with impatience. Seriously, I thought my heart was gonna implode from the sheer awesomeness of finally getting to see Boston in concert. (Keely's dad in 1986 after refusing to let her go see Boston/Black Crowes: "There's plenty of time to see them when you're older." Sure, I was six...but whatever.)

And then: "Are you ready for some rock?"

Yes! Yes I am!

And oh my goodness, perhaps I was not ready for some rock. Their guitars (and my heart) soared with the ferocity of a jet taking off. I punched P.J. in the arm and asked if he could believe it. He could, he answered. (Poor Peej. I may have broken his ribcage in my moshpit of one.) But they played "Cool the Engines!" That's a B-side from Third Stage! And "The Launch!" That's the song that my Dad would play for us in the Aerostar, pretending the volume didn't work. He'd turn the volume up and up and jokingly say "Oh, I don't hear anything," but we knew that the slow build of the bass would inevitably make way for a van-shattering celebration of guitars and fist-pumping chord progressions.

The set list was fantastic, comprised entirely of songs that I readily screamed along to, even if the majority of the audience didn't recognize half of them. Posers. They did a nice tribute to Brad Delp, another song from Third Stage called "A Man I'll Never Be," and everyone whipped out their cellphones (the new lighter). At the end, however, Michael Sweet (former lead singer of Stryper) pointed up to the sky. And a blue spotlight appeared on Michael, as if Brad himself deemed Michael a worthy replacement and this was Michael's way of accepting that great responsibility. It was a bit much, but I didn't mind. People ate it up. Again, posers.

However, ending with "Party?" For a second encore? Please. If I may be so bold, that is the LEAST awesome song ever, written by Boston or otherwise. It's up there with "She's having my baby." (Not written by Boston.) But these fools dug it so much that they were up on folding chairs and high-fiving each other. Seriously? You don't wanna end with, oh, "Let Me Take You Home Tonight?" Or perhaps "I Had a Good Time?" Heck, play "More Than a Feeling" again. (Please. And did I mention that I walked down the aisle to an organ version of "More Than A Feeling?" 'Cause I totally did.)

But whatever. It was still in the top three shows of all time for me. Tom Scholz' guitar solo (followed by his synth solo- yes, a synth solo) was jaw-dropping. The man can play so fast! And on such Boston-sounding instruments! That he invented! Even if we kept getting shoved back into the aisles by the positively moronic security guards (Why the hell are you in the aisles? Clear this aisle! Are you dancing? Sit in your folding chair!) it was a crazy amazing concert.

And definitely more than a feeling. Something clearly more tangible.

OMG.

Okay, this is gonna hafta be quick. (For, you see, I'm just in from Cape Cod via Providence and I'm picking up a rental car for Wisconsin via Chicago.)

SO. Left the fam at the beach this morning (we had a great time, but that's for another post) and my folks dropped me off at the Providence airport around 10am. And who was at the curbside check-in with me but SURVIVOR? That's right, the epic band Survivor was heading to Chicago as well. Being the crazed rock superfan that I am, I went straight up to the lead singer.

"I'm a huge fan."

"You are?" He asked, slightly startled.

"Yep," I replied, leaving them to their check-in. I was flying (and not just literally.) Survivor! I love them! So, I got into the security line only to hear behind me "I'm getting in line with her- she's cute!" Um, hello Robin McAuley, lead singer of SURVIVOR! I giggled and made some lame joke about taking off a belt and removing laptops from cases. (For all the comedic acumen I pretend to have, this is the best I can come up with?) He thought I was charming. Or frightening. I asked if they were playing in Chicago and he told me that they were on their way to St. Louis, returning to Chi in August.

"I will so be there," I told him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Yup, you'll see me dancing in the back row or on the lawn..."

He told me I should get better seats, like the front. I explained that it was a little out of my price range. He then went on to ask me if I'D LIKE FREE TICKETS. Um, yes. Yes I would. He told me to give him my info and he'd MAIL THEM OUT. (Sorry about the caps, I'm just so terribly excited.) Now, anyone who knows me truly well knows how sacrosanct my journals are. NOT TODAY. I tore a middle page out of my current one and wrote down Keely Flynn's address. That's right, in the heat of the moment (that's an Asia song, I know) I reverted to my maiden name. (Sorry, Peej.)

He shook my hand. "Nice to meet you, Keely. I'm Robin." "Um, I know," I said. He laughed. Either I was incredibly refreshing or startlingly stalkish.

"Have a good flight!" I exclaimed!

"Come say hi!"

"OKAY!!!"

So, I ducked into a bathroom and called my Mom and Dad, my sisters, my husband, and texted my high school best friend. Then, after brushing my hair for the first time today, I made my way to the gate. Maybe I'd get a pic with them! But then I remembered...my camera died YESTERDAY. And we'd have to shut off phones soon! So, I went up to the wonderfully tolerant Robin MacAuley and apologized for being obnoxious, but could I have a photo with him?

"That's not obnoxious, that's awesome!"

So there you go. And I tried for witty again, seriously I did, but I just came off as a tweaked groupie. I quoted the part of Anchorman where Ron Burgundy says that Survivor doesn't return his calls but that's okay because they're Survivor and he's not. (This is truly all I could come up with?)

And I sat with them on the plane. And Robin McAuley said I was a good hugger.

But now I seriously must bounce out...for I am seeing BOSTON AND STYX tomorrow night in Wisconsin! (I realize it sounds like I'm having the best week ever from 1985, I truly do.) Whoo hoo!

Or I'd take one of those ninja turtle ice creams with gumball eyes...

Do you know how hard it is to get [free] internet in far-flung places like the upper Cape? Well, I'm currently pirating a signal from the next door neighbor's cottage, sitting in the back of my Dad's borrowed Yukon in the torrential rain. It's like a little office in here. Ooh, that was thunder. Thankfully I'm in a trunk!

Okay, my Dad just came out and bodily moved me back into the cottage, saying something about "the news" and "quick strikes." Sure, Dad. Fiiine. (I'll just post this later.)

So. Since getting here (aside from having to jet to the airport at 5:45am and waking UP at 5:50am- we did the Home Alone dash) it's been pretty uneventful and terrific. I've consumed more shellfish than is probably wise (at the Lobster Pot, no less, quite possibly the greatest restaurant ever), built the most structurally sound moat in the Harbor (sure, my two-year old nephew helped, but it was mainly my construction site), and came down with a bizarre and inexplicable full-body rash. Kate thinks it's an allergy to shellfish HA HAH. (Like that would even slow me down.) Give up now, ocean life! I'll pretend it's like that episode of Sesame Street where Bert and Ernie are fishing on a boat and Ernie gets all the fish by yelling "Here, fishie FISHIE FISHIE!" And the fish jump in the boat. And, presumably, he eats them for dinner.

Not to say that it's been totally idyllic and completely without conflict here. Why, just the other day a pile of dog poo was spotted on the lane to the beach with a sign posted beside it, asking "Did you forget something?" Ouch. And the signal we've all been pirating from is called "Lazy Summer Home." Quite the misnomer, when you consider that seven laptop-laden adults are running around the backyard like crazy people, yelling "I've got four bars!" and "Dammit, my signal dropped!" Do you think they're on to us? Discuss.

Most of the people in this house are the self-same folks that I play Scramble with on Facebook. We've adjusted, though, with a game that I like to call "Boggle." And has anyone else ever heard of "Tripoli?" It's a fantastic game that includes poker, a variation of Hearts, and Michigan rummy. A veritable trio (get it?) of games designed to pit my family against one another and guaranteed to make at least one person go to bed cross. We tried using vanilla cookies as poker chips but I kept eating them.

Speaking of overeating; I have been. However! I've found the answer to my dietary prayers in the form of an exercise system called "Core Rhythms." (I love infomercials.) We were TRANSFIXED by these dvds and watched the 'mercial for a good half an hour. Each five minute segment gave you the option to purchase the set FOR EVEN CHEAPER than before. With extra dvds thrown in! (Leaving the question unanswered- if I had purchased them when the informercial started, would I be paying full price for only five dvds as compared to half price for all eight? I worry about this stuff.) So, I did what any sane person would do; hopped on the back of the Yukon and downloaded the series on LimeWire. (Do you think the Feds read my blog?) I did the "quick" twenty minute one and enjoyed learning "hot latin moves" like the Running Man. (My favorite part of the testimonials was when a hefty gal swayed awkwardly from side to side with her hands in the air saying "I love all these great club moves!")

That said, when I was done I was covered in sweat and couldn't feel my midsection. Hear that? Sounds like fat-burnin'. Also, I had bumped my heel something fierce so that was burnin' too. Plus, this rash really is showing no signs of slowing down.

And this is me in peak health, folks. It's a good thing I'm at the seaside...all I need now is a plaid blanket and for my wicker wheelchair to be rolled down to the water's edge. It's good for one's constitution. And while we're down there, can someone lend me a couple bucks? I totally missed the ice cream man over at the public beach the other day and my innards are screaming for a nutty royale cone.

But I'm getting work done. For real.

Did you know that Ganymede has a SEA under its SURFACE?

This is fantastic. (Fantastically gross, that is. ANNIE. DO NOT FOLLOW THIS LINK.) Kate! Thanks for sending this, and thanks as well to the Boston Globe for such a hard-hitting expose'. Or is it a human interest piece? I really have trouble differentiating. Maybe you can tell? And, oh...my favorite part? It's a tie between when the lady exclaimed "Oh my stars!" and when her mother almost fainted because she had the "willy willies." I have a feeling that if an eight foot-long snake were found in downtown Chicago the utterances would not be nearly as quaint.

Grohohossssss.

Some other tidbits from my week (I'm cutting and pasting a bit more than usual because I leave in about six hours to go to Cape Cod for a week. I should really finish packing. And maybe squeeze in a shower.): Um, Kidz Bop. Why? WHY? I truly don't understand why kids can't listen to the actual songs. Not appropriate? Well, having kids sing J-Lo's "Waiting for Tonight" does not make it more kid-friendly, no matter how many high-pitched full voiced tots wail "Ohhh!" It is a song about meeting your lover. (Oh, my stars.) And it's an actual track on one of the Kidz Bop albums. I use the term 'album' kinda loosely, as it's essentially a Now That's What I Call Music CD dubbed in kidspeak. Make the kid a mix tape, she'll thank you. (Right, Dad? Alice Cooper!!)

Hmm, what else...so many amazingly relevant things to write about in one short week! How about when P.J. was at the gym (yesterday) and was asked How It Was Goin' by a random guy in the locker room? P.J. looked up, realized the guy was speaking to him and replied "Oh. Fine." The man followed up with "Did you know that 40 percent of all prostitutes in Thailand are transvestites?" An awkward silence ensued, as you can well imagine (I HAVE to imagine, for I wasn't there either.) P.J. calmly responded "No...I didn't." Pause pause pause pause. "I enjoy travel."

And I was so thrilled today on Facebook- When I asked for info on Jupiter's moon Ganymede in my "status," four people responded with wall posts and two sent messages. I'm not completely mental, I was researching cool tidbits for a one-act play that's due in, oh, about ten minutes. I received some creepy information as well as some completely timely and writer's-block-obliterating dialogue! So, um, thank you.

We went down to Summerdance at Millennium Park after work to hear a Serbian brass band and learn how to dance like other cultures. Namely, Serbia. Turns out, it's mostly dancing in a line, holding hands and doing something tappy with your feet. Since we were in the outer ring (I don't know how that happened- I'm short and usually shoved in front) we couldn't see the instructor's feet and thusly didn't know the tappy parts. So, we bounced in place until people moved right or left, then we bounced to the right or to the left. We looked amazing- people totally wondered how we got such cultural dance moves. I told them that it comes from the heart- g-goung. G-goung. (Anyone, anyone? Not you, Kate.)

Addendum.

Okay, so I probably should have just gone to Wikipedia in the first place. I have found out what the "international" chicken sammiches were all about. You guys were right- the Italian was always there and always quite good. Also the French one- a chicken cordon bleu (which I do not recall ever having, just for the record. I'm not calling them a liar or anything, my memory may just be spotty. I was seven.) And finally, an American one. Why is the American ANYTHING always the blandest? It's a chicken sandwich with American cheese! C'mon, why not with something with barbecue sauce? Americans LOVE barbecue sauce!

Did you know there was almost a fourth "international" sandwich? It was called the Hawaiian. And it was the American. With pineapple. And it was marketed only in New Zealand. What? Where to start, where to start. No. I'm too upset. And more than a little peckish.

Speaking of international affairs (as I so often do), did you read about the koala in Australia? The one whose head got caught in the grill of a car (by an "unwitting motorist," even) and was dragged seven miles before another car flagged them down? The koala was fine! Here are my exact reactions while reading:

["Lucky" hung on during his ordeal with one arm and his trapped head, and was freed with household scissors used like a fireman's "jaws-of-life" to cut around the car's mesh grill with the horrified owner's permission] "Oh my God, Lucky! Are you okay?"

[While Lucky was in shock, he quickly recovered and was nearly better after a couple of hours rest and a feed. Lucky will stay at the hospital, set up by the late television wildlife crusader Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin] "Isn't that so wonderful! And, oh, Steve Irwin, you still do so much good...

[He'll recover from his experience and receive treatment for a chlamydial infection.] "Uh, what? He's got a what? From a car? Or was this prior to the car?"

I feel like some darned pivotal information has been kept from the public.

In local news, last night was the opening night of the Outdoor Film Festival in Grant Park. Hundreds of people watching "All About Eve" in the sweltering dusk! Medium thin-crust from Pizano's on Monroe! Illegal flask for ginger beer and vodkas! I love summer. I do not, however, love the girls who were talking LOUDLY on the train about how much they've changed since middle school. (Can you believe it's been five years? I can't believe it's been five years. It's like I'm a different person. I know! I was just thinking about how we're different people!) Maybe it was the fact that the hour was encroaching upon midnight, but I truly think that people should be banned from talking on the trains. Unless they have something really amazing to say.

Otherwise they should just blog.

Karma is a cruel mistress.

Remember, oh, a week ago? When I laughed at some poor sap getting doused by an errant sprinkler? Cosmic retaliation is a funny, funny thing.

Yesterday afternoon, Jack and I were strolling (literally, in a stroller) to my block. Ahead of us on the sidewalk was a big ol' arcing sprinkler so I waited, feeling out its flight path. Once I had it down I decided to go for it- only it rapidly changed direction and whipped back horizontally! I got soaked the first time through as I tried to push Jack's stroller off to the side. Unfortunately, his wheel got caught on the 'keep off the grass' ribbons and I tripped over his stroller trying to keep it upright and keep his shade cover down. At this point the water had already whipped back over me and all I had to show for it was a welt on my shin. I shoved the stroller back onto the sidewalk (maybe a little too hard) and to steady it I caught it on my kneecap. Dripping wet, I hobbled us to a dry portion of sidewalk, trailing fresh sod and yellow tape. I pulled back Jack's shade to check the damage. He was sitting there happily, clutching his moose "Baby" (don't ask) and three trains.

"You cool, Jack-Jack?"

"My CROCS is wet!"

So there you have it. A girl can be sopping wet, slightly embarrassed and recently kneecapped, but the two year old male in her life will mostly be concerned about the thoroughly waterproof footwear currently dangling from his toes. Which he will later kick off. In traffic. And immediately demand back.

Are you taking notes? I'd think you'd find it helpful. (Allll in the name of research, folks.)

Seriously, what are those chicken sandwiches CALLED?

Happy Monday! I'm easing back into the week with Hootie and the Blowfish. On Sesame Street. With a two year old, of course. (Of course.) Hold my hand! It's about crossing the street with an adult! It's exceptionally cute but also a little puzzling. They changed some lines to better fit the theme of, you know, crossing with an adult ("Yesterday...saw Elmo standing there...") but they made it harder for themselves, I think. The usual bridge is "Cause I've got a hand for you/and I wanna run with you" but they CHANGED it to "I am here for you/and I wanna cross with you." Was this necessary? In a song called "Hold My Hand," how better to convey the idea of hand-holding than with the line "Cause I've got a hand for you?" It practically does the work itself.

Also, we've been O'Ding on this one particular clip: just a warning, though, it's ridiculously cute. Bonus- did you notice that the baby bird is the also the voice of Robin, Kermit's nephew? Or, you know, it's the same voice actor. (I can differentiate.) Also, one of the bunnies is the voice of Bean bunny. But isn't Bean himself...this one is bunnier. More an actual bunny who happens to sing and less a major character in the Muppet's Christmas Carol.

Speaking of bunners, Kat, P.J. and I went to Benfest on Saturday and spent a good portion of our time at the petting zoo for the under-10 set. Tortoises! Lop-eared bunnies! A snake with its mouth taped shut. And other fun things. Afterwards, we sanitized our hands with lotion like good little city-dwellers. As Kat put it, in Texas it's "Well, I just stuck my hand up this animal...what's for dinner?"

Also this weekend, two concerts at Ravinia! Feist on Friday night with a bunch of friends and Lyle Lovett on Saturday with just Peej and I. Both were fantastic shows, although Friday night's had the added perk of a picnic blanket submerged in mud (and thusly, concert-goers submerged in mud.) But there was homemade sangria! (John-gria?) And Saturday I sat next to an elderly man air-drumming and punching fists in the air, so it's really a toss up as to which was the superior concert experience.

Sunday night we had to pick up a birthday cake for one of P.J.'s bosses at Sweet Mandy B's (the best place to buy me a cupcake ever EVER) and we stopped along the way at Burger King. (Maybe blogging brings out the fast food cravings, I swear we never do this.) I got an Italian chicken sandwich because Kate and I used to get them all the time as kids, back when they had three different types. Can anyone remember what they were called? They were great. Anyhow, we had our fast food in the kid's dining area of BK, watching "iCarly" on TeenNick. We felt ollllld. Plain White Tees! On a tween show! About the hilarity of updating a webcast with your little brother and best friend! Ooh, maybe I should start a webcast.

At Mandy B's we got a choco cake, plus a ranger cookie and the best lemon square ever. It was tartastic. Plus, we realized that we have a friend who now works there! (Or has for a year. Whatever.) We have a sugar hook-up!

Then, home to play the game of "What do you want to do/I'm not really feeling anything/Well, me neither but the weekend's almost over," which turned out to mean Scrabble and three episodes of Law & Order: Criminal Intent. 'Quo' in the triple word position underneath the first letter of 'style' means 38 points! And Olivia D'Abo is no longer Kevin Arnold's big sister but is in fact a psychopathic killer.

Yep.
("That's how we got here...that's how we got here...")

I scent a trilogy.

Speaking of viciously earnest and poorly realized frames (and we were), this may be my new favorite. For now. As you can see (kinda), the photograph is of a sunset. And the caption? Three words shoved together, almost like a sentence. Family friends forever. Now don't get me wrong. I love family, friends and eternity, but this seems to state that family friends ARE forever. Like your "Uncle Dennis" that knew your Dad in grade school? Uncle Denny FOREVER! Whoo hoo!

I would like to work for this company. Apparently you don't need an exceptional grasp of sentence structure or spatial relations. Just take words you like and slap them on a frame in any ol' order, with a photograph you also like- they don't even need to be of jiving themes! I could so do this.

In other news, I saw a lawn sprinkler that was hidden behind an L-shaped bush and a sign marking a driveway near North and Clybourn today. It wouldn't have been so bad if it had stayed in the general area of the lawn it was supposed to be watering, but instead it flew in an arc to the street. You know, over the sidewalk. SO. I saw a lady with a stroller get soaked full in the face when it made its return arc- don't look at me like that, Mom, I didn't lie in WAIT for her! I happened to discover it at the same time she did! Just...ten feet further back. The toddler laughed anyhow. It was totally cool.

But then...an Ipod-bedecked businessman (Good name for a band. No, wait, that's a terrible name for a band) turned the corner. I waved to him, so help me God I did, and that wave contained the knowledge of the impending gush of water and the embarrassment that would ensue if he went to work looking like he had peed his pants. Or had neck sweat. And what did he do? He waved back. And took it in the face.

"Thought you were waving hi," he sputtered.
"Nope," said I.
"That's just what it looked like," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "But I wasn't."
"Hah, I know."
"Hah."

We laughed, but sadly, I laughed harder than I ought've. I know.

I'm actually employing subliminal messaging RIGHT NOW.

I am not proud of this, let me just start off by saying that.

Last night around 10pm, P.J. and I were idly flipping through channels. It was ungodly hot in the apartment and nothing could keep our attention- not George Carlin, not some documentary on binge drinking (okay, it was The Soup), nothing. Until...a commercial for a Big Mac came on. We sat, wide-eyed and alert until it ended, then at the exact same moment said, "We should get a Big Mac." Now, this is bizarre for many reasons. Among them- a) We never eat at McDonalds, b) certainly not late at night, c) I'm on a variation of the South Beach diet (which, up until last night was going VERY well, thank you), and d) it's a BIG MAC on TELEVISION.

So, of course, we hopped on our bikes and rode to the nearest Mickey D's (first we went online to see if the one closest to us had late-night hours...this was the extent of our insanity- we LOOKED UP AND CALLED McDONALDS.) There was something rather nice about biking at night with the hot breeze and waning traffic. I felt eight. Anyhow, we rode there saying stuff like, "I hope it's not just the drive-thru!" AND IT WASN'T.

We headed back home (which proved trickier, as I am remarkably unadept at biking one-handed, especially if the other hand is gripping a cup covered in condensation. I spilled a good third of it but I didn't let it stop me. Actually, that's not true. I stopped a few times to readjust and it would have been quicker to walk.)

We ate the incredibly fattening and carby meal in our backyard (which was lovely with the breeze and tangled lilies and freshly mowed lawn) and talked about subliminal messages. We feel like we've been duped, or at the very least COERCED. And if it hadn't been so delicious I may have made a formal complaint. I settled for a formal thumbs-up. It was so good.

Speaking of Big Macs, where does that third piece of bread come from? It doesn't look like the top or bottom piece, and it's too thick to just be extra bun. Are all buns that thick that they need a third piece to be sliced off? If so, are all the middles just going into the Big Mac pile? Should I get some money back for lack of bread?

On a completely unrelated but also a bit addictive note, I got a Roomba this weekend. I named him WALLLEEEEE (I haven't seen Wall-E yet, but I'm just sure I'll love it. How could I not? Have you seen his eyes? They're binoculars, for crying out loud) and he is the best thing to ever happen to our apartment. I failed at letting him charge for the full sixteen hours (PJ in the next room: Are you taking him off the charger? Keely: Nooo....) because I simply couldn't wait.

He started off in a spiraling pattern, scanning the room for boundaries, objects, and different brushes he'll need (I kid you not). Within moments he had cleaned under the couch (which I guarantee had not been disturbed since we moved in two years ago) and popped a wheelie to get the sides of the cat scratcher. Another highlight was when he batted the area rug up (he had already vacuumed the top) in order to clean UNDER it. Are you calling me out, Wallee? Fine, you got me. I never lift the rug. (But now I don't have to.) The cats hate him, but you know what? Life's hard sometimes. And I crave clean floors.

Do you realize that I live IN THE FUTURE? I Skype with my family in Italy, Boston and all points East while my robot cleans my floors, leaving me plenty of time to be convinced by the television that it's time to eat. Big Brother nothin', I'm stoked. And a little hungry again.

Just like the Jim Croce song!

Today my 3.5 year old informed me that we couldn't play in the backyard because it was being "turtle-ized." What? TURTLEized. Sound it out- do you know what he meant?*

Ooh, this sounds like an Encyclopedia Brown chapter. I used to love those. Remember the suspenseful last sentence of each story? "Encyclopedia knew that she was lying. There was no way she could have made it across the backyard in her boots- WHAT GAVE IT AWAY?"

I loved the one where Leroy "Encyclopedia" Brown knew that the girl from down the block was snooping in his house; she tried to lie and say she was looking up a word in his dictionary. WHAT GAVE IT AWAY? Why, she said she was searching for the past tense of the word "missile" and found that it was "misled." Missile is a noun! Misled is NOT the past tense of missile, although it was a cleverly ironic word to blurt out.

Another keeper is the one where a girl pretends to be upset about a crime (that I cannot for the life of me recall- it was probably pretty awful) to clear herself of any suspicion. She cried to Encyclopedia and begged him for help. HOW COULD HE TELL SHE WAS A ROTTEN LIAR? (They never used that phrase, I'm pretty sure.) She had two tears running down her face, from the outside corners of her eyes. Tear ducts are in the inner corners, she must have used an eye dropper, Encyclopedia stated as the cops led her away. (Not really.) I always had a slight issue with this one as I've seen tears (on myself and others) that have flown from all directions away from the eye. I'm not saying we're a bunch of Charlie Brown criers, what with tears rainbowing up and out from a thrown back head or anything, but it's possible to utilize the full eye. Just saying. She may have been framed.

One that I did NOT like was the one with the wayward hitchhiker whom Encyclopedia and a pal asked for help in finding the pal's lost duck. The hitchhiker hadn't seen the pet but invited them to stay for the chicken that he had roasted over a campfire. Encyclopedia led his friend away quickly as he had seen something no one should ever have to see- WHAT HAD THE UNRELENTINGLY CREEPY MAN LET SLIP? The hitchhiker invited them to stay for chicken, but Encyclopedia only saw dark meat roasting. Like from a duck. I am still bothered by this. How long had the duck been missing? Long enough for someone to make a campfire, get it to a suitable heat, find a duck, kill a duck and get rid of any evidence that might look like a duck had been around? And where the heck did this all go down, a nearby forest preserve?

Bothered, I tell you.

*Fertilized. But you probably figured that out by the time I said "Encyclopedia Brown," didn't you? Unless you're like a ten-year old me who was always too afraid to flip to the back to read the answers. You know, in case something jumps out at you with a knife or an angry turn of phrase. (I was a sensitive youth, right Mom?)

Demitasse cups, mythical beasts and utter pain.

Last night we walked around the neighborhood on a "Let's Try Not to Binge Tonight" night. We started out walking a block and a half from our apartment to Que Rico [!] and succeeded in not getting nachos and margaritas on the patio. Took a left onto Roscoe and valiantly did not order any Turkish appetizers at Turquoise (although it's a minor personal coup that the nice German-Irish boy I live with has added "Let's just get some lamajoon for dinner" into his vernacular.) Walked past Victory's Banner (that was easy, as it was closed since 3pm. But oh my gosh, strawberry shortcake pancakes) as well as Kaze (best spicy tuna roll and a carrot king crab demitasse cup thing that will make a man weep- I've seen it) and down past Mario and Gino's for NO coconut gelato, right by Orange and Kitsch'n for late night brunch and cleverly named entrees that I would not be partaking in. Around this point we ran into a couple of friends who were on their way to Robey's pizza- we walked them there and CONTINUED on our way. (At this point I could have eaten the grass poking through the sidewalk but we persevered.) As we made our way home we rewarded ourselves on our willpower by ogling homes for sale entirely out of our price range. This leads me to believe that not only are there too many restaurants in Roscoe Village, but they're abutted by entirely too many multi-million dollar homes as well. Still, I can't imagine living anywhere else.

(I am STARVING right now.)

Today I was with my five year old gal and her baby sis. As the bitsy was taking a nap, the older girl and I did our toenails and talked about our favorite animals. She asked what mine were and I answered ponies, cats, bunnies, dragons... She informed me that dragons weren't an animal. I held my breath. Was fantasyland over so early? Could the Tooth Fairy be far behind? Santa Claus, the Great Pumpkin? Nope, she said. Dragons...are reptiles. They're not even mammals.

Hooray!

I also taught her how to do sudoku this afternoon. So easy, she said! All you need to know is your vertical, horizontal, squares and numbers one through nine! It's like playing tic tac toe with nine players! (I realize that I have a limited amount of information left to truly impart to her. It might take another year, two tops.)

Also today I had the immense awesomeness of breaking a pinky toe. The kids and I were playing on the back patio with the hose on the mist setting, trying to reveal shy rainbows in the atmosphere, laughing, dancing, ha hah! My foot caught the side of a HEAVY chair and was wrenched to the side, only to have the toppling chair come down hard on the pinky toe. It bled. It swole. Are you bleeding? Are you crying? 5-year old asked. Would you like some water? Next thing I know I was being lovingly misted with the hose amidst cries of "Can we make peanut butter and jelly?"

Eventually I made it home and was convinced by P.J. to poke the [GROSS ALERT] mammoth blood bubble with a sterilized needle as it was the size of a small emu. Which is still large enough. It hurt a fair piece but I was told I was very brave. (Repeatedly, as it took a few jabs to relieve the crazy pressure.)

She's resting comfortably, folks, with a good-sized grapefruit and vodka (a greyhound!!) to lull her into a bloggy complacency.

As my two year old does when I tell him to rest his eyes, I'm pressing the palms of my hands into my eyeballs and holding my breath. Goodnight.