You know, baked beans, cream pie, tea party, strangler...

So, last weekend, my parents, Jen, Jules, Debby and Eric, Jimmy, Sherry, and I, and of course Lisa and Gary, went to Boston to see Nicole graduate from med school and take on the mantle of Dr. Payne. Oh, wait, I just realized how that sounds. James has probably been teasing her about that for years, and I only just got it. Good thing Nik has the kind of bright smiling countenance that will dispel any fear her name might drive into patients’ hearts. We all had a wonderful time. We got to meet Alex and his parents (all lovely, delightful people) and we got to see Nik get her diploma, recite the Hippocratic Oath, and toss her cap in the air. It was a really cool ceremony. When they handed out the diplomas, they allowed each graduate’s family to come up on stage for a photo. We had 15 people up there, which was almost the record. (Yes, I was counting, in the hopes that we would have the largest group, because that is the kind of person I am.)

Some of us toured the Sam Adams Brewery that day, while others of us got lost in Cambridge and never found the brewery at all, because all the streets in Cambridge have the exact same names as the streets in Boston, clearly because Bostonians like to see tourists get hopelessly lost in the city outskirts.

The next day we walked the Freedom Trail, a red line cleverly painted along the sidewalks of Boston that you can follow like Dorothy and Toto, and it takes you to all the major historic sites. You know why they do this? Because no one would ever make it out of Boston if there wasn’t an actual trail to follow. All the tourists would give up and just camp on the streets. I think the colonists set up the town in the most confusing manner possible and then named all the streets the same name in order to confuse the British troops in the hopes that they would say, “Oh, the heck with this! If we ever find our way out of this city, let’s just leave this place to the rebels.” And then once the Brits hightailed it back to England, the colonists just forgot to correct the problem. Witness:



Now, I ask you, what is one to make of that?

We did have a lovely time, though. We rode the Swan Boats in the Boston Common lagoon. Well, most of us did. Jimmy decided he was too manly to ride in a bird boat, and Eric stayed behind to keep him company. We saw the Massachusetts State House and were blinded by the sun glinting off the 23 carat gold-covered dome. We saw the spot where the Boston Massacre took place. My dad bought me some roasted peanuts there. I ate them in honor of Crispus Attucks.

I got to tour Paul Revere’s home and realized that “spacious” and “high-ceilinged” in colonial days means neither spacious nor high-ceilinged in the present day. Nicole and Julia played peek-a-boo over the box pew walls in the Old North Church. And we had delicious seafood at the No Name Restaurant down by the harbor. Then we returned to the hotel where I promptly collapsed from exhaustion.

Thanks Nicole, for inviting us to share your special day!

Quick! Borrow this book from me!

So I just finished Devil in the White City by Erik Larson and it was so flippin' good. Larson tells the story of two men: one who spent his life building beautiful things that inspired his fellow men, and one that spent his life in a cruelly destructive way. Daniel Hudson Burnham was the chief architect of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair and the book tells the story of his fascinating struggle to bring the Fair into existence. But while Hudson was building the Fair, another man, Dr. H. H. Holmes, was a few blocks away, luring unsuspecting people into his hotel and murdering them. It’s hard to believe that Jack the Ripper is so famous and yet I had never heard of Dr. Holmes. He was one creepy, nightmare-inducing dude.

The book is one part history, one part true-crime novel, and all parts good. Get thee to a library!

You know, because Kate Winslet's character packed a lot of stuff. Get it?

This past weekend was Girls’ Relaxation Weekend in Houston. It was marvelous. I highly recommend you plan one.

On Friday, I got to the Pittsburgh Airport and, as is my wont, took my place in line just in front of the most obnoxious man in the terminal. He didn’t dress like a fashion plate and didn’t need a multitude of styling products for his hair; in short, someone who could easily pack light, but he was disgusted with the airline’s “restrictive” baggage policy. He exclaimed loudly, to anyone who would listen, “Only one free bag and it has to be less than 50 pounds! What is that (bleep)?” And then, thinking that we didn’t erupt into hilarity because we hadn’t heard him, he repeated himself in an even louder voice.

“Who are you? Rose Dewitt-Bukater?” I muttered to myself. And by “to myself,” I mean “aloud, to the entire line of people.” The man shot me a look that told me he didn’t get my Titanic reference, but that he knew when he had been insulted. Oh well. I like to discourage people from talking to me when I travel, anyway.

Oh, but then! The man in front of me stepped up to the counter and I heard the airline employee exclaim, “You have 45 letters in your last name!” Now, I am prone to exaggeration, so I just assume everyone else is, too, but then I looked at the check-in screen and the dude really did have 45 letters in his name. It looked like this:

Continental Check-in:
Passenger:
NGKOPASNGIRPANGIROAWBJGSHROAUIVHHBVCALW

And then it went off the edge of the screen. For all I know, there could have been another 20 letters there, but Continental’s technology was simply not equipped to handle monikers of that size.

And then I broke the plane. I have no idea how it happened. The tray table simply came off in my hands and there was no reattaching it. So, when the flight attendant announced that we should pass any trash or unwanted items to the center aisle for disposal, I simply sent my tray table along. The flight attendant said she had never seen anything like it before, and I spent the rest of the flight hoping the contractor who built the tray tables was not the same contractor who built the wings.

I landed safely in Houston and, hallelujah, it was almost chilly. Amanda took me directly out for Mexican food. We perused our menus as I drank my sangria. Amanda turned to me to ask, “What are you getting?” and seeing my “golly, this sangria is strong” look, immediately amended her question to “Trashed?”

The whole weekend was devoted to relaxation. We slept in, watched movies, went swimming, and got massages. I am now trying to re-work my budget so that I can afford a massage every day. If I cut out food and rent, I think I can do it.

Amanda’s roomie Gena and her fried Jen were there and Gena planned an M^cubed evening: Mexican food, Movie, Marble Slab ice cream. The movie was Made of Honor. It was every bit as formulaic and predictable as I imagined it would be, but it was charming in a chick flick way. And just to be 13 for a moment, Kevin McKidd’s dreamy Scottish brogue totally trumps Patrick Dempsey’s fabulous hair. Ascending the stairs in the movie theater, Amanda got her flip flop caught, broke it, and fell on her face. So you see, Chris, we were thinking of you.

It was a fabulous weekend and we need to make it an annual occurrence. Thanks to Amanda and Gena for their hospitality. And before I sign off, here’s a delightful little exchange I witnessed at airport security on my way back home:

TSA Employee: Sir? Sir? Do you speak English?
Japanese man: Si.

Things I have learned while writing the intros for Melis’ Broadway Revue.

1. The premise of Cats is so utterly ridiculous, I am convinced Andrew Lloyd Webber must have been smoking the crack when he wrote it.*

2. Oklahoma was so innovative, it set the style for the modern musical. It’s that style we take for granted, where the songs and dances weave together a coherent storyline with recurring motifs, and emotions aside from just laughter are evoked. Before musicals like Oklahoma and Showboat, it was just stuff like HMS Pinafore. No offense to Gilbert and Sullivan, but have you ever seen HMS Pinafore? Well I have, and if that didn’t kill me, perhaps nothing can.

3. Les Mis is really depressing. No, no. Even more depressing than you realize.

4. The plot of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat plays out just fine on the stage, but when you actually try to explain it to someone in synopsis form, it’s like a Busby Berkeley number on mescaline. Which brings us back to Andrew Lloyd Webber* again. See how everything comes full circle?

* Mr. Webber, I am joking. Please don’t sue me.

Blargh! I hate being sick!

I have been felled by the wretched sinus infection once again. I'm walking around in the kind of haze I imagine would be induced by chugging a bottle of Dimetapp. I’m so out of it, I slept for 13 hours last night. I’m so out of it, I put conditioner on my hair before I had washed the shampoo out of it, and let me tell you, it's doing nothing for my coif. I’m so out of it, I may actually be asleep right now and just dreaming that I’m typing this.

Apparently I'm killing this planet. And seven others.

Check out this interesting site in which you answer questions about your lifestyle to find out how many planets it would take to sustain 6.6 billion people who live the way you do. You get to pick your character and your neighborhood. I picked a little residential area similar to the one I live in now. You go through the questions and your town changes based on the answers you give. Before all was said and done, my town looked like north Jersey.

When I answered the question about how much trash I throw out, a big landfill appeared not far from my backyard. When I answered the question about how much I shop, the Super Huge Mart popped up not far from the landfill. And through it all, the smoking stacks of the local power plant loomed over my house, no doubt borne of my answer to the energy use question.

The fact that I don’t recycle really hurt me, as I jumped from 2.4 earths to 3.7 earths after answering that set of questions. My laziness cost me 1.3 planets! That seems unfair.

And this question:

What percent of your meals each month are prepared for you outside your home?

Oh dear. Cost me 3.4 planets. Way harsh, people.

In the end, I found I would need 8.1 earths to sustain 6.6 billion Allisons. Not that that would matter anyway because the bickering between so many Allisons would surely result in the complete breakdown of society and possibly a nuclear war.