Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

If, like me, you've foolishly been ignoring all the critics who say Friday Night Lights is the best show on TV, and have been thinking, "Oh, I'll get to that eventually," I'm here to tell you that now is the time. No, seriously. Now is the time. It's summer. Netflix the DVDs. If you're one of the 82 school teachers in my family, you really have no excuse.

This show is so, so good. I'm 13 episodes into season 1, and you wanna know my favorite thing about it? Okay, here it is, and I credit Peter Berg with this because he makes very good television: Every time I get frustrated with a character and I want to scream at my TV screen, another character comes along and does the screaming for me. Oh yes. The characters have my meltdowns for me, which saves me so much energy and is extremely satisfying. If I want to scream at Tim that he's being a selfish idiot, Lyla does it for me. If I want to scream at Tim that he's truly ridiculous, Landry does it for me. (Okay, I didn't realize until just now how much I want to scream at Tim.) But this proves to me that the show's writers are in touch with their audience. Or, at least they're in touch with me.

Also, there is a dorky, witty redhead whom I adore (every show should have a dorky, witty redhead) and the depiction of the Taylors' marriage is probably the best on TV right now. Plus, if you went to my high school, the football mania and pep rallys and ginormous buttons with the faces of the football players pinned to their parents' jackets on game night—it's all going to take you down memory lane.

So, what has been going on with me?

A quick rundown of the life of Ali:




It’s Thunder In the Valley – the weekend where 20,000 bikers come to J-town and I hide inside my apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I think the festival is great for our fair city—I just don’t like the noise. Also, and this is the real reason I avoid the downtown area during this time, I have this awful horror-fantasy that I will be walking down Market and, in my clumsiness, accidentally bump into one of the bikes parked along the street. Said bike will then tip over and create a domino effect taking down the entire row of bikes parked next to it a la that scene in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. And I think we all know I cannot dance on a bar to Tequila in platform shoes to save my life.

I have a sinus infection. A big one. I am miserable and ill and have been spending my evenings sleeping. It is my fault. I have been lazy about using my neti pot and now I’m reaping the whirlwind.

Michael Jackson is dead. I only found out this morning because I went to bed at 5:45 last night (see above.) My clock radio woke me with “Rock With You” and then nine minutes later it woke me again with “Thriller.” That’s when I knew something was up. Confession: when I was 8 years old I had a crush on him. I had a little red purse with his picture on the front. I had plans to marry him. (Little did I know, when I was 8 years old, he might have been interested. Ack.) And I apologize for none of this. In 1985 he was the coolest thing ever. Go back and listen to the Thriller album. It’s like a greatest hits album. The music is so good. And the videos—no one had ever seen dancing like that before. It was years before the full-on freak tendencies started to appear, before he became unrecognizable. I guess I don’t know what to think because the Michael Jackson that I thought was the coolest, the one that’s burned on my 8 year-old brain, has been dead and gone for a long time now.

I am considering buying an iPod touch. Anybody got one? Love it? Hate it? The pathetic 32 gig capacity gives me pause. My 60 gig is bursting at the seams. Maybe I should just upgrade to a 120 gig so I can stop being jealous of Jen’s. James, I know you have an opinion here.

Can’t wait to see most of you guys next week. Remember when someone would walk in the house and say, “The Paynes are here” or “The Gibsons are here” and everyone would scream and run out on the street to start hugging them before they could pull their bags out of the trunk? Why did we ever stop doing that?

I'm getting the urge to use hairspray and legwarmers.

I am currently working on the new cousin CD and it is just making me realize all over again what a musical treasure the decade of the 1980s was. Pure, unadulterated genius. With synthesizers. And they weren't afraid of the saxophone, is what I'm saying. Love! I'm listening to Josh's choice over and over again right now. What song is that, you ask? Find out in July, my ducks.

Oh, and some of you slackers still owe me liner notes. I'm not going to name any names --Brian and Nicole-- but you know who you are.

P.S. James, my desktop is back. I don't know how I did it, but I think I might be some sort of computer wizard.

I think my hair has jetlag.

(I feel compelled to point out that this is not a photograph of me.)

I don’t think my hair has recovered from my trip to the Arizona desert. Quite frankly it has been out of control since I disembarked from the plane.

Steps will have to be taken. Serious steps.

Did I tell you my friend is kind of famous?

You know how I went with some people to Denny's Beer Barrel Pub to watch them try to eat some ginormous burgers? And then how I went again with some other people? And both times everyone failed to complete the (absurd) task? Well, third time's the charm, because I finally got to see my friend Aubrey shove a two-pound burger into his stomach in 59 minutes, just one minute under the time limit.

I'm not going to lie, it was pretty gross. But that's the price of fame and rewards like a certificate and a t-shirt and a mention on the Beer Barrel website My friend is pictured in the third shot, labeled Mr. Slim.

Kristen, look away!

Arizona, in pictures.

The Group has returned from Arizona. No international incidents, but I did accidentally insult a pilot, which is something no flyer should hazard. Also, in Flagstaff, it was 63 degrees in the middle of the day in June. I think I might have a little crush on Flagstaff. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

P, M, J, and I landed in Phoenix and met up with Chris and Melissa. Of course we immediately headed out to shop and eat, our two favorite activities.

I saw not one, but two, life-size Elvis statues for sale in little shops. Tempting, but I refrained.

We had an open-air lunch at El Encanto, where we watched the swans and turtles swim as we ate.

J suggested that I get this apron for the irony of it. I replied, "J, I won't cook for anything."

We visited Taliesin, Frank Lloyd Wright’s winter home and school. Not as lovely as Fallingwater, but still magnificent. (Prydain Chronicle fans may recognize that Welsh name as the Chief Bard’s. Flewwdur Fflam mentioned him a few times.)

We also visited Montezuma’s Castle, a five-story apartment complex carved into the side of a cliff. Sadly, they didn’t let you climb up there. It was M’s goal on this trip to see a javelina, a wild, feral pig-rodent native to that area. A volunteer ranger there told us they were nocturnal, but we kept a look out for their glowing red eyes for the rest of the trip. Spoiler: we never did see one, but M got a stuffed one to take home.

Before reaching the Grand Canyon, we stopped at a mini-canyon, in order to be able to fully appreciate the scope of the big one, and so Melissa could buy some pottery the Native Americans there were selling. I got a lovely little bracelet.

The Grand Canyon was spectacular, obviously.

No one fell in or pushed anyone in, but I think Chris came close at one point. Falling, not pushing. Chris, J, and I liked to venture out to the very edge with P, M, and Melissa screaming at us like angry parents, “Get back here!” “Come away from there right now!” “This is not funny!” “Allison, I am not going to be the one to make the call to your parents if you fall in there!”

No fun at all.

We took a Pink Jeep tour off-roading in the canyons above Sedona. I was bouncing around like a Muppet in the back and holding on for dear life, but we did get the best view in Sedona.

What I love about Arizona, and what was such a surprise, is the way the landscape changed so quickly and so completely. You started out in the desert…

…drove up a mountain to see something you’d expect in the Pacific Northwest…

…and then the red rocks came out of nowhere. Truly majestic.

And we discovered this bar in Phoenix.

Steeler fans, like Polamalu on the field, are everywhere.

Not my best day.

Jetlag, exhaustion from travel, and possibly catching a bug from M after she ralphed on the plane have all converged to make me feel just wretched. Also, my already shaky coordination is even more reduced than usual. This morning I knocked over my water bottle, tried to catch it mid-fall, and ended up squeezing it so that a perfect arc of Aquafina shot across the table and drenched my co-worker and her laptop.

I am having a rough day and the state of my hair is reflecting that.

I'm off to visit the Grand Canyon. Also my friend Melissa.

"Ali? Has anyone seen Ali?"

The Group is headed to Phoenix this weekend, with stops in Flagstaff, Sedona, and some little Old West ghost town where I hope I'll see at least one dude wearing spurs. Here's also hoping I don't wilt in the desert heat, get burned by the desert sun, or trip over a tumbleweed and fall into the Grand Canyon. It would be an undignified way to die, but I always knew my clumsiness would get me in the end.

I predict hijinks of every kind and perhaps even a small international incident. The Group does not travel quietly.

Melissa, we're about to descend upon you. Prepare for wackiness to ensue! (And sorry about the second billing in the title.)

A small confession

Whenever I hear On the Dark Side, it makes me want to join a band in which I will wear black leather pants and play the tambourine. My boyfriend, the lead singer, is dark and tortured, but he’s sweet to me because I understand him.

Also, I wear bright red lipstick.

Do you know what happened 65 years ago today?

Because you really ought to.

"Good luck! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking." -Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander, Allied Expeditionary Force

I watched Band of Brothers episode 2 to commemorate the event.

And now I'm off to a wedding.

I really must insist that he be stopped.

I subscribe to Entertainment Weekly and I have to say, every time Stephen King refers to himself as my "Uncle Stevie" in his poorly-written columns, it makes me feel unpleasant in ways I cannot articulate to you. I hesitate to call it disturbing, but it's creepy at best.