Holiday time makes big kids seem not so big.

My coworker Mary Ann loves to refer to the Managing Editors as “the big kids.”

I was thinking about it, and according to rules of proportions; they mathematically are the big kids.

OK, this is my prime those-are-the-big-kids memory. Sitting in the Cheltenham Elementary cafeteria: the older you got, the further you shifted to right side of the room (the less supervised side). I remember being in Kindergarten looking to the other end of the lunchroom, and thinking those fourth graders were overwhelmingly old and huge. And, percentage-wise, they really were. I was 5; they were 10: double my age. The EAs range in age from 22-24. By the Law of Big Kids, our fourth graders are about 44-48: about on target for the ages of our bosses.

Math saves the day yet again.

My Literary Best Friend

My good friend Lee Fiora and I just had a major reunion. I laughed; I cried; I remembered how it used to be. She may have experienced these emotions too, but she always just looks like this

so I couldn't really tell.

It had to end though. We bid farewell for the second time this past weekend. Like most hearty reunions, we shared some nostalgia. We thought about where we were the first time we shared her poignant adolescent life moments: in the bath during spring surprise, on my mom's couch during Assassin, NJtransit to NY during the completely unnecessary but entirely welcome Sin Jun revelation, in my bed during Cross's first visit (juicy), on the R5 coming home from Philly during the painfully degrading in-the-classroom scene.

And we made some new memories too! Remember that day in Starbucks when I sipped peppermint mocha and slurped down your delicious words? I sat at my favorite relaxspot in Philadelphia: the brown lounge chair that allows me to simultaneously people-watch everyone that passes the corner of 15th and Walnut.

Last year in Hava Java Andrew asked me and Jackie what single item we would bring with us on a deserted island. We were sitting at the table closest to the door. I was facing the window, Andrew was to my right. Like my original reading of Prep, every sensual memory associated with this conversation is stamped on my brain. The obvious answer was another person. Living things are exciting and frightening all at once, because they are unpredictable. Especially humans. There is an infinite number of responses within someone else's head. Hence the constant pursuit of conversation. I think that's what I love about Prep so much. Reading it feels like having a cathartic neverwantittoend conversation. Thus, my definition of one type of ideal book (or any art for that matter): one that feels alive. Not in and of itself. But with me.

I have a huge crush...

On the movie Juno. I am listening to interviews while I work, and my stomach feels silly and excited. Perhaps this chemical reaction to listening to people speak about a movie I have not yet seen is evidence supporting a theory out there for why I do not have a significant other? Dopamine gets used up.

That boy from Superbad is so cute and awkward; I want to take a big chomp out of his face. His eyes are always smiling.

I am excited for:

-An intelligent take on teen pregnancy. Teen mom status automatically drops you superfar down the social hierarchy. Lez de-stigmatize it. Awesome.
-Cute boy from Superbad to awkwardly smile a lot and talk in that pleasant tenor monotone that he sings so sweetly.

I guess two things don’t justify bullets. Anything that emits the essence of Freaks and Geeks makes my heart skip.

Delicious.