A Fallen Icon

A little factoid about the Knowles/Krumbholz/Cook Clan: we rarely ever do things just once. Once is called a trial run, twice is called a make-sure-we-like-it, three times is called a tradition, and the first thing you learn in this family is that NO ONE messes with tradition.

Family Day at the State Fair of Texas is one of these traditions. It has been since forever ago. The Tyler folks drive down together in a big suburban, along the way we listen to tales of Uncle Johnny getting lost and discuss the newest additions to the fried offerings, the first person to see the Dallas skyline gets a quarter, and everyone says "Wait, who has the sunscreen?" at least twice. Then we meet the Dallas relatives at the designated meeting spot, which has been the designated meeting spot since forever ago, mainly because of its proximity to Fletcher's corny dog stand - conducive to grabbing one (or two or three) while you wait for everyone to show up. This designated meeting spot would be Big Tex. The love of every Texan girl's life.

Sadly, though, this pillar of my childhood has gone up in flames. Literally. Big Tex caught on fire. wut. I heard the news via Twitter and almost cried during class. (No hate. I'm just a crier, ok? Call it another one of those Knowles traditions.) I follow a lot of Texas accounts, so I got inundated with photos. Then my father, who up until this point in his 6+ monthlong Twitter career has never found anything worth tweeting, sent out a tweet about it. And then even sent another. Then my mom sent me a text about it. Big Tex = Big Deal to this household. (by the way, props, Dad. you're on your way to making it in the blagosphere, one tweet at a time.)

Big Tex, here's to the years you stood gallant and true, welcoming one and all to the State Fair of Texas. You've gone to the State Fair in the Sky now, cowboy, and we will miss you dearly. One day your successor will rise - may his Wranglers ever be as spiffy as yours always were.

Fall Break Recap

HEY I WENT TO TEXAS. It was fantastic.

Fall Break started with my 8 AM circuits lab, which usually makes me want to flip a lid but this week we were dealing with combinatorial logic - easily my favorite topic in all of circuit theory. It didn't hurt that we were able to finish lab in under the allotted 3 hours. My flight to San Antonio made a pit stop at DFW, and it was trying to sit so close to home for an hour or so without being able to get there. I got over it, though, once I boarded the flight for San Antone and the grooviest brother around. I'll try to refrain from singing his praises too much, so I don't make him blush, but he was waiting at the airport to pick me up before I even got there, took me straight to downtown San Antonio, and directed us to world famous Tex-Mex. Street vendors around the restaurant were peddling all sorts of Mexican wares, so the only obvious course of action was for us to try on multiple goofy hats and purchase the best as finishing touches on our ACL hipster ensembles, and then wear them until we got back to his apartment, right? Right. The night was still young at that point, though, so for good measure we got our minds blown by Looper and ate snuck-in sweetbreads in the theater. Actually sweet breads, as in pastries, not sweetbreads as in animal organs. There was a little confusion on this front, but we cleared it up. (Can I just say hallelujah for the advent of the smartphone? Innumerable are the times that I mention some offhand, unnecessary trivia that can only be validated by on the spot googling.)

Then the next day was ACL Day. Oh, glorious day. After a morning of music videos on the Youtube and an extremely successful trip to the HEB, we met up with some of Brandon's law school friends (who all happen to be wildly attractive ladies. props, Yo-Man) and caravanned down to weird old Austin, just in time for some more Tex-Mex before hitting Zilker Park. Now, I've had a POA for this day since the minute the schedule was released, opting for quality over quantity. So I saw Andrew Bird, The Shins, and Jack White. Ermehgehrdness I loved every minute of it. Andrew Bird was a whistling, violin strumming treat. The Shins were amazing, per usual. And Jack White was unbelievable. He's kind of my hero, and I was about 10 yards from the front of the crowd, right in the thick of things. Not only did he play stuff from his recent solo album, he also played gems from the Raconteurs and the White Stripes. Seven Nation Army, y'all. Live. I was in dorky Jack White lover heaven. Seriously, though, I could go on and on concerning that man. I'll spare y'all. All throughout the day we were subjected to short, albeit torrential, downpours, which just made the whole thing more fun and memorable in my opinion. Due to the rain, I didn't come away with too many pictures. Though I've also tried to stop focusing on picture taking at concerts in order to really enjoy the moment. I hardly ever go back and look at them, so what's the point?

Replete with live music, we filled our bellies with some Whataburger before settling in for the night. The next morning we breakfasted at a diner before parting ways, law students off to study for torts and yours truly passed into the able hands of my parents for the journey east. Where I got to Don Juan's as soon as possible. Then I exercised my power of being an exhausted college student home for a short break. And by that I mean I asked my mom to go to Hastings for me because I was really in the mood for a period drama. YOLO. She brought me Jane Eyre. I want to be Jane Eyre. I want to watch this movie every second for the rest of my life. It was great. The next day, because it would be silly to actually take a break on my break, I undertook to make a t-shirt quilt with my middle school t-shirts. I managed to finish the quilt top and starting the actual quilting before running out of time and thread. Something to look forward to for Thanksgiving, I suppose. That night I got to spend time with my practically sister. We are scarily similar and I love it. She helped me make a tutu for my Halloween costume at our family dinner without batting an eye. This is especially impressive when you consider the fact that "costume" wasn't at all mentioned in the proposition, which went sort of like this: "Will you help me make a tutu?" "Sure."

In short, I love live music, I love Jack White, I love my family, I love food, I love Texas, I love home. Let's do this again sometime, ok, Texas?

It's Almost Heeere

LET ME TELL YOU WHY I'M EMPHATIC ENOUGH TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS.

IN T-2 DAYS I WILL GO HERE

 TO SEE THIS GUY

 

AND WE WILL GO EAT THIS FOOD

 

THEN ROAD TRIP HERE

 

TO SEE THIS GUY 

 

 AND THESE GUYS

 BUT MAINLY THIS GUY

 

AFTER WHICH I WILL GO HERE 

 TO SEE THESE LOVIES

 AND EAT MORE OF THIS

 

 HALLELUJAH, FALL BREAK.

Hot Mama

I have a new hobby. That is, if doing something twice constitutes it as being a hobby, which in this case I think it does. Mainly because I have every intention of doing it again and again. This new hobby is making hot sauce (salsa, for you non-Texans*). My loving parents equipped me with a food processor this year, and what better way to put it to use? Now, instead of paying for chips and hot sauce at restaurants or going to nasty nast "Mexican" places for the free chips and hot sauce (I'm looking at you, La Parilla, El Amigo), I just whip up my own. Wut wut culinary goddess right here.

My first attempt was tomatillo based, and it was tasty albeit disappointing. The jalepeno I added did not provide near enough heat for my taste. My second attempt is tomato based and in the fridge right now to let the flavors meld. I used serrano peppers in hopes of kicking the spice up a notch. We'll see how it goes. If you know of any good hot sauce recipes, or if you call the local food columnist and ask for her thoughts on recipes used at a certain favorite Mexican restaurant, let me know.

*I learned when I got to Georgia that, over here, "salsa" is what you call hot sauce and "hot sauce" is what you call Tabasco. I've always just referred to any salsa as "hot sauce" and any hot sauce as "Tabasco", kind of like all sodas are called "Coke" and facial tissues are called "Kleenex". Deal with it, Georgians. Another discrepancy between here and Texas is that the poor Walmart cashier had no clue what a tomatillo was. Even when I informed her that she was holding peppers called tomatillos, she had no clue where to find them on her handy dandy produce chart. I knew I could have helped her out by pronouncing the "L"s, but I wasn't about to stoop so low. Deal with it, inner city Atlantans that work at the Walmart.

Friday Five

Five Reasons Why              is One Of My Very Favorite TV Shows.
Tonight, Friday Night Lights is my blank. Here's why:

5. Texas Football. What else are Friday nights for? Except, there's no Whataburger in Dillon, which I find hard to believe. And not one person orders a Blizzard or Steak Fingers at the Alamo Freeze, which I also find hard to believe.

4. It's kinda like high school. And by kinda like high school I mean it's a lot like high school. I started the series my first year of college and being a lot like high school, it comforted me.

3. The theme song is by Explosions in the Sky.

2. Coach Taylor and Tami T Taylor have the loveliest, most realistic marriage on television. No sleeping around, no googly-eyed honeymooning, just two honest people with an honest relationship.

1. Tim Riggins.

Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose. (I might or might not write this on a very visible surface during every finals week...)

By the way, Kerry is awesome and has fabulous taste. Check out her Friday Fives!

By the other way, this is the inaugural blog post for MY NEW COMPUTER. Mucho excitement over here. The roof is being raised just a tad.

By yet another way, the Olympics rock. Just sayin.

finals are...

OVER! Well, except for one incredibly ridiculous project that still needs to be turned in, but we're trying not to think about that.

In celebration, I'd like to share with the blagosphere my number one form of procrastination: photoshop. Want to know why it's so grand? Because it still feels a little productive and some might argue that the ideas and ingenuity it inspires are beneficial in creative thinking and problem solving. Plus, it's a surefire way to crack myself up.

Here is my collection of "I-Can't-Wait-To-Be-Back-In-Texas-Studying-Is-Making-My-Brain-Ooze" facebook profile pictures.

Clear Eyes, Full Heart

Tonight, my dorm at GTL threw all of the students a barbecue, promising "hot dogs, crisps, dessert, and some drink!" They also had a DJ booth and lights set up. Crazy crazy. The point was to encourage intermingling between the French and American students living in the building. This is the story of that intermingling.

My little posse of Americans had the pleasure of meeting Hugo and Henemlnejnd. (He must have said his name for me at least 6 times, but that's still all I got.) I have a problem. It's called smiling and nodding. Yes, I may have actively participated in 100% of the conversation tonight, but I comprehended about 14% of it. The highlight was probably when I zoned out for a good bit, only to be jerked back into reality by hearing "Fraaihday Naaight Laaightz?", in response to which I shouted, "Friday Night Lights?!! I LOVE that show! Coach Taylor is my HERO!" Hugo agreed, almost as emphatically, raised a fist, and exclaimed "Texas Forever!". Life = made. I'll have you know that the first thing these fellows knew about me was that I was from Texas, so they understood the importance of the series to my soul. It happened as all these things seem to happen. A group is approached and asked a question, everyone stares blankly at each other for a good minute and a half, then someone finally answers. I'm usually that someone. The question tonight was where we were all from, and I answered with a "well, I'm from Texas". Hemechlind really liked that. I know because his face lit up and his eyes opened wide and his mouth spread into a grin from ear to ear. "Aahhhh! Texaahhs! Naaaaice!" Hugo was pumped about it, too. Everyone. Loves. Texas. From then on, our conversation included almost everything you could think of - sports, school, travel, food, music, TV - and then we dispersed. Too early, I think, because from my window I can now hear the sweet sounds of French voices being raised to In The Navy, Funkytown, and Smells Like Teen Spirit, among other choice tunes. I guess I'll just have to join in from afar.

Note: hotdogs in France come on baguettes, not buns. wowzers.

Some Day-to-Day

If it had to be my last week in Texas, you had better believe I was going to make it count, starting with New Year's celebrations hot and fresh off of a ski trip. Celebrations that included charades, spontaneous shuffling, fire building, s'mores, leaping over open flame, never ever have I ever, a fair share of laughter, and one wicked hat. On New Year's day, you bet your boots I ate a heaping serving of black-eyed peas for good luck. Then, the jam packed week began.

Monday Gunday. Most people, when you express a longing to shoot guns, give a quick titter before briskly walking away and giving you odd glances across the room. Other people, like my grandpa, take a moment to think, then say, "Well, we'll need some guns. Give me a week." Then the next time you go to their house they have multiple firearms spread out in the guest bedroom. Then they pick you up and take you out to some property where you can shoot off multiple rounds of ammunition at targets that look like squirrels. True story. I shot a .22 rifle, a .22 pistol, a .357 magnum, a .38 special, and a 20 gauge. Variety is the spice of life, my friends. Plus, nothing says grandparent-grandchild bonding time quite like bullseyes and sporting clays.

Tuesday Two-Stepping. Not that it has anything to do with two-stepping, but on Tuesday I found my absolute, hands down, favorite pair of socks, which have been MIA for the past six months or so. They are fleece and irreplaceable. They were hiding, and I was afraid I had lost them forever. Very afraid. But the world is set right and I have my fleece socks again, so everyone can stop worrying. In the evening, though, my dad did transform the living room into a dance floor, put on the George Strait, and dusted off his figurative boogie shoes in order to teach me how to two-step. He also threw in some waltz and polka lessons pro bono.

Wednesday Unbirthday Party. Wednesday was not my birthday. But we did have a birthday party. Before the birthday party, though, I learned how to pwn Settlers of Catan. And I singlehandedly brought back the usage of pwn. My unbirthday party was at Jucy's, because I like my burgers done Jucy's style. I also like how their styrofoam cups are conducive to jabbing your entire thumb through while trying to put on the lids, which then sends Diet Dr. Pepper streaming down your front. Not that that has ever happened. Thank goodness the only people I invited to my unbirthday were related to me. They had to claim me, Diet Dr. Pepper stained socks and all.

Thursday Day Trip. The Picnic Club saddled up in Calpurnia and headed to Dallas to see Hugo. We were approached on our way into the theater by a guy who had lost his wallet, still managed to have a $50 gift card to the movie theater, needed to get to Fort Worth, so wanted to sell the card for $35 cash. Needless to say, we were all highly confused. It was one of those situations where you know you're supposed to say no, but you don't know why. So we said no. Then we said yes, verified the card did indeed have $50 on it (actually, $49), then saved $14. Holler! After the movie, we headed to the world's largest honky tonk in order to catch Wendell's line dancing lesson. We learned the mockingbird, which is, in fact, a real song, not just a scene from Dumb and Dumber. We put everyone else on the floor to shame with our linedancing and pretzeling and I-learned-this-on-YouTubing.

Friday Farewells. Lunch at Stanleys, boot shopping (and eventually buying), unbelievably amazing Christmas gift exchanging, letters to missionaries writing, ZOTZ eating, wondering why I can't just be packed in your suitcase for Spain. And now, to cap it all off, packing. By the way, ZOTZ are super gross.

Giving Thanks

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.
Colossians 2:6-7

It seems that overflowing with thankfulness is something I oftentimes forget to do. I'm grateful only for fleeting moments until anxieties and worries rear their nasty heads. Why is it that bad mojo always inhabits 90% of thought, time, and energy, whereas stuff that brings joy and contentment is kept to a mere 10%? This is one of the many reasons why I love Thanksgiving. A whole day devoted to overflowing with thankfulness. My family has had Thanksgiving at our Lakehouse ever since we've had the Lakehouse, barring the year I was in second grade and we went to New York, but even then the rest of our family was still at the Lakehouse having Thanksgiving. And we've had the Lakehouse for a pretty long time. My great-grandfather built it. I should probably know when. (I don't.) Regardless, Thanksgiving meal at the Lake is tradition. Was tradition. Earlier this fall, the Lakehouse was consumed by the wildfires rolling across East Texas. This Thanksgiving was our first without the Lakehouse. It was weird. We were able to feast at a family member's cabin close by, so after eating we drove to Bear Creek for the customary walk around the Lake, only this time included a walk through the rubble as well. At a point in our afternoon, the family gathered to share what we were thankful for. Now, when we do this, we go oldest to youngest. This means that all of the obvious answers are taken by the time it comes to me. On one hand, I don't want to just repeat what everyone else has said, but on the other hand I feel like a jerk when everyone else is thankful "to be here together" and I say something like "Mexican food". It's a conundrum. Usually I try to split the difference and say something unique, but still pertaining to everyone else. This year was no exception. I'm thankful that, even though we loved the Lakehouse, even though I would pick the Lakehouse over anywhere else in the world to have Thanksgiving, even though the tradition and memories reside there, even though it's been this way for longer than I can remember, we still get together as a family, we still have Thanksgiving, and no matter where we are we can still overflow with thankfulness.

I think I got comfortable with the Lake being the place for Thanksgiving. That's where we give thanks. That's where we count our blessings. That's where we overflow with thankfulness. Really, though, we should be doing all of those things regardless of where we are or what day of the year it is. So my Thanksgiving resolution, born from the ashes, is to overflow with thankfulness. All. The. Time. Besides, isn't that what we've been called to do all along?

What was:

What is:

Happenings

This week:

Return of the King was on TNT.
I made a smore.
I had a good phone call.
I received letters from some of my favorite people.
A random fellow chose to spill his heart to me for an unbiased opinion and advice on his breakup.*
I played soccer in the rain.
I've discovered apple tea.
I'm less than a week away from being home sweet home.

It's the small things.

*I was eating lunch and reading a book. He sat down and asked to talk. She's one lucky girl. I hope they make it work. Then we talked about books. I'll probably never see him again.

Ruminations on Rose Festival

Day One: Thursday started early, as I had to finish packing, catch the Tech Trolley to the MARTA station, MARTA to the airport, check-in, and make it through security. Once there, though, I had a good hour or so to bum around the airport. I always give myself more time than even conceivably necessary, mainly because I like airports so darn much. (Unfortunately, when flying American out of Hartsfield-Jackson one gets stuck in Terminal T, which is a den of crumminess as far as the terminal world goes. Oh, well.) I fell asleep on the flight, which is a big deal since I have immeasurable trouble sleeping on planes/trains/buses/cars/etc. Then the male flight attendant woke me up to ask if I wanted anything to drink. And, for some reason, the fact that he was a male flight attendant made it even more obnoxious. Don't ask me why. (For the curious, I got a Dr. Pepper since I was up anyway.) My first sight after setting foot in Texas was a man in a cowboy hat. It's good to be home. My first stop after setting foot in Texas was Whataburger. It's great to be home. I only had a couple of hours to regroup after driving in from Dallas before we headed up to the Cowan Center for four hours of rehearsal.

Day Two: Friday also started early, as we had to be up at Cowan at 7 for more coronation rehearsals. For those who don't know, Coronation is a lavish presentation of each girl and her custom designed dress, complete with lights, staging, and live music, hence the many rehearsals. After a few hours worth, we were given about fifteen minutes to dress and load the bus for the Ladies' Luncheon, where we stayed for about twenty minutes before bussing back to Cowan in order to dress, prep, and primp for the matinee coronation. Now, during every single rehearsal I had not had any problems or costume malfunctions. During the matinee performance, as I ended my turn about the stage and ascended the first flight of stairs, I suddenly found myself unable to move. I pulled a little bit, couldn't budge. Kevin (my escort) gave me wild eyes and said, "What's wrong?". I replied, "I'm stuck!". So he hopped down a couple steps and yanked my cape/train off of the nail it had snagged on and we continued up the stairs without any further hitch. I barely made it offstage before busting up laughing. After the finale, the matinee was over and we had some time to kill before getting ready for the evening performance. Alex and I searched for somewhere, anywhere, to get comfortable, and we settled on a carpeted ramp. Unfortunately, due to our headpieces and updos, it was near impossible to actually get comfortable. We did the best we could, though. The evening coronation went swimmingly, no nails to speak of, and afterwards we again had about fifteen minutes to get dressed for the Past Presidents cocktail party. They had chicken fingers and mashed potatoes.

Day Three: Following trend, Saturday started early. We had to be up at Cowan at 7 again to dress for the Rose Parade and Queen's Tea. The parade was a lot of fun. My float was sponsored by a liquor distribution company. Awesome, right? Thankfully, I have the Princess Diaries movies (One and Two) memorized, so I know the ins and outs of parade participation.We had some down time after the parade to lunch and chill before getting dressed once again for the Queen's Tea. This is where we all parked it under mushroom looking tents in the Rose Garden and little girls came up to talk to us while their grandmothers took pictures. I felt like a real princess. I even got to hold someone's baby. And thus concludes my time in my glitzy blue costume and headdress. It was sort of sad, but by now the sequins around the armholes had started jabbing my armpits, so it was also sort of happy to disrobe for the last time. Mostly sad, though, because it indicated my time as a princess was running short. The last Rose Festival activity of the weekend was the Rose Ball that night, and I got to get my hair did up with my tiara for the event. Then, before we knew it, it was time to get to Harvey Hall for, you guessed it, more rehearsals, but this time for the presentation of the court. We scooted to our dressing room after rehearsing and all donned our poufy white dresses. Now, I had been wearing heels quite a bit this weekend, and my dogs were barking. Since my dress went all the way to the floor and didn't even show my feet as I walked, what was stopping me from wearing comfortable shoes? Nothing. So, instead of putting on pretty white heels or uncomfortable white flats, I laced up my Jordans from my middle school basketball glory days. I didn't wear them to flaunt or even as a joke, I just really wanted some comfortable shoes that I wouldn't worry about teetering over in. I personally think that they made my presentation all the more confident. After walking down the runway, it was ball time. Kevin and I hit the bar hard - the dessert bar, that is. Pazookie and cakeballs?!?! How could we stay away? And of course we cut a few rugs.

Sunday was recovery day (read, El Charro day), and Monday was write thousands of thank you notes and run various errands and Don Juans day. Plus, Monday evening held a Footloose mommy-daughter date with two awesome ging's. On Tuesday, Gran Jan and I drove to DFW and I set off into the wild blue yonder, back towards quizzes, tests, class, and other reminders that I am no longer living in a fairytale. But it'd totally be ok if everyone still wanted to treat me like I was...

What a Weekend

This weekend has pretty much felt like a weird vacation. It seems like my year's quota for randomly amazing happenings has been filled in the past few days. Kicking things off was my mother's arrival in Hotlanta. What a treat! We spent all day Thursday shopping, complete with a Flying Biscuit finale. Friday brought more shopping and a brother, who drove in from Auburn to eat dinner with us and one of my roommates. At Hankook Taqueria, nonetheless. On Saturday, we met for breakfast at a tiny diner called the Silver Skillet. It was like stepping through a time warp. After all these Rose Festival shenanigans are over, I aim to return for a piece of coconut pie...Sadly, it was time to say goodbye to the madre afterwards, and as she and Brandon made their way to the airport, I made my way through scrounging up an extra ticket to the student section. It was high time for old Brandon Taylor to experience some football Yellow Jacket style. We stung Maryland, remain undefeated, and Brandon caught the ricochet of a field goal. A success, I'd say. After the game, I had just enough time to quickfire shower and dress for Wicked at the Fox. Goodness gracious, it was just as wonderful as I'd remembered. Seeing it for the second time was no less magical than the first. The voice talent was a little lacking in comparison to the original Broadway soundtrack that I've grown accustomed to, but that's only to be expected. Plus, going to the Fox is almost worth it, in and of itself.

Just when it seems like nothing could happen to make this weekend anymore strange yet wonderful, Sunday rolls around and with it, the first ever Alpha Chi Omega Dodging Domestic Violence Dodgeball Tournament. I was a crucial member of the raddest team on the courts - KAMBD. We tore up the bracket, nabbing two wins and an almost, which is more than many teams that were out there can say. At one point, we lost our A and had to bring in a boot and slimfit clad Brandon to fill out the roster. On our already amusing team, it made for quite a spectacle. But team sports didn't end there, because Sunday is intramural sand volleyball day. We beat the two girls we played against pretty quickly, so the team, with the addition of a slimfit clad Brandon, stayed after to scrimmage.

And then, AND THEN, Brandon and I met up with his roommate and roommate's girlfriend to walk to the Georgia Dome for the Falcons/Packers game. And once we got to the Dome, we marched straight up to the information table and asked where to go pick up our sideline passes. Sideline passes. We were escorted by a lovely man named Alfred through the Dome down to field level, where we swapped escorts and were led through the tunnels to the field. As we walked by the Packers' locker room, we saw two players walking toward us. Guess who? Jordy Nelson and Matt Flynn. Now, Jordy Nelson is a tad more well known than Matt, but that Tyler pride runs deep. Brandon yelled, "Matt Flynn! Matt Flynn! We're from Tyler!" and I threw up finger guns and yelled, "We went to Robert E. Lee! Go Red Raiders!". Then we walked on, grinning from ear to ear because we had discussed what we would say if we saw him all day, never expecting to actually see him. We stood on the sidelines of the endzone for the entire warmup period, extremely close to several ginormous gentlemen. Football players are big, y'all. Brandon caught another field goal. Eventually, the Packers all huddled up and did their final thing, and when that was done, who other than Matt Flynn himself walked over to us and said, "Y'all are the ones from Tyler, right?" We replied, "Yes, yes we are." And then he proceeded to introduce himself to us! "I'm Matt." Handshakes, all around. "When'd you graduate?" Brandon told him '08. "Y'all go to school down here?" "No, we don't, but she goes to Tech." I smiled, he smiled. "Y'all enjoy the game." And that is how I met Matt Flynn.

Most. Surreal. Weekend. Ever.

Choot It!

When I was younger, spending the night at my grandparents never failed to include three crucial things: we would play hide and seek, we would sit on the floor to eat dinner at the glass table in the den, and we would watch The Crocodile Hunter. Other activities surfaced from time to time, but these three were never failing. I'm certain that this is when my love of crocodiles/alligators was born. They are, and have been, my favorite animals for quite a while. (Yes, this is weird. Yes, this is unusual. When have I been anything but?) I could spend hours at the zoo searching for the alligators, trying to spot them on the bank or swimming in the enclosure. Once, I saw a toady little boy and his friends leaning over the edge of the alligator exhibit. I followed their gaze to see a gator, right up by the observation bridge! To my horror, I watched as the little pest unscrewed the cap off of his water bottle, flourished it before his cronies, and threw it as hard as he could into the exhibit, hitting the gator square on the back. I was so mad that I almost cried. Another time, at a Girl Scout career exploration day, I went to a presentation by a marine biologist. It was sort of boring, until the end of her lecture, when she reached down into a white cooler and pulled out a baby alligator and walked around the classroom, letting each of us pet it. I was so happy that I almost cried.

Now, with such strong feelings toward gators, I'm sure it's expected that I be appalled at the hunting of so noble a creature. Not true. I'm a realist, folks, and I realize that in a world overrun by Jurassiclike beings it won't matter one lick how much I admire the species - they will eat me. It is with this attitude that I have nursed an affinity for the unbeatable History Channel series, Swamp People. No kidding. I like this show a whole lot. Watch one episode, and you'll be just as hooked as if you were a gator on Pierre Part who happened onto one of Troy Landry's lines. When I heard that some of the Swamp People were coming to Flint, Texas, you bet your bottom dollar that I was there. Not only did I get to meet and take pictures with Mike Kliebert, I also got to realize a dream. I held an alligator. It was divine.

Won't You Follow Me Down to the Rose Parade?

Last week, I was a princess. Well, technically a Lady in Waiting, but I sure was treated like a princess. You see, down here in little old Tyler, Texas we take rose growing/processing pretty seriously. It's kind of a big deal. In fact, is such a big deal that since the 1930's, we've put on an annual Rose Festival to celebrate the role of roses in our economy. Here's the skinny:

Every year, a group of college sophomore girls is chosen by a committee to comprise the Tyler Court. These girls are either from families with historic ties to Tyler or from families that have been supporters of the Rose Festival for many years. One girl, who exemplifies both of these categories, is chosen to serve as the Rose Queen. (Every girl who has grown up in Tyler has, at some point in time, dreamed of being the Rose Queen.) Another girl, usually with family connected to the rose industry, is chosen to be the Duchess of the Rose Growers - a kind of second in command, if you will. The rest of the Tyler court are Ladies in Waiting. Girls from other towns with relatives historically bound to Tyler or that support the Rose Festival are invited to join the court as Duchesses of their respective homes. Each member of the court chooses an escort, college sophomore boys, usually from Tyler families. The Queen may also choose children to participate in the court; a young boy as a scepter bearer, two young girls as train bearers, and other attendants. There you have it. The Court. But what do they do?

Rose Festival takes place in October, when the roses in the nation's largest municipal rose garden (yep, that'd be Tyler's) are in full bloom. It consists of several Coronations, the Rose Parade, and The Queen's Tea. Coronations are huge pageants, in which all of the duchesses and ladies in waiting are presented, and the Rose Queen is crowned to begin her year of service. These are not B-list affairs, my friends. A fashion designer from Dallas custom designs a dress for each girl. Lady in Waiting dresses are usually complementary and in accordance with the overall theme of that year's festival. Duchess dresses are more outlandish and creative, with each Duchess getting her own character and persona. In groups of 5 or so, duchesses and ladies in waiting alternate turns on stage. When each girl is announced, she walks around the stage, stopping in the middle to perform a full bow - to the floor. The last to be presented is the Queen, who is crowned then performs her own bow. One of the coolest things about coronation is that the Queen's dress is kept entirely secret until the first coronation. The other dresses are, too, but they're more contained within the court and parents of the court. The Queen's dress is a complete surprise for most everyone. It's really quite magical. The Rose Parade is a parade, with all of the Court on floats and every middle school band marching and herds of cheerleaders cheering and the Shriners in their little cars. Pretty much what you'd expect. Tea with the Queen is one of my favorite events, because the entire court sits out under pretty little tents in the Rose Garden, and little girls from all over come with their grandmas to take pictures and get autographs.

So, yeah. This past week has been the week of summer rehearsals. I've been learning how to walk, float, bow, and hold my arms like a true princess, and I've loved every second of it. Even though I saw Midnight in Paris and learned that you can't spend your life wishing you were some-time else, I still believe that I might possible be living in the wrong era. I belong where all of this pomp and circumstance is the norm! I guess Prince Harry is still eligible...

For more: http://www.texasrosefestival.com/festival/index.htm
                http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-jjXAkGZ1w&feature=related
                http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aP4OYhhFro&feature=related
                http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=texas%20rose%20festival

M&M Take Dallas

Brandon left a CD here when he went back to Auburn. Robert Earl Keen: Live in Austin, TX. Now, I will make no secret of the fact that I have previously turned up my nose at Mr. Keen's music. However, something prompted me to pop this CD into my car, and I've been rockin' out, Texas style, ever since. The song that has struck a chord in me recently talks about having "them goin' nowhere blues". Granted, I did go to Alabama for church camp, but other than that my travels this summer have been contained to Flint with the occasional jaunt to Dallas for a dress fitting, leaving me with a case of them goin' nowhere blues.

Cue a super indie/hipster road trip to thrift and antique stores in the Big D with one of my favorite gals. What an escape! We started at Curiosities, rummaging through old photographs, postcards, felt pennants, silverware, typewriters, marquee letters, you name it. The shop was so crammed that it took us near 2 hours to make the rounds. After that, we needed to replenish our energies, so we headed for the Twisted Root. Yum. This burger joint is delicious. Just ask Guy Fieri, because he's totally been there on Triple D. While we were there, we saw Madi's 4th grade crush and future husband on a double date. It was random. He avoided us and we avoided him. I think it was better for all of us that way. After lunch, we resumed putzing around Deep Ellum, then Oak Cliff (Bishop Arts District, not the sketchy gangster part), then West End. Groovy. What a perfect departure from the ordinary humdrum of routine life.

Later, I talked with some Pine Cove counselors, one being from Dallas, and he approved all of our (Madi's) store choices, saying "Well, you went to the right places". Way to go, girl. Thanks for planning our trip and wanting to shoot guns and driving on grassy medians to avoid wrecks and agreeing that Texas is the best and visualizing futures in Museum Tower.

Getting Glad

I'm glad that it's summer.
I'm glad to be back in Texas.
I'm glad that Facebook, Skype, and Twitter make it easy to keep up with people not in Texas.
I'm glad that small things like a new comforter and pillow shams can provide just the amount of change I need.
I'm glad to have friends who'll stay up way late to swap stories.
I'm glad that I've had two weeks of bumming around before starting work.
I'm glad to have reread Jane Eyre.

The thing I'm most glad about this summer, though, is being through with one whole year of college and knowing myself better for it.

Best > Worst

Lemme tell you, Spring Break is probably one of the best and worst things to happen to a student.

Best: Spring Break means no school. It means going home, sleeping, eating Mexican food, baking without gluten, finishing that monstrosity of a book that's been taunting you many a homework filled night, watching rented movies, taking a Dallas day, eating Mexican food, sprawling on the couch and letting Food Network roll, road-tripping to Waco, buying sunglasses in Corsicana because you forgot to wear yours, doing distinctively Baylor things like taking pictures with Judge Baylor and tortilla tossing and eating Kitok's, watching one of your very best friends dance the night away at Drill Team Showcase, meeting your high-school friends' college friends at Andy's, trying on poufy white dress after poufy white dress, eating Mexican food twice in one day, meeting Phil Wickham, and eating frozen yogurt.

Worst: Spring Break means returning to homework, quizzes, and due dates. It means a little mockery of the summer that will still take 5 grueling weeks to arrive. And, the flight attendant didn't even give me the whole can of Diet Dr. Pepper. Chintzy airlines.

Terquasquicentennial!

Living in Georgia has driven me a little Texas Crazy - and I'm ok with that. Actually, I'm more than ok with that.

Today is the 175th Anniversary of Texan Independence! 175 years ago to the day, the grand nation I call home was born. Cue the cowboy boots, red white and blue, and big hair. My Texas Pride is through the roof, y'all.

Texas is the bestus.

This is some of what I love about Texas:

Cowboys

History

Boots

Dairy Queen

Pride

Whataburger

Bigness

Football

Homecoming Mums

Music

Tex-Mex

Bluebonnets

Piney Woods

Pecans

The State Fair

Positivities

Here are some truly positive things that have happened recently:

1. The Star Wars mug that I've been eyeing at Barnes and Noble finally went on sale and I bought it for only five dollars. What a steal.
2. Dinner on Friday night turned into an adventure.
3. My friends and cyberfriends have posted some rad blogs.
4. We finally got to Gauss' Law in physics, and now have nothing to sphere but sphere itself.
5. Mail!
6.Our impromptu dinner cooking last night was delicious.
7. I got complimented on my computer programming. Yes, you read that correctly.
8. Phone calls to best friends.
9. The Super Bowl is in Dallas tonight, and I get to tell everyone that the Packers' second string quarterback went to my high school. Booya, bragging rights.
10. When I put pictures up on Facebook, people "Like" them - such a confidence booster.
11. I'm slowly but surely honing my skills to recognize which movie score is playing on Pandora before switching tabs to check my guess.

12. Angel gave me a discount at Barnes and Noble, plus I bought the $20 for $10 Groupon and still have gift cards leftover from graduation and birthday, so I'm set with store credit for awhile.

13. Communion and a baptism at church today. It was a double whammy.

14. Tomorrow is Charles Dickens Day.

Word.

'Tis a bit belated, but during my cake-baking escapade I unearthed a gem of discrepancy between Texans and everyone else in the world. At least, my kind of Texans.

The recipe called for the cake to cool in the pan for five minutes before removing it and letting it cool on a rack. (Cardinal, the rack!) In those five minutes, I moseyed out into the hall to chit chat with the girls. After a while, I excused myself to go tump out the cake.

"What did you just say?"
"I have to go tump out the cake."
"Tump?"
"Wait, y'all've never heard people say tump?"
"I've never even heard of that before!"
"I don't believe you. Everyone says tump."
"Not here."
"Not even in Kentucky?"
"Nope."
"Well, I've still got to go tump it out."

Unbelievable.