give me a child until he is seven.

"Give me a child until he is seven, and I will show you the man."

- Jesuit motto

--

Jordan and I have spent the last several weeks watching Seven Up, a British documentary series following 14 children from 1964 until present, with a film released every seven years. The first film debuted when the children were seven; they're now 56 years old, and the series follows them through the ups and downs of college, marriage, divorce, middle age, children, and grandchildren. 

The entire series is nothing short of captivating (you may have seen them reviewed on Joanna Goddard's popular blog here); we've loved the series so much, we contemplated finding the latest installment in theaters. (A mission rather impossible in our neck of the woods.) 

Each film opens with footage from the original 1964 installment; the children are young and vivacious, and they play together as the narrator lays out the film's premise: 

"Give me a child until he is seven, and I will show you the man."

It's a Jesuit motto, but the film uses it to suggest that who these children are at seven -- keeping in mind economic status, race, gender, and parental influence -- will undoubtedly determine who they are in adulthood. And although the children grow and change over the years, the motto seems to ring eerily true: Who they were at seven is who they are at 21, 35, 49, and 56. 

Of course, the entire concept is fascinating, and as Jordan and I tell our friends and family to watch the movies (Seven Up through 49 Up are available on Netflix), we also frequently find ourselves discussing whether we're anything like who we were at seven. Does the premise of the film ring true for us?

I've asked my parents, remembered back to family videos, looked through old pictures, and I'd have to say: Yes. It's uncanny, but it's true. 

At seven, I was quiet, but not shy. I adored school. I wanted to be a teacher and a writer. I loved my family and treasured my friends, but I was perfectly content playing alone or reading a good book. I honestly think I'm very much who I was at seven, and when I look at videos and pictures of Jordan, I have to say: He is too. 

Last week, my parents brought over a load of mementos -- trophies, journals, pictures, schoolbooks -- from my closet back home. I have no idea what I'll do with most of this stuff, but as I flipped through the pages of old letters and diaries, I realized it's an absolute treasure trove, a time capsule into who I was 20 years ago. 

"Nothing has happened yet today," wrote 9-year-old me back on December 21, 1994. "Nothing I'd go down in history for."

It's so hysterical, so melodramatic, but so... me. I'm all the time analyzing my life, trying to figure out if what I'm doing is big enough to make a difference. (My friends lovingly refer to me as "introspective," but I think we all know that's code for: Get your head out of the clouds, Annie.)

When I watch family videos, I love the little girl I see, mostly because I see a lot of her now, today, as I sell books and tend my garden and play Jeopardy on the couch with my husband. 

The Up series made me realize that so much of who we are is wrapped up in who we were.

I wonder: Do you find the same to be true for you?

(And if you find any of this remotely interesting, you should really watch Seven Up and its counterpart films. Fascinating, fascinating stuff.) 

nora.

It’s always been Kathleen Kelly.

She taught me how to dress, how to be kind yet firm, how to be funny. Because of her, I read Pride and Prejudice and fell in love with Elizabeth Bennett. I got my first AOL account, and I still associate the name Kimberly with cocktail waitresses. Daisies are my favorite flower, and whenever autumn rolls around, I always want to buy school supplies.

When I was 13, I saw You’ve Got Mail for the first time, and I realized what I wanted to be when I grew up. I realized it was okay to like books; it was okay to fail and to close up shop; it was okay to recreate your dreams and start over and try again. I watched that movie — the first “grown-up” movie I’d ever seen — and it forever set the high standard for movies starring, for, and about women.

Kathleen Kelly of the little bookstore taught me a lot, and I owe her creation and the words of her mouth to Nora Ephron.

Ms. Ephron passed away yesterday, and I feel like someone punched me in the gut.

I’m sure there will be countless memorials all over the Internet today, most, if not all, of them better than mine.

But I remember the first time I saw Sleepless in Seattle, remember the first moment I realized I could quote You've Got Mail in its entirety (including song lyrics). I remember sneaking to watch When Harry Met Sally, long before I even knew what Meg Ryan was doing in that scene in the deli, remember my brother bringing me a bouquet of sharpened pencils for Valentine’s Day. I remember crying in the theatre watching Julia Child open her newly published cookbook in Julie & Julia. I remember the night I went to the Hoover Public Library, trying to work on my honors thesis, only to instead read a collection of Ephron’s essays in its entirety, laughing in the corner all by myself.

A lot of people can write and write well. But I feel like Ephron had a knack for brevity, had this ability, in one short sentence, to totally change a scene or make an essay.

This world has lost a lot of literary greats lately, and as the times change and paper fades away, I get a little nervous about what the future holds.

But then I think about Kathleen Kelly, how her world changed, how her livelihood changed, and yet it all worked out for the better.

Last night, as I fell asleep, I said a little prayer for Nora Ephron’s family, for their grief and their mourning. I thanked God for writers, for books, for words, and I prayed that heaven would still have all those things, so one day, I might be able to sit and laugh and have dinner with Nora. We would talk about the books and the city and the career she loved so much, and I think we’d have a pretty grand time.

image by George Rose, 1978

on being an introvert.

When Jordan and I were first dating and in the middle of our initial get-to-know-each-other process, I confessed to him something I thought might scare him away: I am completely content being alone. Actually, I believe I told him I wouldn't mind living out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, a lá one of my heroes, Henry David Thoreau.

His response? "As long as I can come too."

Jordan and I are alike in some of life's most important ways -- in our dedication to faith and family and friends, in our belief in commitment and grace and faithfulness and truth, in our love for one another -- and we're also alike in some of the most silly of ways -- in our appreciation of that new-book smell, in our affinity for language and for words, in our ability to catch a fit of giggles in the most inopportune times. In fact, when I friend of mine visited me while I was away at school, I introduced her to Jordan, and I've heard her report back to my mother included this tiny detail: "Mrs. Susie, Jordan is like the male version of Annie! They're perfect for each other!"

So, yes, my husband and I are a lot alike and pretty darn compatible.

Of course, we also are very different, and that's never more obvious than when I'm longing for quiet, and Jordan is talking... again.

Jordan could carry on an hour-long conversation with a brick wall. He knows no stranger. When it's time to leave church or work or a friend's house, Jordan is the last one to leave. I have to drag him out of the sanctuary, have to give him "the look" to get him to hang up the phone, have to tell him before we go anywhere what time we need to leave and why 11:00 is, in fact, a pretty ridiculous time to be out on a "work-night." (I know; I'm lame.)

In other words, Jordan is the fun one. He's the likeable one. He's the extrovert.

I? I would like to be at home, wrapped in a blanket, reading a good book.

Truly.

A friend recently asked if I had the choice between a good book and human interaction, which would I choose.

My response? It depends on the day, the person, and the book.

Don't get me wrong: I love my friends and my family, and many days, there's nothing I would rather do than spend time with the people I love, eating and talking and laughing and playing. But on those days, there better be time for a nap, because being an introvert isn't about being shy or quiet or hating my fellow man. It's about renewed energy versus depleted energy.

Jordan comes home from time with friends and loved ones ready to take on the world. He's already prone to off-the-wall energy anyway, so spending time with friends? That just heightens it. He loves nothing more than spending time conversing or playing with people, and he always comes home feeling better, feeling more alive and more capable of taking on the world.

I go out with friends, and I love every moment. Then, though, I come home and promptly get ready for bed.

I like to think; I like to be quiet. I enjoy my solitude.

I also like public speaking, dinner with friends, and raucous conversations with family.

That doesn't make me an oxymoron; it makes me an introvert.

I believe human beings were made for each other. I believe Thoreau probably needed to borrow sugar and milk from his neighbors, probably ached for conversations with his transcendalist buddies. I also believe, though, we were created for retreat and for quiet, and often, that's what my soul longs for. In those moments of quiet, I reconnect with myself, I recharge, and I'm more than ready to face the world, to spend time with those I love (and those I don't).

We're halfway through this month of saying no, and already I can tell: I like this. I like this process, like what I'm learning. I'm thrilled that maybe, just maybe, if I can learn these lessons now, I can becoming a stronger, more confident, adult person. I can be well on my way to figuring out just who I am and why I am.

So, yes: I am an introvert. I've known it for a long time, but I'm finally recognizing what that means and how to own it.

(And, P.S. - If you're an introvert, too -- or if you're an extrovert with an introvert in your life -- I think you'll appreciate the video I've embedded above. Susan Cain's 20 minutes on being an introvert in an extrovert's world blew my mind... and inspired me to run out and grab her book, Quiet, this weekend.)

31 days || twenty-six: treat yo' self.

You already know I love Leslie Knope.

But did you also know that Leslie and the gang have some of the best ideas for celebrating?

Seriously.

Besides "Treat Yo' Self 2011," there was Galentine's Day 2010, Ann's almost-a-bust Halloween party, and a slew of hunting trips, camp outs, and breakfasts for dinner (my most favorite celebrations of all).

This month, I've shared a lot about my ideas for celebration, through good and bad, in the big and in the small. But now I'd like to hear from you.

Where do you get your best ideas for celebrating? Pinterest? Real Simple magazine? Family traditions? Your favorite television shows? (Jordan and I once threw a party for Jim and Pam's wedding episode of The Office.)

I'd love to hear about the next party you're planning to host. Have an idea for a party that just won't go away? Now's the time to share!

As for me? Well, I'm thinking about throwing a Thanksgiving dinner for friends (inspired by, what else, Friends), a swanky new year's party like this one, and Galentine's Day 2012 (oh, you know you want to come).

Your turn!

in which i become obsessed with the kennedys.

 {photo by Cecil Stoughton, Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, August 1963}

When I was a little girl, I went through these phases, phases in which I became obsessed with the subjects I read about in the books I loved so much. Anastasia the Russian princess, the Magnificent Seven gymnastics team of 1996, the sinking of the Titanic, Eleanor Roosevelt, Louisa May Alcott. These are the subjects I wish we could study in school: the ones we would research on and on, not to pass tests, but just to know.

Last night, as I watched ABC's special on Jacqueline Kennedy's recently released audio tapes, I became fascinated, again, with that family, that history. I was interested, as a young teenager, not in  JFK's death, but in the tragic death of his son. I remember watching with horror as news of John F. Kennedy Jr.'s plane crash splayed across the television, and I took to books and magazines and newspapers, reading all I could about this American family and what they meant to our history. The Kennedys, then, were yet another one of my phases, but it was a particular phase that must have passed quickly. As Diane Sawyer introduced those tapes, I realized how little I actually knew. 

I loved that Jacqueline Kennedy had the foresight, had the love for books and for history, to recognize the importance of preservation. I love that she spoke her mind, yet had the grace and the wisdom to reserve her opinions and judgments for the proper time. I love that she very obviously respected her husband, and that she had a deep desire for his respect as well. 

As I listened to the stories of Jacqueline's life in the White House, in her own words, in her own voice, I was reminded, yet again, of the importance of story, of how crucial it is that we talk to each other, share with one another. I loved that Caroline Kennedy made the bold decision to not censor her mother's words, allowed all of them to be published and shared with the world. Not all of the words we hear the former First Lady speak are politically correct; many don't make sense in this 2011 world we're living in. But Caroline must know what I think, deep down, we all know: Words in the moment, told as they're happening, are often just as important as the words we speak in wisdom later. They give a glimpse of the times, of the history, of the life we lived as we lived it. 

I'm afraid that as we grow up, we lose a desire for knowledge. I don't mean formal education and degrees; in some ways, I think we're more in tune to those things than ever before. But I think -- as we rack up degrees and do Google searches from our phones and multitask until we're blue in the face -- we are missing something, missing the desire to know more and to, I believe, become more. I like that the little girl version of me was always seeking out more information, always researching and reading, always wanting to travel to faraway lands and meet exciting people. I hope, while this graduate education of mine is on hold, that I don't choose to just sit and watch endless amounts of television shows or read page after page of silly books or blogs. I think in moderation, those are fine. But I hope I also choose to study and to research and to read about the things that fascinate me, the stories that grasp my attention and don't let go. Those, I think, are the things we'll long remember, after the statistics and the facts and the figures fade away.

---

When you set out on your Journey to Ithaca,

Pray that the road is long,

Full of adventure, full of knowledge.

- "Ithaca," by Constantine P. Cavafy

meryl and the 1990s.

While I was home yesterday scanning Netflix for anything other than an episode of 30 Rock, I came across The River Wild, a film that I had somehow missed when it came out in the 1990s, despite being a favorite of both my brother and my husband. I went in knowing relatively nothing about the film, other than the fact Lorelei Gilmore references it in an episode of Gilmore Girls (where, admittedly, I garner most of my pop culture knowledge).

Imagine my surprise, then, to be home alone and terrified of raging river rapids and an especially creepy Kevin Bacon. Honestly, who knew the guy had it in him? I only have these very vague pictures of Kevin Bacon circa Footloose, so this? Well, this was a shock.

In between those moments of terror, though, it was really Meryl Streep who stole the show. Sure, the woman can act. But I've never before noticed just how gorgeous she is, and in The River Wild, she has this natural beauty that had me squinting at the screen, wondering if I could look like that while making my way through the white water of the West. Her crazy hair under a baseball cap, freckles shining through minimal makeup, she had this air of fearlessness and confidence, which I suspect may be true of Meryl in real life as well.

When you blog mostly about life and its happenings, being sick for a few days can really put a damper on things. Life has been slow, and there's really not much to share. I'm limited to the topics I've lived these past three days: Sam and Diane's on-again, off-again romance; Liz Lemon and the cast of 30 Rock; and Meryl Streep's amazing ability to make Chacos look really, really attractive. I'd buy a pair, only thanks to Mr. Bacon, I don't see myself river rafting any time soon.

Have you seen The River Wild? What other '90s movies do you find oddly terrifying? (My answer: Sleeping with the Enemy. Gets me every time.)

i heart leslie knope.

Guys, some days I just wish I worked for Leslie Knope.

A few weeks ago, we got a free trial for Netflix (I know, I know… We’re so 2005), and while we actually haven’t found that many movies we’re interested in (seriously, what’s the deal? Everything we want to watch is DVD-only. Someone please explain this to me), we decided to give Parks and Recreation a try.

We finished two seasons in six days.

In other words, we’re hooked — and in desperate need of season three.

Let me explain: We’re huge fans of The Office over here. Huge. We could probably quote you seasons one through three in their entirety. But I think we’ve both found a new favorite — or at least a replacement for when we’ve run out of the Office seasons we keep on rotation.

There’s something just so absolutely fabulous about Leslie Knope, her naiveté, her passion, her eternal optimism…  Amy Poehler’s uncanny ability to deliver the perfectly quirky line with an equally-perfect straight face. Jordan has even said — more than once — that Poehler is our generation’s Lucille Ball. (And Jordan takes his TV Land programming quite seriously, so I assure you: He does not mean this lightly.)

I love how Leslie cares for her employees, how she sees her job as more than just an hourly wage. She really loves what she does, and she wants it to make a difference. I wish real life were a bit more like that sometimes.

Leslie Knope, you’re my hero.

---

P.S. – How great is this quote from Amy Poehler: “I get worried for young girls sometimes; I want them to feel that they can be sassy and full and weird and geeky and smart and independent, and not so withered and shriveled.” Amen. Maybe Amy Poehler is my hero too.

top ten week: television.

 
The most annoying characters on television, a list inspired by my brother: 

1. Dean from Gilmore Girls
2. Noel from Felicity
3. Anyone and everyone from the cast of 7th Heaven
4. Ana Lucia from season two of Lost
5. Screech from Saved by the Bell
6. Charles Miner from season five of The Office
7. Jasmine from Parenthood
8. Agent Elle Greenaway from Criminal Minds
9. Gabe from The Office
10. Jonathan from Who's The Boss

--- 

Best shows on TV right now and/or shows you need to Netflix/Hulu/borrow from friends:

1. Parenthood, NBC
2. The Killing, AMC
3. Modern Family, ABC
4. The Office, particularly seasons one through four
5. The Wonder Years
6. Gilmore Girls
7. Arrested Development
8. Alias
9. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
10. Lost, though I personally only truly enjoyed season one

---

Shows Jordan and I are guilty of watching (though we might not claim so publicly): 

1. All Worked Up
2. Lizard Lick Towing
3. Dog the Bounty Hunter
4. Disorder in the Court
5. The Bachelor
6. Project Runway
7. Wheel of Fortune
8. The Singing Bee
9. Jail
10. Fugitive Task Force

dear john.

{photo via Katie's Pinterest... Anyone know the original source?}

The secret's out. 

I mean, I already loved John Krasinski from The Office. (Don't worry; Jordan's aware.)

But then when he rescued Something Borrowed from being a complete waste of my hard-earned $10? Well, I was even more smitten. 

When is Hollywood going to stick John in a leading man role (Leatherheads and License to Wed do not count)? Trust me, based on the swoons and giggles I heard in the theater Saturday, American women are more than ready. 

(As an aside, have you seen Something Borrowed? Other than every single thing John Krasinski's Ethan said, I thought it was just so-so. Although there was a pretty hysterical Kate Hudson/Ginnifer Goodwin dance scene that reminded me of many a middle school sleepover. Salt-n-Pepa, anyone?)

best dressed.

Not that I'm one to judge -- I'm hardly fashion forward -- but I thought these five ladies' dresses from last night's Golden Globes were worth noting. 

My personal favorite? Claire Danes, whose entire ensemble I whole-heartedly approved of. And she didn't make a fool of herself during her acceptance speech, which is more than I can say for some. 

Also, now added to my list of movies to see: The King's Speech, The Social Network (which admittedly, I originally boycotted), and Winter's Bone.

(P.S. ~ Emma, bring back the red hair. I miss it.)

i'm a toys-r-us kid.

{the nerdiest children ever}

When my brother and I were younger, we played together all the time. I don’t know if it was a lack of televisions and video games, or our crazy parents’ genes, but we both had some serious imaginations. I remember elaborate games of Civil War and Boxcar Children, games we dragged our cousins into every time we went over to their house (they had a shed that looked exactly like a boxcar).

Although I was often the leader and instigator of the games we played, Chet was the one who would go all out. He’d change his voice to fit the people he was playing, and he’d stay in character long after the games were done. Sometimes, I’d walk into his room, and his action figures would be strewn about, some kind of epic battle taking place.

We had an unspoken agreement, Chet and I. I’d play pirate ship and war and Legos with him, if he’d play Barbies and school and church with me. I’d spend hours designing a Lego home, while he built Star Wars fighters to destroy them. We’d turn over chairs to be houses for Barbie and the gang.

Our toys were a big part of our little lives. I had an entire section of my closet devoted to my favorite American Girl doll. I put up miniature posters and made her bed and had her do all the things I couldn’t: gymnastics, clarinet. But perhaps what mattered wasn’t so much the toys themselves, (though Chet and his action figure collection might beg to differ), but what we did with them. How we used our imaginations to come up with stories and plot and conflict.

I don’t know about Chet, but as I grew older, I honestly was afraid I would hurt my toys’ feelings if I didn’t play with them. (Hey, I’d read The Velveteen Rabbit and The Giving Tree. “Puff the Magic Dragon” sent me into fits. I was not going to be that kid.)

So when I packed away my prized stuffed animals, I hugged them each goodbye. When I put my Barbie dolls in a Rubbermaid box, I carefully folded each of their delicate vintage outfits better than I folded my own clothes. And I was 15 before I finally sat down with my mom and packed away that part of my closet that belonged to Annie Ruth, my most prized toy of all. I cried like a baby. I felt like I was packing childhood away. (Plus I thought Annie Ruth might suffocate in the wooden trunk where we decided to keep her. I’m telling you, my imagination occasionally goes haywire.)

My stuffed animals started to fade and fall apart, and when I went to college, I decided I had to leave some behind. Minnie alone made the cut, and at the risk of being made fun of for the rest of my life, I took her everywhere. She made countless trips to Birmingham (my now in-laws raised their eyebrows, but graciously kept their mouths shut). I strapped her to my suitcase to Italy, brought her home for weekend trips, and slept with her in every dorm room I had.

Fifteen years ago, when Chet and I were six and nine, Toy Story came out, and it rocked our worlds. Those kids on screen? They were us! And those toys? Hey, we had some of those! That creepy kid with the skeleton shirt and the obsession with destruction? He lived across the street!

Now, it’s 2010, and when Jordan surprised me with a date to see Toy Story 3, I wondered how it would be. I didn’t really like Toy Story 2 (that cowgirl annoyed me to death), and everyone knows sequels just aren’t as good as the originals.

I stand corrected.

Toy Story 3 had me laughing hysterically, then crying like a baby. “Hey, I had that toy!” I’d whisper to Jordan every five minutes. And as I looked around the theatre, I realized: There weren’t very many kids in there. Nope. Most of the people sitting around me were in their 20s.

The Toy Story generation.

Those of us who played with action figures and dolls and Beanie Babies and plastic figurines, long before everyone had video games and televisions in their bedrooms.

And it was fun, wasn’t it?

Fun to love a doll as if she were flesh and blood. Fun to create adventures in our heads and come up with crazy voices and get lost for hours on end.

I won’t spoil anything for you, but the final scene of the movie absolutely blew me away. It was so beautiful; I immediately felt myself tearing up.

Because I think sometimes, life boils down to whether or not we’re willing to be kids again.

Are we willing to risk rejection to make friends and meet new people?

Are we willing to play nicely with those who don't always play nicely back?

Are we willing to use our imaginations to better our situations and tell a new story?

Are we willing to give selflessly to others?

Are we willing to love unconditionally and forgive without reproach?

Maybe it’s not about growing up and leaving childhood behind.

Maybe it’s about maturing in the right places and being like a child in the others.

Maybe we’re not meant to grow up just yet.

---

“Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them,

for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’”

i've been holding out on you.

{from here}

Sometimes, I keep certain things to myself because I think they're cool, and I want to relish in their cool-ness all by myself. I like knowing that something is my little secret to keep.

Unfortunately, what I like soon pops up on blogs everywhere, and guess what? It just looks like I'm a big fat poser joining the bandwagon late in the game.

So, at the risk of looking like aforementioned poser, I bring to you The Girls with Glasses Show. I realize that by now, you've probably already heard of the project. It came across the blogosphere a few weeks ago. However, let the record show that I "discovered" the brainchild of Eliza Magazine editor Summer Bellessa and singer/songwriter Brooke White (of American Idol fame) long before it was cool. I'm just sayin'.

You can check out episodes of the show here, and catch up on all the latest happenings on their blog.

---

Oh, and one last thing: In order to try to beat the mass of bloggers everywhere, I'm sharing these beauties with you today. Before anyone else. (Unless you happen to be friends with my friend, in which case you've probably already seen these.)

That's right, folks. Toms is now making wedges. You're welcome. Feel free to spread the word. (And tell them Annie sent ya.)

one shining moment.

 {the fsu men's basketball team, circa 1972... the year they went to the championship, with the padre as their manager}

There are so many things my parents have passed down to me. A love for the beach, a need for breakfast each morning, a desire for higher education, an appreciation for local foods… and an understanding of the thing we call sports.

Please do not confuse my understanding with ability.

I am no athlete.

But here is what happens when a hippie and a jock meet, fall in love, and procreate:

Me.

A nerd who reads four books a month and also happens to enjoy a good game of basketball.

Wives, I don’t offer much marriage advice. (Mostly because I don’t have any.)

But I will say that being able to sit through an athletic event without complaining — and, what’s more, while calling the occasional play — has only improved our already-blessed marriage.

I like going to football games with Jordan.

I like eating hot dogs as the player rounds third.

I like staying up until the wee hours watching a no. five seed come this close to unprecedented victory.

I like watching SportsCenter on occasion.

I like the fact that I bet with my husband each March (even though I consistently lose).

I like that my husband doesn’t have to go hang out with the guys to enjoy the game — although he most certainly can if he so wishes.

The point is, my hippie mother knows next to nothing about sports. (But not, I will say, for a lack of trying.)

My jock father, though, made sure that ignorance didn’t make it to the next generation.

And I am grateful.

Because last night, as I watched “One Shining Moment,” I couldn’t help but think of him and all the late nights Chet and I would were permitted to sit, curled up on the couch, far past our bedtimes, just to watch the white nets be cut down from their perch 10 feet above the court. I remembered how those first few notes of the tournament's anthem would begin to play, and my dad would (and I bet still did) turn up the volume until I thought our eardrums would burst, informing us, “This is what the tournament is all about.”

So, thanks, Dad.

It’s true, neither of your children really became athletes (though, again, not for lack of trying).

But we sure do love the game.

And as we both know, that might be what’s most important anyway.

the madness begins.

{barack's bracket}

Each year, I call my father to go over our bracket picks. (I have high hopes of beating Jordan this year; enough is enough.) An excerpt of tonight's conversation is being published here, for posterity's sake. 

Father, incredulously: You have St. Mary's beating Richmond? 

Daughter, sheepishly: Yes. I needed an upset!

Father: Is there a particular reason you chose this one? Richmond is pretty good.

Daughter: Barack Obama picked them!

Father: He also smokes.

Thanks, Dad, for that much needed perspective. I went ahead with St. Mary's, despite the fact that our President smokes, and since Jordan has Richmond going to the Sweet Sixteen (he wanted to root for the Spiders!), you can bet I'll be rooting for that particular underdog.

Don't know what I'm talking about? For shame. 

It's March Madness! If you read this early enough, you can fill out your own bracket here. Choose wisely. Or, if you're like me, you'll wind up eating vegetables every year.*

*May the record show that despite my failings each year, I personally introduced W. Jordan Jones to the world of the college basketball bracket in 2005. He'd never filled one out before he met me. I literally changed his life.

stranger than fiction.

Last night, Jordan and I settled down to watch one of our favorite movies, Stranger Than Fiction. If you haven't seen it, you must. Any literary nerd will enjoy it. The dialogue is brilliant, and the plotline is 100% original. I couldn't quite put my finger on why I loved it so much, and then I realized: Watching this movie is like listening to a good book.

The mundane and ritualistic life of Harold Crick, played by Will Ferrell, takes a bizarre turn when he begins to hear his life being narrated... and his imminent death foretold. Harold spends the rest of the film a) determining exactly what kind of story he's living, b) trying to make his story worthwhile, and c) coming to terms with aforementioned imminent death.

A part of me, the deep thinker part of me, loves the film for its theology and its lessons about fate vs. free will. The other part of me loves that Maggie Gyllenhaal plays an anarchist baker who plans to conquer the world with cookies. I would like to be her, please.

(My favorite scene? It's a tough call, but it might be the moment when Harold, played by Will Ferrell, finally lays it all out there and starts playing the guitar. Plus, really, who doesn't love "Whole Wide World"? Really, who? Jordan, take note: The soundtrack is officially on my list of things I want.)

all i want for christmas.

Dear Santa,

In case you're just dying to know what's on my list this year, here's a glimpse: 

Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women

By Harriet Reisen

The Elements of Style (Illustrated) 

By William Strunk, Jr. 

This dress (or any other) from ModCloth

Linus boots, available at Piperlime

Season 5 of The Office on DVD

Snow & Graham 2010 calendar (found on Delight.com)

Or this poster-size version, which would bring some color to my new office.

As would this coat rack...

This vintage locket 

(or any of the beautiful jewelry from Jess LC)

Glee: The Music, Volume 1 

(anyone else love this music as much as I do?)

Nearer: A Collection of Hymns

(Listen to it here... You will love it!)

The Corduroy Road: The Love Is a War

(Again, you will love. Listen here.)

Nikon D40 

(Hey, a girl can dream!)

This instant camera looks fun too...

Don't worry, though, Santa... 

I'm really not picky. I will love whatever you give me. Really.

Sincerely,

Annie

the one we've been waiting for.

So, we're having a party tonight in honor of the most functional couple on television...

Would it be silly to cry? At a TV wedding? Maybe. But I might do it anyway. 

Speaking of which... Guess who will be celebrating their one year anniversary in just one month?

Wow.

some notes.

A few letters of my own:

Dear Mr. Polanski,

Please just go to prison already. I'm tired of you and your Hollywood supporters.

Dear John Krasinski, 

I didn't think you could get any cuter. But after this? Well, let's just say my mind has changed.

Dear Coach Meyer,

I hope Tebow's concussion put things in perspective for you. Seriously, get over yourself. Football just isn't worth it. 

Dear Conan,

I wish you came on earlier. I'm sleep deprived thanks to you. But I do think I have a solution. How about you replace Jay? I think we'd all like you better.

Dear Glee,

You're my favorite new show. When will the soundtrack be out?

Dear David,

This might be favorite one yet. I wish I could write like you.

Dear new job,

So, I think this might work.

Dear Tallahassee,

This weather reminds me why I love you. Keep it coming. 

Dear Kathleen Kelly,

You remain my fall fashion inspiration. And I want to be you.

Dear husband,

Thanks for picking up the slack while I get used to my new job. It's not going unnoticed.

Dear life,

I love you.

adorable.

Thank you, writers of The Office, for not pulling a Ross and Rachel. 

I think I speak for the rest of the nation when I say 

Thanks for not taking us there. 

Jim and Pam were just meant to be. 

Now, who's going to join me in watching their nuptials on October 8?

I feel an Office party coming on.

you've got mail.

Sometimes, I pretend that I'm one of those people who only gets into really hip, cool-people movies. Hey, sometimes, I'm not even pretending. Just the other night Jordan and I rented "Spellbound," a pretty spectacular documentary about kids and the national spelling bee. In fact, a lot of our monthly rentals are pretty hip choices.

But my all-time favorite movie, I must confess, will never cease to be "You've Got Mail."

I know some might think it's just another chick flick, but really, it's not. It's oh-so-much more.

It's more than a love story.

It's an ode to New York.

And an ode to books.

And an ode to the small business owner.

Quite frankly, the movie made an impact.

It made me want to run a bookstore.

Made me want to move to New York.

Made me want to dress like Meg Ryan (pre-lip surgery, naturally). I've literally spent years of my life trying to dress like Kathleen Kelly. Seriously, the styles are 10 years old, and I still want to dress like her.

Made me want to marry Tom Hanks. (Did I really just type that? Um, yes. What else would you expect from perhaps the only 13-year-old girl to have a poster of the star of "Bosom Buddies" on the back of her door?)

But it's not just Tom and Meg.

It's a clever take on an equally charming classic.

It's the only movie I can almost quote word for word.

It's the movie my best friend and I developed inside jokes over in high school.

I know all the songs and what part of the movie they're played in.

The song playing during my favorite scene? Stevie Wonder's classic "Signed, Sealed, Delivered." Played at my wedding.

In addition, my husband has learned that countless of my catch phrases are straight from Nora Ephron's script (I've provided just some of those phrases for your reading pleasure):

"Thank your, ladies and gentleman. Thank your."

"Happy Thanksgiving, back."

"Daisies are such a friendly flower."

"'Hi, I'm Kimberly.' 'Hi, I'm Janice.' It's like they're an entire generation of cocktail waitresses."

"'Is there someone else?' 'No. But there is the dream of someone else."

"I love New York in the fall. It makes me want to buy school supplies."

For Valentine's Day my senior year of high school, my brother gave me a bouquet of "newly sharpened" pencils. Just like Meg and Tom talk about. (Ladies, have I mentioned he's single?)

In other words, "You've Got Mail" is the perfect movie.

Call it cheesy, overly romantic. I honestly don't care.

I'll be watching it until the day I die.

And I won't feel even the slightest bit guilty.