Remember that time in 4th grade when my class had a contest to see who could best sing Bryan Adams’ “(Everything I Do) I Do It For You”?

I suppose I haven’t mentioned it yet.

Any willing participant had a chance to stand in front of the class with the Walkman headphones on and sing along with Bryan, to the cheers or jeers of her peers.

This was obviously very awkward.  First of all, whoever was singing was the only one who could hear the track; to the 30 other people in the room, all they were hearing was an unaccompanied, nervous, pre-adolescent warble.  Secondly, we were 10-years old.  The most passionate thing I could think of was footsy.  However, as I remember vividly, this didn’t stop one girl from closing her eyes and feigning Whitney Houston.

Yeaaaah, I’d fight for you… [fist pump]

To me, Bryan Adams remained frozen in memory, frozen in time, in that Pomona Elementary classroom - that is, until last year when my friend Duane reintroduced me.

Oh, friends.  What I had been MISSING OUT ON all those years.

Duane knows me well enough to know that he would need to be sneaky, so he started by sending me a few songs that our guy Bry had written with Gretchen Peters - one of my favorite writers in the history of the universe (remember, I wrote about her here).  From the first tentative listen to those tracks, all doubt was blown away:

Bryan Adams is where it’s at.  His songs are fantastic.

I have a short list of people that I have to see in concert someday - and in addition to Patty Griffin (which will FINALLY happen at the end of this month), Shania Twain, and Phil Collins, Bryan Adams has earned his place.

And I just felt like declaring it to the world.

I am on vacation in Seattle, and my heart is so happy I could cry.

Last night, as Greta and I were settling in to go to sleep, she asked if she should wake me up in the morning.  In a moment of Shakespearean inspiration, what I meant to say was, “I’m sure I will rouse at the sound of you.”  But what I actually said was, “I’m sure I will arouse at the sound of you.”  We giggled.  I’m still giggling, actually - here at Zoka coffee shop, all alone, laughing at my computer screen.

I just finished running in the rain around Green Lake 4 times.  For those of you keeping score, that is 11.2 miles.  I am flabbergasted at my own resolve and dedication these days, because there was a time that I couldn’t run 4 laps around a track, let alone a 2.8 mile loop.

Sorry to not have anything more sparkling to share (although, seriously: AROUSE!).  But frankly, my dears, I have places to be, and a haircut to enjoy.  Happy Valentines Day!

And no, not because it’s been so awful.

Only because nobody else could ever, ever compare.

I will always be a JAM girl.

And now, excuse me while I go weep.

For as much as I love cheese – which, trust me, my devotion is infinite and everlasting – I rarely eat grilled cheese.  Chalk it up to just another childhood overdose – I never eat peanut butter & jelly, either.  Grilled cheese lost its appeal before Clinton took office.

Which is why it was shocking that yesterday, I had the chance to eat a grilled cheese for lunch – and I jumped at it.  Like, I literally sprung out of my chair and made a beeline for the kitchen.  See, my co-worker Delaney is a dazzling maker-of-all-foods, and she brought a griddle!  To work!  To make grilled cheeses!  And if this woman makes something, it is a guaran-freaking-tee that I will love it.

I’m serious.  Remember how Ritz Cracker Cheese Sandwiches are my secret shame?  Delaney has actually taken these bite-sized wonders and made them into a gourmet snack.  She shakes some sort of herby goodness all over them, and I swear, they could be served to the Queen of England.

After experiencing this woman’s brilliance yesterday, I can positively say that I am back in the saddle when it comes to grilled cheese.  She has renewed my hope, my faith, my confidence in the sandwich.  Thank you, Delaney, for pointing me toward the truth.

Now, to make my own.  I’m looking for grilled cheese tips, if anyone has any…

When this life, this world, this Whole Thing is all over, and we have the chance to look back on the story that was our life, I honestly believe that we won’t experience it as a narrative, but that we will hear it as a song - the most beautiful, sad, triumphant song ever written, played, or sung.

I may not be able to dream up a story that could convey the simultaneous joy and sorrow that swirl together in this life - it’s too complicated, too nuanced. It’s both dulcet and raucous, soothing and raw; words could never get it just right.

But I do believe that music could.

THAT is why I love music - because our stories cannot adequately be told through words alone.

And all those songs that I have ever started and then abandoned, with no idea for which direction to take them? One day, they’ll come together like puzzle pieces. I will see the picture I can’t see now. I will hear the songs - complete, whole, perfect, and true.

I believe that.

The work that has been started is going to get finished, and the song is going to end with the most beautifully complicated, conquering chord ever (and never) imagined. We will hear notes that have yet to exist to our ears.  Everyone will sing along, instinctively knowing the harmonies and the counterparts.

And most likely, Alison Krauss will sing the descant.

Judge me if you will, but I plan on bawling my eyes out when I see Jessi Alexander sing Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb” at the Bluebird tonight.

That song makes my heart burst.

Speaking of my heart bursting, yesterday, I received a rogue voicemail that somehow wound up in our queue at work from a little old lady wondering if we could tell her when “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?” would be on.

The highlight of my day was being able to call her and let her know that in St. Louis, it would be on at 6:30pm on channel 2.

Speaking of entertainment… not that we were, but let’s do…*

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I cannot get enough “Friday Night Lights.”

I have never so badly wanted to be a) a Texan, b) a football fan, or c) named Tami Taylor… sadly, none of which I will ever be.

This show is so good.

I was going to write more about it, but that’s honestly all I can say.  This show is so good.  I am still on season 1 – but I watch it before I go to bed, I watch it when I am getting ready for work, and am already planning the upcoming weekend around watching at least 12 episodes.

Welcome to my glamorous life.

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One of my favorite singer/songwriters, Gretchen Peters, just released a greatest hits CD.  Not available on iTunes, I ordered it off her website – and I am so glad that I did.  A double disc set, the packaging is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and last weekend, I sat in a comfy chair for over an hour, listening track by track, and reading through the liner notes.

I mean, when was the last time you did that??  It is joy-inducing, I swear to you.

I’m also listening to Mindy Smith’s “Stupid Love” on repeat.  No one has ever made heartbreak sound so good.

- - - - - - - -

Books sitting in a stack beside my bed but haven’t been reading because I’m too busy watching “Friday Night Lights”:
“The Time Traveler’s Wife” – Audrey Niffenegger
“Acedia and Me” – Kathleen Norris
“Eclipse” – Stephenie Meyer
“On Beauty” – Zadie Smith

The only book that I’m actually devoting any time to is “Oxymoronica” by Mardy Grothe.  Okay, fine – so this is just basically a long list of oxymorons and paradoxes.  One liners.  It is fantastic.  I read it every night and laugh.  I have another book by Mardy Grothe called “I Never Metaphor I Didn’t Like.”  Come on – THAT IS AWESOME.

- - - - - - - -

*my favorite phrase for changing the subject.  It works every time.

Julie: right before she kicked some serious booty on the GRE (not the GED, as I frequently refer to it), she sent me flowers at work yesterday.  She is so thoughtful, I can’t even stand it.  Julie Curtis is, perhaps, THE nicest person I know.

Like, when I come home from the gym and I’m completely, disgustingly sweaty, and she still insists on hugging me - which probably makes me way more uncomfortable than it does her… sort of like when someone else offers to do your laundry, and you’re like, “No, it’s okay,” and they insist, “No, it would be my pleasure!” and you say, “No, honestly, please don’t,” but they do it anyway, and you cringe because the nicest person in the world has now seen your literal dirty laundry - and they probably don’t even HAVE dirty laundry, because they’re the nicest person in the world.

That’s how Julie makes me feel.  Minus the uncomfortable, awkward stuff.  So, in a word: cherished.

Duane: even though he didn’t know the songs, he stepped in last-minute and played guitar for the songs at Neighborhood Group last night, leaving me with the stress-free job of just singing.  He saved the day.  AS USUAL.  And let’s just say that his alleged “rusty” guitar playing eclipses my very best.

Handy Graham: when no one was home yesterday, he came to the JAM House, chopped up the gigantic tree limb that has been blocking our driveway for over a month, and stacked the wood out by our dumpsters.  If you are a single girl living with other single girls, you KNOW this is heroic.  As Mel said, “It makes me want to cry!”

Phil: moment 3:41.  You are getting me through the day, Phil.  You are getting me through the day.

Before I begin, let’s all just take a minute to acknowledge the huge thing that happened yesterday.  The thing that made the world feel small – like everyone, no matter what culture, tribe, or tongue, agreed was a big event.  An incident that shook us out of our day-to-day reality, and made us think about what is really important in life.  A happening resulting in headlines, workplace chatter, and blog posts.

ERIN GOT A NEW HAIRCUT!!!!

And she looks fab.  Give her a cat-call, a high-five, and – my own personal favorite display of affection – a quick palm-circle-rub on the back.

In other news, there are a few things that I’ve decided that I “need”: a pair of black heels (how do I not own a pair of black heels?), a soft case for my guitar, and a new [insert the engine part that keeps my car quiet and not shaky] in my Honda.

Instead, you want to know what I’ve been doing with my hard-earned cash?  Donating it to This American Life.  Only twice, but still.  Shouldn’t I be allocating my limited funds some place other than to what could be a FREE podcast?  I feel like I am telling you my secret shame – confessing something I shouldn’t – like how I feign a healthy diet only to shovel cupcake icing into my mouth when no one is watching.

But I can’t help it.  Ira Glass is my geek crush.  He tells me the best stories out of anyone.  And then he asks me to give money (“One dollar – five dollars – whatever you can spare.  What kind of person do you want to be – someone who contributes, or someone who sits back and assumes someone else will take care of it?  Do your part, so we can do ours.”), and I’m like, IRA I WILL DO ANYTHING.

Seriously, though.  What a guy.

Behold, the return of the deadbeat blogger!

I mean, seriously.  It’s embarrassing.  I have been like an unfit mother – one who leaves her kids in the car while she hits up the Safeway for PBR and tampons.  I have abandoned this blog in the parking lot for far too many days – and in the meantime, not written a single word of ANYTHING.

But really, can you blame me?  I was busy fulfilling MY LIFE DREAM.

If you’ve been reading this site for longer than two minutes, you’ll know that I’m a songwriter, and that the jewel of my heart (um, yes, I just called it “the jewel of my heart” – so?) is the Bluebird Café.  Back in October, when I was invited to play there (can we all just squeal one more time?), June 21 felt so far away.  But before I knew it, my parents were flying in, Greta was surprising me on my doorstep the day before (listen – can you hear me scream?), I was trying on 96 different outfits, and then, all of a sudden, staring out at the lights.

This is what it looks like when dreams come true.  (Thanks to Deb for the picture!)

And this is what it sounds like.  (Thanks to AnnieBlogs for recording!)

And here are best friends.

And here are just a few of the most wonderful cheerleaders.

And here are amazing parents.

And here is a man with a mullet in a SweetTarts shirt.

Because this is Hootenannie.com – where the blogs end strong.