Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: giddy

In honor of my summer beer-league softball team's first practice/scrimmage tonight, I'd like to share with you a poem I spoofed last year after CP and I challenged each other to a wiffle ball duel during our lunch break. With apologies to Ernest L. Thayer, I present to you, my faithful LJ readers, Benchly At The Bat:

Then from five throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through Waterbury, and rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon Green Mountain Coffee and recoiled upon the flat,
For Benchly, mighty Benchly, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Benchly’s manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Benchly’s bearing and a smile on Benchly's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he pretended to doff his hat,
No coworker in the crowd could doubt 'twas Benchly at the bat.

At least ten eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
And then five tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher, CP, ground the ball into her hip,
Defiance gleamed in Benchly's eye, a sneer curled Benchly's lip.

And now the little plastic sphere came hurtling with a wiffle sound,
And Benchly swung with all his might, nearly falling to the ground,
And missed the ball completely, for it curved as much as it sped.
"YES!" said CP, "No!" said Benchly, "Strike one," the umpire said.

With a smile of confidence, great Benchly's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult of the coworkers and bade the game go on;
He signaled to CP and once more the wiffle ball flew; 
Benchly swung and missed the high heat and the umpire said, "Strike two!"

"Yes!" cried CP again, and the tension slowly grew,

But then she wasted the next two pitches and the count went 2 and 2 .
The coworkers saw Benchly’s face grow stern, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Benchly wouldn't miss that ball again.

The sneer was gone from Benchly's lip, his teeth were clinched in hate;
He pounded with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now CP holds the ball and now she lets it go,
And now the ball is shattered by the force of Benchly’s blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy for CP-- mighty Benchly hit one out.

Current Location: The Benchlys
I'm feeling...: Fuming
I'm listening to...: Mama Benchly's sighs

As is their legal right, my company recently told a coworker of mine that he will be laid off in two weeks after his medical leave runs out because he was unable to beat his cancer in the federally-allotted 12 weeks of time. Once the lay-off is official, his health insurance will disappear and if he wants to continue fighting for his life, he'll need to foot the $350 monthly health insurance bill as well as continue to pay for what his health insurance won't cover.

In recognition of the fact that I need to tread very carefully when discussing anything about my company, I won't pass any judgment...but I hope that my faithful LJ readers know that they are strongly encouraged to pick up the slack...

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: creative
I'm listening to...: Counting Crows - St. Robinson In His Cadillac Dreams

Today I applied for a job at The Motley Fool. The text below is my answer to one of their application questions. As Freckles would say, "Balls to the wall, baby! Balls to the wall!"...

On March 7, 2007, I applied for a job at The Motley Fool and in the application, they asked me to describe "instances where your 'grammar neurosis' caused you to edit someone's work that maybe you shouldn't have." After much internal debate on what the proper etiquette was for such a situation, and after considering that the qualifications for the job posted included the “ability to roll with the punches and give a few, too,” I threw caution to the wind and edited their application to show that with the proper subordinate conjunction, their question should have looked like this:

"Please tell us about one or two instances when your 'grammar neurosis' caused you to edit someone's work that maybe you shouldn't have."

Current Location: The Benchlys
I'm feeling...: Excited
I'm listening to...: A drumroll

The 79th Academy Awards are just a few short minutes away from beginning and even though I don't have the time tonight for a thoughtful entry, considering I've spent the last month boosting the box office results for each major nominee, I have to at least TRY to make some predictions. So bare with me; this will be quick and unedited (unlike the Oscar telecast). Maybe, if I have the time, I'll submit another entry later this week with a more thoughtful discussion on each deserving and undeserving nominee. But until then, this will have to do:

Best Actress – Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to see Volver and Penelope Cruz's performance in it but since I consider her the Heather Graham of foreign films, I feel confident in eliminating her from consideration. And sadly, I never got to see my girlfriend Kate Winslet in Little Children so I'll have to leave her out as well. Meryl Streep has grown on me as of late but even her most biased fans will admit her performance in The Devil Wears Prada wasn't worthy of an Oscar. Movie buffs will know that Helen Mirren's portrayal of the queen in The Queen has all but guaranteed her the trophy and I predict that she'll win; but my friends, do yourselves a favor and see Judi Dench's performance in Notes on a Scandal. It's equal parts heartbreaking and terrifying.

Best Actor – I am least prepared for this category, having only seen one of the nominated performances (Leo DiCaprio's in Blood Diamond). The trophy has already been engraved with Forest Whitaker's name, so I won't bother predicting another outcome. What I do have to say though is this: Leo's performance in The Departed was great and in any other year, it could have earned him the win; but his performance in Blood Diamond was a thousand times better. I'll even go so far as to say it was the best performance of his career.

Best Supporting Actress – Adriana Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi were solid in Babel, but I won't remember their performances in 6 months. And I'm sorry, but Jennifer Hudson, favored to win for her role in Dreamgirls, played a part the same way Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood would have. She can sing; oh MAN can she sing, but singing shouldn't win you this award. And when Beyonce (Beyonce!) puts up an equally impressive performance in the same movie, that all but settles it: this award is between Abigail Breslin's 8 year old pageant girl in Little Miss Sunshine and Cate Blanchett's role opposite Dench in Notes on a Scandal. Breslin was perfect, but her part didn't really require any range. Blanchett's performance was as memorable as Dench's and that is why, in my opinion, she should be taking home another statue tonight.

Best Supporting Actor – To be fair, I'll leave Jackie Earle "Kelly from the Bad News Bears" Haley out of this discussion because I missed Little Children; or rather Burlington, Vermont missed the opportunity to screen Little Children. Alan Arkin and Mark Wahlberg were hilarious as the druggie-grandfather in Little Miss Sunshine and the sarcastic/vulgar cop in The Departed, respectively; but I'll argue that they didn't support enough. A lame argument but I just can't see them winning. And though he'll probably win, Eddie Murphey, in my opinion, was playing himself on drugs, which, in all honesty, could have just been himself. This award should go to Djimon Hounsou for Blood Diamond. It won't, but it should.

Best Director – This one is tough. Everyone says Martin Scorsese should win for The Departed (and he will) and I'll admit, it was an intensely entertaining movie. But it's not his best work and with so many layers to the movie, it felt too choppy for my liking. Babel was Crash with far fewer stories to tell, none of which are going to stick with me like Matt Dillon's racist cop or the locksmith and his daughter. United 93 was INTENSE. Holy crap! Some people boycotted this movie out of respect for its super-sensitive subject matter and as a columnist put it: "That's their right, and their loss." Do yourselves a favor and see it. You'll cry, you'll feel intense sadness, and you'll leave the theatre with an ironic sense of relief at having felt a long-lost feeling you once swore you'd never forget. With that said...The Queen, with its sensitive subject matter, can be considered United 93's equal. And in the awards world, equals cancel each other out. And that leaves Clint Eastwood's darling Letters from Iwo Jima. I hope Eastwood continues to make movies for another 30 years because he's perfected the art. And that brings us to...

Best Picture - This year's Best Picture race is by far one of the most difficult ones to predict from the last 20 years. Some claim Little Miss Sunshine will hit the third Shakespeare-in-Love Shot Heard 'Round the World, and though it's my favorite of the bunch, the more I think about it, the more I have to admit it's not worthy of the big prize. It's got a big heart, but it's a little movie. (With that said, if it wins, I'll be jumping for joy!) Like I said before, Babel was this year's Crash and I see that familiarity hurting its chances. I was surprisingly impressed with The Queen but the Academy will stop short after awarding Mirren. In my mind, this award is between Letters From Iwo Jima and The Departed. I can find flaws with the second one, but not the first. And so, it's my prediction that Letters From Iwo Jima will be the actual movie hitting the third Shakespeare-in-Love Shot Heard 'Round the World when it comes out of nowhere to blind side the other contenders with its heartfelt and brutal tale.

PS. Go Ellen Degeneres!

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: Freaked out
I'm listening to...: iPod

Conspiracy theorists have had a field day with the iPod's "Shuffle Songs" feature, whether or not it's completely random, and whether or not it's proof that the iPod is smarter than we think. Until today, I hadn't really noticed anything worth mentioning but then I began a shuffle of my own and here were the first three songs to play:

Mary Jo by Belle & Sebastian
Mary Jane by Alanis Morissette
Santa Maria by The Frames

Needless to say, I'm a little freaked out!

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: frustrated
I'm listening to...: John Lennon - God

A few years ago, while navigating my way through yet another in a long line of depressingly long and overwhelmingly single Valentine's Days on which I lamented about commercial holidays, Mia Wallace and I discussed the expectations and insincerity of said holidays. My point was that flowers on Valentine’s Day, although nice, were expected and therefore lacked the sincerity of flowers on any other day.

To those who will listen and even those who have grown tired of listening, I voice similar frustrations every year around the December holidays. I think it’s great when people donate money to charity, but where are all the donations when the fat man in a Santa Claus hat isn’t begging for them with a bell outside the local mall? Why is it that most people need the holidays to feel charitable? It’s because of this lack of January-November charity that I often doubt the sincerity of those giving money into the big red December can, including myself.

One of my pet peeves in this world is people who do things not because they want to, but rather because they feel it is expected. I don’t like it that we live in a society that conditions women to think unshaven legs are less desirable than shaven ones; that conditions men to think crying is a sign of weakness; that conditions Christians to think God cares whether or not you’re wearing a tie in church; that conditions people to think piercings are acceptable only on the ear lobes of a woman; that conditions men to think that anything less than a dozen red roses hand-delivered February 14 is not acceptable; that conditions women to think anything less than a dozen red roses hand-delivered February 14 is not love; etc.

(In an effort to be as sincere as is humanly possible, this issue is one I overanalyze every day of my life and so, in an ironic twist that would make any writer proud, like the PC person so aware of race issues he thinks about the color of one’s skin enough to make him racist, I’m probably less sincere because of my overanalyzation. But that’s for another entry.)

I want to address what’s really on my mind and what inspired this rant: the office card. Like clockwork, at least once a week, someone from my office will approach my desk and declare in a hushed, matter-of-fact voice what kind of card they're presenting me as well as the reason for said card. (“Card for Bob. Grandmother died.”) At this point, I have approximately 5 to 10 minutes to determine the person about whom they're speaking, relate somehow to the event that inspired the card, and figure out what kind of short message I should write in it.

As an English major, and as someone who just finished venting about the insincerity associated with expectations, it’s not surprising when I say that I feel the need to be original in my office card entry and so, my first action is to scan the card to see what has already been written so that I avoid duplicating anyone. If it’s a celebratory card (like a birthday or wedding), that means I have to avoid jokes about working too much, working too little, drinking too much, drinking too little, and not “doing anything I wouldn’t do.” For mourning cards, that means I must avoid “thinking of you,” being “so sorry,” and including family “in my thoughts” or “prayers.”

It is at this point in the office card process that I typically suffer from an extreme writer’s block and the stress that accompanies all the pressure associated with performing a literary miracle in such an intimidatingly small timeframe, and I panic and write something either incredibly boring or so random it makes no sense (like the times I quote an imaginary friend named Stiller). For obvious reasons, I typically write the less-inspiring boring stuff in the mourning cards, and save the lines filled with randomness for the celebratory cards. Regardless of whether or not I find something original to say, I always end up struggling with my fear of insincerity so much so that I’m nearly always insincere.

And so, consequently, while a coworker struggles to deal with the loss of her father this week, instead of knowing how devastated I am for her because I can barely deal with the thought of that very same inevitable loss in my life, all she will know is that I am sorry and that her family is in my thoughts.

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: Rockin'
I'm listening to...: The New Year's Rockin' Eve 2007 Super Mix

Not since the Oscar-Winning-Actress-Divorces-Non-Oscar-Winning-Actor-Husband has there been such an anticipated and general crowd-pleasing tradition as my annual New Year's Rockin' Eve Super Mix series. Although Ryan Phillippe, Benjamin Bratt, Alec Baldwin, Hank Azaria, and Chad Lowe have yet to listen to this year's installment, I'm sure they'd all find it a fitting consolation prize to their failed relationships. Yes folks, it's that good!

Sarah the L already has hers and she said it best: "[The kick-ass Mr. Benchly's Super Mix, which by far, is always the highlight of my year is] this year's latest and greatest." Other glowing reviews come from Rolling Stone (“I haven’t heard anything this year that’s as inventive [as Mr. Benchly’s Super Mix]”); Roger Ebert (“[Mr. Benchly’s Super Mix]” is the best of the Star Wars films, and the most thought-provoking”); and the BBC ("[Mr. Benchly's Super Mix] is a powerful testament to the suffering of the Jewish people during the Second World War...").

If you were the track listing on this CD, you’d be 18 world peace-inspiring, solid-gold lines of kick-ass, soul-pounding music written in a Times New Roman font!:

1. Stars – Your Ex-Lover is Dead

2. The Shins – We Will Become Silhouettes

3. Belle & Sebastian – For the Price of A Cup of Tea

4. Gomez – See the World

5. Matt Costa – Cold December

6. Rilo Kiley – Does He Love You?

7. The Postal Service – Be Still My Heart

8. Ray LaMontagne – Can I Stay?

9. Rachael Yamagata - Collide

10. John Eddie – If You’re Here When I Get Back

11. Pete Yorn – Suspicious Minds

12. Corinne Bailey Rae – Put Your Records On

13. Jack Johnson – Upside Down

14. The Fray – How to Save A Life

15. Ray LaMontagne - Empty

16. Ani Difranco – Imagine That

17. Andrew Bird – Tables and Chairs

18. Willie Nelson – Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain

Just like last year, I'm taking orders for this year's mix, and unlike last year, I'll deliver on my promise to send them to you. As proof, Montana Girl will be pleased to find this year's Super Mix as well as last year's mix in her possession in 2-3 days. I’ll also be sending out copies to the Redhead, Ms. Parker, and Mayday shortly (with complimentary 2006 mixes as well) so act now while supplies last. You won’t regret it!

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: realistic
I'm listening to...: Guster - Backyard

Not to beat a dead theme with an inter-LJ segue, but of all the musical storytellers out there, Dar Williams has consistently found herself near the top of my list of favorites. That's the easy part; the tricky part is trying to pick a favorite among her songs. For the sake of this LJ entry, my favorite song for today is "The Babysitter's Here," in which Williams takes us back to her childhood and her best babysitter. The babysitter's boyfriend asks her to choose between their relationship or college and when she chooses college, he dumps her. Williams is a little girl who doesn't yet understand the complexities of the world and so, when she sees her babysitter crying and talking about going off to college, even though the babysitter tries to explain, Williams doesn't understand and believes the babysitter is crying because she's leaving Williams. That's how the innocent child sees the world; in the simplest of terms.

As my 30th birthday waits for me like a burglar around the New Year's corner, I find myself wishing I could recapture the innocence and naïveté I lost somewhere along the way, and which Nieces 1-4 display on a daily basis. Instead, it seems as though every day brings with it another reminder that I can't go back, such as the 30-something female coworker who asked if Freckles and I would be interested in purchasing the home she and her husband were selling; or the middle-aged male coworker who shaved his head in what seemed like an act straight out of the Mid-life Crisis Handbook; or the aunt and uncle who used to get down on the floor to play and who now struggle to fend off their inevitable mortality.

A few weekends ago, I saw my Suffern, NY aunt and uncle for the first time since my grandmother’s funeral before which I hadn’t seen them in close to 10 years. Anyone intimately familiar with my family knows this aunt and uncle as two of the many skeletons in the Benchly family closet. Sarah the L might know this particular uncle as the guy whose email to me made her feel “oogie.” It’s for these reasons and many more that Mama Benchly did not accompany us when Brother-in-laws 1 and 2, Brother-in-law 2’s cousin, and I ventured on the 10-hour, inheritance-moving road trip that weekend.

When I was younger, in a time before the Benchly skeletons began to surface, my family visited my maternal grandparents in Delaware once or twice a year and inevitably, on our way home, we stopped in Suffern, NY. To an 8-year-old, my aunt and uncle’s house was a castle in which Lego treasures were hidden and behind which a yard fit for a king served as a playground. To a 29-year-old, their house, weathered by time, resembled something out of the Amityville Horror, and their yard could only do so much to distract one from the Interstate 87-noise 100 yards away. Benchlys ‘R’ Us Moving Co. did its best to pack up the van as quickly and efficiently as possible but even so, my uncle still had enough time to pass off to each of us pocket-sized Bibles. You see, around the time a creative taste for Lego’s was born inside my mind, my uncle was born again.

To an 8-year-old, this particular born-again Christian appeared to be just as happy about God as I was because God gave us the chance to drink fruit punch and eat cookies every Sunday. To a 29-year-old, this born-again Christian is desperately searching for a forgiveness that can make a lifetime of shame and guilt disappear. In short, he’s afraid because he should be. To an 8-year-old, this aunt appeared to be a fun-loving woman without a stress in the world. To a 29-year-old, this aunt can only stand by her husband with a glass in hand, and only until she’s no longer able to stand because of the glass in hand.

Some days I wish I could go back to 1985, to the world of Lego’s and my innocence they seem to represent. To a time when I didn't dread seeing my aunt and uncle because I had no reason to dread them. But then I realize that I only want to go back there because I want to believe that these problems, these horrors of life only existed once I began to realize them. But I know that’s not true because with this loss of innocence came the understanding of the inevitable demons in this world and our susceptibility to them. No matter how hard I try, a young man will commit un-Godly crimes and spend a lifetime praying for forgiveness; a 30-something couple will defy expectation and sell their home as part of their divorce proceedings; and a middle-aged man will beat his cancer to the punch and shave his head on his own terms. And the rest of us will spend our time longing for the days when we didn’t understand.

I'm feeling...: creative
I'm listening to...: Gomez - See the World

"Would you like paper or plastic?" "Would you like fries with that?" "Who can spot the dangling modifier?" English majors are familiar with these questions because, in their loved one's collective opinion, these questions accurately reflect the only possible postgraduate avenues down which someone with an English degree can travel. After the laughter from these career punch lines has died down, what everyone fails to explain to the English major is that variations of these jokes exist for other fields of study (philosophy, history, art, music, etc) and that hundreds of thousands of students around the world have been victims of these living-room/kitchen table verbal firing squads. In essence, as we venture off to the world of academia, our first lesson is that we are about to waste the next four years of our lives; that unless we choose science, or medicine, or technology, or education, we are wasting ours and our parents' money.

As I sit back and watch Freckles' brother (a recent college grad with a history degree) attempt to shield himself from the barrage of "do you want to teach history?" questions, I find myself yet again struggling with my own English-degree identity in this English-degree-fearing world. Yes, I'm an editor, but the qualifications for my job have slowly but surely begun to mirror those of a McDonald's manager and, though a respectable job, that's not the career path I envisioned the day I declared my major. The path I convinced myself I was choosing was that of a storyteller.

Although I've never felt emotionally or intellectually qualified to teach English, I can say without a doubt that I chose this path for myself because of the influence of two English teachers: my 7th grade English teacher, Mr. Gagnon; and Professor Hudnall in college. In his class, Mr. Gagnon once told a story from his childhood and after building up the suspense for 10 minutes, every eye was focused on him as he delivered the climactic ending that left every student in the room as full as a compulsive eater on Thanksgiving. If Ms. Parker's memory is as capable as I think it is, she'll swear that I'm confusing Mr. Gagnon with Professor Hudnall. I'm not, but to her credit, I easily could have interchanged the names because Professor Hudnall accomplished the same feat 9 years later. Though unique in every possible way, in my mind, Mr. Gagnon and Professor Hudnall will forever be linked by their ability to bring their students to the edge of their seats. They were teachers, of course, but like every English major before and after them, they were storytellers first and foremost.

After graduating college and entering the classroom-less real world, and while fine-tuning my own craft, I found myself starved for the good story that had been lacking for the first time since I was old enough to know a good story from a bad one. Consequently, I ate up all of the books a postgrad guy is supposed to (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; Catch-22; On the Road; etc) and with my book clubs, that trend hasn't really stopped. I also watched as many movies as possible. Unfortunately, it seemed like I graduated college around the same time the majority of stories told in movies were dumbed down to reach a broader audience. But then, something wonderful happened. Either the film industry experienced an explosion of creative talent or I got better at finding the good stories. And so it was in 2001 that I found myself on the edge of my theatre seat on three consecutive occasions: Memento, Moulin Rouge, and Amelie. All three movies captured my imagination but as the first of the three released that year, Memento was the film that made me believe in storytelling again. (If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it.)

Like a born-again Christian desperate to share his faith with anyone who will listen, I made all of my loved ones watch Memento; and like that very same born-again desperate to consume anything that tastes like the crack that is his newfound love of Christ, I have since made a point of watching all of the films by Memento's director, Christopher Nolan (Following, Insomnia, and most recently, The Prestige). Because Freckles was desperate to consume the crack that is her love of Christian Bale, she accompanied me to see The Prestige this past weekend. Like Memento, The Prestige had a symphonic feel to it; each scene was arranged and interwoven in a seemingly random way with a hint of purpose. The scenes began to harmonize near the end as a twisting crescendo built to a climax comparable to The Beatles' "A Day in the Life" or the movie Requiem for a Dream. And yet again, I left the theatre satisfied with and inspired by Nolan's work, as well as invigorated by a renewed faith in storytelling.

And so it was with great pride that I recently discovered that Christopher Nolan was once a student of English in London who had most likely shielded himself from the same barrage of "do you want to teach English?" questions that were fired in my direction 7 years ago. Now I don't pretend to believe that this common denominator means that I'll ever be as successful as Nolan has been, but I've also never been naive enough to think the size or reaction of an audience is proof of a good story. All that matters to me is that Nolan's success brings with it further recognition that there is a place in this world for storytellers and that we should stand as proudly as doctors and teachers. My only hope is that when my time has come to pass, and I'm asked what I've done with my English degree, I can say with confidence that I wove a few good stories.

Current Location: Work
I'm feeling...: sad
I'm listening to...: Iron & Wine - Bird Stealing Bread

Sister #1 and her husband celebrated three additions to their home this year: their third beautiful child, Niece #4; a new 2nd floor bedroom, built to accommodate Niece #4; and a second full bathroom, built to accommodate a household with 4 females. On a whim, Freckles and I visited their home last Friday night to see the new bedroom and bathroom, but mostly to see my nieces. As our visit came to an end, Sister #1 walked us down to the street so that she could get a better look at Freckles' new car. A minute later, Niece #1 came outdoors with a concerned look on her face as she told us that her sister, Niece #2, was getting scared because their mother had disappeared. Sister #1 assured Niece #1 that everything was OK, we said goodnight, and they retreated into their home as Freckles and I drove away. In retrospect, Freckles and I agreed that, most likely, Niece #1 was the one who was scared because although she likes to look after her sisters, she was worried that no one was looking after her.

While visiting with my sister, we briefly discussed the local news, which, for most of my faithful LJ readers, became national news last week: the disappearance and murder of University of Vermont senior, Michelle Gardner-Quinn. After saying goodnight to her parents, who were visiting for Family Weekend, Michelle ventured downtown to meet up with her friends. When she couldn't find her friends, and her cell phone died, she borrowed the phone of a considerate stranger. After failing to connect with her friends, the stranger was kind enough to walk her home. The video camera of the jewelry store in which I purchased a ring for Freckles, captured footage of Michelle and her good-deed acquaintance walking up our city's hill to her home. Nearly one week later, her body was discovered near a gorge 20 miles away.

As only my most loyal LJ readers will note, my hometown has not been without crime, as evidenced by the Great Inga Beep the Jeep Burglary; however, in the time that I've lived here, I've honestly never felt anything other than a refreshing belief that this place is where I needed to be if ever I wanted a lost wallet returned to me or if ever I wanted to be the "victim" of a random act of kindness. And after reading and listening to every news report I could find, it became increasingly clear that this sense of security had been shared by most, if not all the residents of our small community. So as law officials do their best to put together the pieces of this tragic puzzle (having arrested the stranger on unrelated charges), it's not without reason to say that the residents of our Queen City are doing their best to put together the pieces of their crumbled sense of security.

Considering my home's close proximity to the events of this crime, I'm sure it's no surprise when I say that my way of coping with this tragedy has been to reflect on my own life. Although my frustration with professional athletes who use the phrase "this puts things into perspective" surfaced yet again last week at the news of a professional baseball player's death, I admit that I'm guilty of feeling these exact same thoughts regarding Michelle's death; something like this really does help you remember what in your life should truly be valued, and what's extraneous.

At the top of the list of values for me, as always, are my loved ones. And just as I instinctively drive slower and much more defensively when my nieces are in the car, I feel the need to protect them from the evil in this world. I want to take Niece #1's hand and lead her back into her home and tell her that everything will be OK; she has her parents, and her sisters, and her uncle, and Freckles, and that's all she needs. But as hard as it is to admit, that's not what she needs. As her loved ones, we owe it to her to help mold her into someone capable of conquering the world; someone capable of making the right choices; someone capable of living a rewarding life. We can't shelter my nieces forever because in the end, they will need to deal with the reality that I'm dealing with today:

That as much as I want to, I can't rewind life like I can rewind the jewelry store camera tape. I can't walk Michelle and the stranger back down the hill until they disappear out of the camera's view. I can't walk them back to the bar and make better decisions for Michelle. I can't walk Michelle back up the hill to her loving parents. I can't walk Michelle back into their outstretched arms so that she can hug them goodbye once again and know that everything will be OK.

I'm feeling...: numb
I'm listening to...: Dar Williams - The Pointless, Yet Poignant Crisis of a Co-Ed

As it has every year, the Little League World Series has signaled the impending demise of the summer as well as all summer-related activities that have so mercilessly wedged themselves between my creativity and my LiveJournal time. Each night, the boys of summer race to finish their seasons before the chill rains of fall arrive. After sacrificing my body on the softball field every day to help keep my men's league team's playoff hopes alive, I've spent my nights watching 10-12-year-old Little Leaguers pour their hearts onto a smaller field to help keep their dreams alive.

In an effort to keep this experience as rewarding as possible, I've done my best to avoid all the swearing, fighting, and anger that nearly always accompanies a men's beer-drinking softball league; I'm there to have fun and play an innocent and beautiful game I've loved since my Little League days. And so, it's disheartening to learn of recent Little League events that have shown a loss of that very same purity I've tried so desperately to recapture…

In a 9 and 10 year old Utah league, the team playing defense needed one more out to win the championship by one run. All that stood between them and their (read: their coach’s) dream, was the opposing team’s best hitter. But rather than take the opportunity to teach his young team about courage and playing their best, the coach decided to teach his team about strategy that’s only appropriate at a much higher level of play. He instructed his pitcher to intentionally walk the best hitter to face the worst hitter: a cancer survivor with a shunt in his brain. The boy struck out while the fans booed the pitcher, and the winning team’s coach got his trophy.

A Little League New England game between Vermont and New Hampshire also made headlines thanks to more controversial coaching. With his team up by a run and one out away from winning the game, the VT coach realized that one of his players had not yet batted; a rule violation that guaranteed a forfeit. Understanding that the only way for his team to win the game was if NH tied it and forced extra innings, he instructed his pitcher to intentionally throw wildly to let NH score. The NH coach quickly realized what VT was trying to do and promptly instructed his team to lose the game at all costs by swinging and intentionally missing the wild pitches; ignoring VT’s third baseman who stopped wiping away the tears from his eyes long enough to beg the NH coach to “please let him hit it.” NH struck out, lost the game, ultimately won by forfeit, and now stands two wins away from a Little League World Series title.

It’s sad to think that the once-in-a-lifetime/rewarding memories these kids will take away from this summer will most likely be overshadowed by the instances when the adults in their lives chose to manipulate their experiences by injecting the kind of reprehensible morals that only adults are capable of displaying. Because of this, I’ve found myself thankful for my own less-tainted childhood memories.

As a child of the 80s, my memories, at first glance, are carbon copies of everyone else's: Little League, We are the World, Hot Wheels, Swatches, Transformers, Bill Buckner, Bill Cosby, MTV, Reagan, the Challenger, Fraggle Rock, etc. Although it's slightly comforting to think about how I'm connected with millions of people through these memories, as an individualist, however, I'm also alarmed. Didn't I have any unique experiences? Isn't there a memory that only I can claim as my own? I'll worry about that in another entry; for now though, I'll focus on one other memory from my childhood: the Choose Your Own Adventure books.

For those of you who lived in a cave, or maybe Vermont, the Choose Your Own Adventure books led readers like myself through an exciting plot full of twists M. Night Shymalan could only dream of imagining and at nearly every turn, when the characters were faced with an important choice, the reader decided what to do next. Go to p. 47 if you choose to fight the rabid 1200-pound dog. Flip back to p. 39 if you want to escape in a helicopter with the cute girl. And just like in life, the first instinct, the seemingly obvious choice, isn't necessarily the right one. If you turned to p. 39, you discovered you crashed the helicopter and became trapped in quicksand. If you cheated (and we all did) and then flipped to p. 47 anyway, the 1200-pound dog wasn't rabid at all...just a lonely dog wanting to play fetch who ultimately led you to safety. Like snowflakes, no two Choose Your Own Adventures were alike, and so, in a way, I can consider these books to be my own unique childhood memory. And as has been the case in most of my LJ entries, this revelation is directly related to the most recent events of my life. If you disagree, your helicopter has crashed and you are stuck in quicksand. If you agree, flip to the next paragraph...

When I was 4-months-fresh out of college, I accepted a unionized position at the Evil Empire, earning more than twice as much money as I had ever made in my life. (Of course, that’s not saying much when you consider my paper route/work study/sandwich shop/telemarketer/camp counselor background.) Within the first two hours of employment, the union representative was smothering me like a toddler on her newborn sister, and I was ordered to join the union and pay dues for this representation. Always the one to respond to orders as if they were given on Opposite Day, the adventure I chose was to join the union “under protest”; although represented by the union, I gave up my vote and voice in exchange for a world without dues. (At 22, I considered getting out of paying money to strangers as a wise financial decision.)

Through numerous twists and turns I won't discuss, it can be argued that my refusal to join the rabid-dog union led me safely through the 5 or 6 Lay-Off Marches to my current and much more English-degree-appropriate Evil Empire job. Like Marty saving the peeping-Tom George McFly, this decision made in the blink of an eye changed the course of my history. I won’t argue that my snap judgment was better than a carefully planned decision, however. Stated simply, the down-the-long-road fortunate effects of my choice were pure dumb luck and like the former Lay-Off March victims, my fortunes can change on a dime.

And so, yesterday, as I sat there and listened to the familiar “in an effort to remain competitive” speech, and quickly realized that I was most likely one year away from my very own Lay-Off March, I couldn’t help but think about those Choose Your Own Adventure books. With the nine lives I’ve lived at the Evil Empire, I feel as though I’ve already flipped to p. 39 to discover the helicopter crash and now I have the chance to take what I know and run to the rabid dog of p. 47. Like the kids of Little League who still have a chance to learn the values of honor and respect and fair play, I still have a chance to leave this place on my terms and discover new adventures. And in doing so, I’ll remember the valuable life lesson inadvertently provided by one more Little League team as it traveled home from a baseball tournament. When the team passed a kiosk selling popcorn, one player excitingly said, “Oh, popcorn! Let’s come back!” Another player responded that they couldn’t come back, “because we’re only 10 for one year.”

I'm feeling...: Competitive
I'm listening to...: Survivor theme

Day 3 – J’a’quint tribe

The J’a’quint tribe is eating Leonardo’s pizza in their hotel room. The Irish Postman is shown hugging Ms. Parker.

The Irish Postman – Ms. Parker, you totally kicked butt today! You may have quit on us yesterday, but if you weren’t on our team, we wouldn’t have had a chance today. Thank God I was the only one who voted against you yesterday!

Ms. Parker’s look of joy turns to anger.

The Irish Postman – In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have told Ms. Parker I voted for her. I was just overwhelmed with joy after we won the challenge. I guess you could say I deserved the reaction I got.

Ms. Parker – What the [beep]?!?! You [beep]in voted for me, you little piece of [beep]. [Beep] you [beep], you stupid [beep] mother f[beep]er!

Mr. Benchly – Ms. Parker hasn’t lost her edge, that’s for sure!

Mama Benchly – Does anyone know how to work this VCR? I need to tape my soaps.

Zahxurta tribe

The Zahxurta tribe is shown silently returning to their hotel room. As they open the room door, the heat from inside nearly suffocates them. The four women head for the bathroom and Sarah the L is seen stripping to her underwear as she closes the door.

Sarah the L (from inside the bathroom) – We’re going to cool off in the shower.

Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy (to The Doctor) – You think she wants me to join her?

Sarah the L – After our team lost the immunity/reward challenge, I knew I had to take action and quickly. And so I got the other women to join me in the bathroom.

The Virgin Mary – I thought Sarah the L was hitting on us and I was thinking, “Dude, I’m not gay…and if I was, at least buy me dinner first!” but I was hot so I decided to join her anyway. Little did I know…

Sarah the L (to the three other women) – OK, let’s form an alliance and take out the men, starting with the strongest. Al Bundy’s already gone, so what about Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy.

The Virgin Mary, CAT, and Freckles – NO!

Sarah the L – If we don’t take him out now, it’s going to come back to haunt us.

Freckles, The Virgin Mary, and CAT nod and are shown contemplating their next move. A few minutes later, the four women exit the bathroom, glistening  from the steam. The cameraman following them out of the room accidentally catches himself in the mirror and is revealed to be Jeff Probst.

Sarah the L – I think Freckles, The Virgin Mary, CAT and I have formed a perfect alliance. They took a little convincing, but in the end, we’re casting a smart vote tonight.

Day 3 – Tribal Council

The Zahxurta tribe walks into the Tribal Council/Holiday Inn front lobby area and sits down.

Jeff – In this game, Holiday Inn pens represent life. As long as you have your Holiday Inn pen, you’re still alive.

Jeff passes out the Holiday Inn pens.

Jeff – So tell me, how’s life in Room 123?

Mr. Billings – AWFUL!

Jeff – Really?

CAT – Yeah, Jeff. It’s way too hot, the cameramen keep “accidentally” grabbing my butt, and someone stole Sarah the L’s underwear. If I had known we were going to stay at a Holiday Inn, I’m not too sure I would have signed up.

Jeff – That’s too bad about the purple underwear. The Doctor, tell me what happened in the challenge today?

The Doctor – Well, I don’t really watch TV. To be honest, I was surprised I lasted that long in the competition. Fortunately, in the first few rounds, I knew what TV stood for, and what the power button could be used for. But when I was asked how many buttons were on the TV, I just…I just didn’t know. I let my team down today.

Jeff – The Virgin Mary, do you think The Doctor let the team down today?

The Virgin Mary – OH YEAH! Dude, how can you not know how many buttons are on the TV?! 7! SEVEN!

Freckles – But The Doctor lasted longer than all of us. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have even made it to that question!

Jeff – I sense that your tribe isn’t unified. Sarah the L, do you agree?

Sarah the L – We may have different opinions going into tonight’s vote, but in terms of being unified, I think we are. Definitely.

Jeff – What about you, Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy? Do you think Sarah the L should show some skin?

Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy – What?

Jeff – OK, it’s time to vote. Mr. Billings, you go first.

The Zahxurta tribe is seen walking one by one to the front desk to write their votes on hotel paper. Suspenseful music is hummed by Jeff as he collects the pieces of paper.

Jeff – Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the Holiday Inn immediately. I’ll read the votes: CAT. CAT. The Doctor. The Doctor. The Doctor. And the second person voted out of Survivor: The Doctor.

The Doctor shakes his head and smiles as he stands up and walks over to Jeff. After handing Jeff the Holiday Inn pen and as he walks out the door, he looks back over his shoulder and waves to the rest of the team.

The Doctor – Go kick some butt, guys!

Jeff – Well, three days into this game and it seems like your tribe knows what it needs to do to win. It’ll be interesting to see if voting out one of your strongest members was the smartest thing to do. Grab your pens and head back to your room.

As the tribe walks back to their room, The Doctor is seen being picked up by his wife and child in the parking lot. As shots of the tribe members revealing their votes are shown (CAT, Freckles, The Virgin Mary, Sarah the L and Mr. Billings voting for The Doctor; The Doctor and Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy voting for CAT), The Doctor says goodbye.

The Doctor – I had a lot of fun out here and I have no regrets. I wish my tribe the best.

Jeff Probst voiceover – On the next Survivor: the J’a’quint and Zahxurta tribes compete in a dangerous game and one Survivor nearly gets decapitated! Plus, romance is in the air as Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy reveals his feelings for Sarah the L.

I'm feeling...: Competitive
I'm listening to...: Survivor theme

Day 2 – J’a’quint tribe

The J’a’quint tribe is shown returning to room 124 in the Holiday Inn after the first Tribal Council. Earlier, Jeff Probst cut the power to the Holiday Inn, so they’re forced to walk in the dark, with only the glow of the hallway exit signs to guide them.

CP – Our tribe is pretty down on ourselves. Today we lost the first immunity challenge and so we had to vote someone out. The Prick was an obvious choice because he screwed up the challenge and, well, he’s a prick, but apparently I was one of only three people who thought that way. And now things are kind of tense because four other people received votes.

Mama Benchly is seen trying to talk to Mr. Benchly but he jumps to his feet and announces he’s going to get some ice. As he is leaving, he yells from the hallway.

Mr. Benchly – That’s why I voted for you!

Mama Benchly – I had a question about the voting process and I tried to ask Mr. Benchly why The Prick went home instead of the lowest vote geter, but I don’t think he heard my question.

Jay Peak – Evidently, Mama Benchly thought Tribal Council was like American Idol and you have to vote for the person you want to stick around, which explains her vote for the Irish Postman. She just loves that accent! I didn’t tell her that she was supposed to vote for somebody she wanted out of the game. I may use that to my advantage later on.

Montana Girl – I was going to vote for The Prick but I moved to Alaska and Mr. Benchly has totally sucked at keeping in touch so I figured a vote against him would teach him a lesson. How was I supposed to know that only three people would vote for The Prick? It’s not like we communicate in this tribe. I still don’t even know who voted for Ms. Parker. This tribe sucks.

Ms. Parker is seen slamming the hotel door shut.

Ms. Parker – Alright, who the [beep] voted for me? The Prick screwed up the challenge and I get [beep]in [beep]ed on the [beep]er [beep] [beep]?! [Beep]!

CP – Like I said, things are kind of tense here.

Day 3 – Zahxurta tribe

Mr. Billings is shown opening the window curtains to room 123.

Mr. Billings – All in all, we had a pretty good night last night. The heater still wouldn’t shut off but we’ve made the best of it, taking turns showering to cool off. I almost lost it when Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy came out of the bathroom and the towel wrapped around his waist accidentally fell off. Let’s just say his name ain’t a lie!

CAT – I nearly lost it when Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy came out of the bathroom and the towel wrapped around his waist fell off……………..wait, what was the question?

Sarah the L – I nearly lost my continental breakfast when Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy came out of the bathroom and the towel wrapped around his waist fell off. Ooogy boy!

Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy – I think Sarah the L has the hots for me. I may be able to use that to my advantage in this game.

The Zahxurta tribe is shown lounging  in their hotel room, watching MTV on the television. Half the tribe is taking a nap.

Freckles – Without a snorer in the bunch, you’d think that we would have gotten a great night’s sleep. But I couldn’t sleep and I’m not the only one. I’m probably just paranoid, but I don’t know, it just felt like someone was staring at me all night.

The cameramen are shown  tip-toeing around the sleeping male tribe members to zoom in on the women. A closer look reveals one of the cameramen to be Jeff Probst.

Freckles – I hope this lethargy doesn’t affect our performance in the next challenge.

In bright, bold, red letters, the word “FORESHADOW” flashes on the screen.

Day 3 – Reward Challenge

The tribes are shown standing in the Holiday Inn parking lot. Jeff Probst pulls into the lot on a motorcycle. He gets off the motorcycle and as he’s walking toward the tribes, the motorcycle explodes.

Jeff – Alright, welcome Zahxurta and J’a’quint tribes. Zahxurta getting their first look at the new J’a’quint tribe. The Prick voted out last night.

Freckles and CAT are seen applauding.

Jeff – Today, your tribes will be competing for immunity and reward. You’ve been living in the Holiday Inn for three days now, and as I’m sure you’ve all noticed, there’s a TV in your room. Today, we’re going to test your knowledge of that TV.

Jeff points out two tables with 7 chairs each. On each table is a white sheet of loose-leaf paper and one #2 pencil. Tribe members from each team will take turns answering questions about the Holiday Inn TVs. If a tribe member gets a question right, he/she will stay in the challenge. If a tribe member gets a question wrong, he/she is eliminated. Last tribe standing wins reward and immunity.

Jeff – The losing tribe will be sent to Tribal Council tonight where one of you will be voted out. Want to see what reward you’re playing for?

Both tribes in unison – Yes.

Jeff holds out a piece of paper.

Jeff – Coupons. For $2 off any size Leonardo’s Pizza.

Both tribes are shown high-fiving each other. Mr. Benchly and Mr. Billings have a few tears in their eyes.

Jeff - Alright, take your places. Survivors ready? OK, first question: What station is found on channel 3?

As Survivorish music plays in the background, we see members of both teams answering questions. One by one, everyone is eliminated except Ms. Parker for the J’a’quint tribe and The Doctor for the Zahxurta tribe.

Jeff – Alright, next question. Counting the menu button, how many buttons are on the front of the TV? Alright, hold up your answers. OK…Ms. Parker says 7, The Doctor says 8. Per international Holiday Inn standards, your hotel room TVs have 7 buttons on the front. J’A’QUINT wins immunity and reward!

The J’a’quint tribe is shown celebrating their victory, Ms. Parker triumphantly takes the $2 Leonardo’s coupons from Jeff, and holds them high in the air.

I'm feeling...: Competitive
I'm listening to...: Survivor theme

Day 2 – Immunity Challenge

After belaying himself off the Holiday Inn roof and landing perfectly on the hallway floor, Jeff Probst knocks on the hotel doors of both tribes. CP and Mr. Billings answer their respective doors.

Jeff – Good morning and welcome to day 2 of Survivor: LiveJournal! I see that both tribes found their camps. Did everyone have a good night?

CP – Well, evidently there are a few snorers in the group. Mama Benchly and Mr. Benchly…

Mr. Benchly – No relation!

CP – Anyway, Mama Benchly and Mr. Benchly were practically snoring in unison but other than that, no problems.

Jeff – And what about the Zahxurta tribe? How was your night?

Mr. Billings – Well, the heater wouldn’t shut off so it was kind of hot all night, and we all had to sleep in our skivvies…

The Zahxurta tribe is seen trying to fall asleep. The Survivor cameras zoom in on the women, and CAT is seen swatting at the camera.

Mr. Billings –  …but we slept well, for the most part. We even had extra pillows because we’re down one member.

Jeff – Down one member?

Mr. Billings – Yeah, Al Bundy never showed up last night. For all we know, he’s dead.

Jeff – Well, enough of this chit chat. Let’s get down to business. Today, tribal immunity is up for grabs. Win today’s immunity challenge and your tribe is safe. Lose, and one of you goes home tonight. If you guys are ready, follow me!

The two tribes follow Jeff down the stairs to a field where an elaborate obstacle course is set up. Jeff explains that members of each tribe will tie themselves to the rest of the tribe in such an awkward way that, hopefully, the tops worn by the women will be knocked off during the race but then assures the competitors that all nudity, although enjoyed by Jeff and the editors and burned onto DVDs that they’ll send out as Christmas presents, will be censored on TV. The tribes will race through the obstacle course, working together to climb walls, untie knots, and avoid being eaten by wild tigers. The first tribe to cross the finish line wins. The losing tribe will go to tribal council where one member will be voted out.

Jeff – J’a’quint tribe, since Zahxurta is down one member, you’ll need to sit one person out. Who’s it going to be?

Ms. Parker – That would be me. I don’t do knots.

The tribes tie themselves up and prepare to race.

Jeff – Survivors ready! Go!

The J’a’quint tribe jumps out to an early lead when The Prick climbs up the wall, but they fall behind quickly when The Prick forgets to help the remaining members of his team up the wall. As he struggles with the rope to try to figure out why he can’t move any farther, his teammates stand at the bottom of the wall yelling for his help. Thinking they’re cheering him on, he pulls on the rope even harder, nearly choking Mr. Benchly to death.

Jeff – The Prick’s not listening to his team. His team is struggling! The Zahxurta tribe, working well together, all their knots are untied! The Virgin Mary, showing a little skin!

The Virgin Mary – Shut up!

Jeff – The J’a’quint tribe, falling behind. Mr. Benchly, close to death. The Zahxurta tribe, takes a HUGE lead. The J’a’quint tribe, losing badly.

The Zahxurta tribe is seen walking by the pit of wild tigers. Freckles screams.

Jeff – Freckles screams! The Zahxurta tribe may lose this challenge!

The J’a’quint tribe is seen giving up.

Jeff – This is going to be a close finish! ZAHXURTA WINS IMMUNITY!

Day 2 – Tribal Council

The J’a’quint tribe walks into the Tribal Council area, which doubles as the front lobby of the Holiday Inn. Mr. Benchly is the last to sit down and when he sees that the last seat is next to Mama Benchly, he chooses the floor instead.

Jeff – In this game, fire represents life. So grab a torch. As long as your torch is lit, you’re still in the game.

Holiday Inn Front Desk Person – Um, there’s no smoking in the lobby, you’re going to have to extinguish those Tribal Council torches.

Jeff – Damn it! OK, in this game, Holiday Inn pens represent life. As long as you have your Holiday Inn pen, you’re still in the game.

Jeff passes out Holiday Inn pens. He runs out when he gets to Mr. Benchly.

Jeff – Mr. Benchly, you’ll have to share with your mother.

Mr. Benchly – No relation!

Jeff – OK, let’s begin. You guys jumped out to an early lead in the challenge. What went wrong?

The Prick – I take full responsibility for that. When my team was cheering for me to go ahead, I assumed they wanted me to go ahead. So that’s why I think someone else on this team should be voted out. It’s the fair thing to do.

Jeff – So The Prick screwed up, Mr. Benchly nearly died, and Ms. Parker doesn’t do knots. But Montana Girl, tell me, why didn’t you show any skin?

Montana Girl – I just didn’t have the opportunity, Jeff. When The Prick screwed up like that, I couldn’t position myself in such a way that would allow my top to accidentally fall off.

Jeff – There’s always next time, assuming you live to see another day. OK, it’s time to vote. The Prick, you go first.

The J’a’quint tribe is seen walking one by one to the front desk to write their votes on hotel paper. Suspenseful music is played until the Holiday Inn Front Desk Person tells Jeff to turn it down so as not to wake the other guests. Jeff then collects the pieces of paper.

Jeff – Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave the Holiday Inn immediately. I’ll read the votes. The Prick. The Prick. Ms. Parker. Mr. Benchly. The Irish Postman. Mr. Benchly. Mama Benchly. And the first person voted out of Survivor: The Prick.

The Prick shrugs, stands up, walks over to Jeff, and hands him the Holiday Inn pen.

Jeff – Actually, you can give that to Mr. Benchly.

The Prick hands Mr. Benchly the pen and walks out the door.

Jeff – Well, two days out here and we’ve learned that anything can happen. It’ll be interesting to see how your team rebounds after today’s Tribal Council. Hopefully there will be some skin. Grab your pens and head back to your room.

As the tribe walks back to their room, The Prick is seen walking down the street, trying to hitchhike.

The Prick – My tribe made a mistake. I’m the strongest competitor out there and the only reason we were so close to winning today. I just don’t understand how so many people can be so dumb.

Jeff Probst voiceover – On the next Survivor: there’s tension in the J’a’quint tribe when Mr. Benchly reveals he voted for Mama Benchly, and Ms. Parker finds out who voted for her. While in the Zahxurta tribe, Sarah the L shows some skin!

I'm feeling...: Competitive
I'm listening to...: Survivor theme

Jeff Probst’s voiceover: We studied this man’s LiveJournal entries and from this parallel world we drew the names of the 16 most recognized, most eccentric, most lively, most talked-about, most competitive individuals of the last year, and we flew them here, into the wild, where they are about to set out on a grueling journey that will challenge their wits, their souls, and their lives.

Jeff appears on the screen, parachuting from the sky and landing perfectly on what appears to be the top of a large factory building, with a city landscape off in the distance behind him. Closer look reveals that this is the city of Burlington, VT.

Jeff: These competitors will be battling each other in the hopes that they have what it takes to prevail in what is arguably the most compelling competition in the history of time, or at least, this week.

Camera pans over two tribes of 8 individuals each walking toward Jeff, each wearing a backpack, and each with the look of determination only the first day of a competition could possibly allow. There are 8 men and 8 women, varying in age from mid-20s to late 50s.

Jeff: You know the rules. 39 days! 16 competitors! 1 Survivor! Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Survivor: LiveJournal!

(Cue the theme music)

Day 1

The two tribes reach Jeff who introduces them to each other. On his left is the J’a’quint tribe consisting of Mr. Benchly, The Irish Postman, The Prick, Jay Peak, Montana Girl, Ms. Parker, CP, and Mama Benchly. On his right is the Zahxurta tribe consisting of Al Bundy, The Doctor, Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy, Mr. Billings, Freckles, The Virgin Mary, CAT, and Sarah the L.

Jeff: Welcome to Survivor: LiveJournal!

Mama Benchly: Is this going to be over by 9? If not, I need to tape CSI.

Jeff brings the attention of the two tribes to the survival supplies laying on the ground in front of them and declares that they are just for show and should not be touched. He then hands an envelope to one member from each tribe. He says that they will find instructions in the envelopes that will lead them to their “new homes, for the next 39 days.” A train is heard approaching from the south and Jeff says, “good luck on your journey. I’ll see you all soon.” Jeff jumps off of the building and lands on the roof of one of the train cars.

The Prick and Al Bundy open their respective envelopes to find identical notes that say, “We booked you Rooms 123 and 124 at the Holiday Inn in Burlington. Whichever tribe gets to these rooms first will choose the one they’d like to occupy, noting, of course, that per the international Holiday Inn standards, the rooms are identical.”

Zahxurta tribe

Sarah the L: After Jeff left, Al Bundy opened our envelope and read aloud the instructions. He started rambling on and on about serving in the Gulf War and that he was a natural leader but he smelled of donuts and rum; that should have been our first warning.

Mr. Billings: I was really impressed with Al Bundy’s leadership skills but turns out, I shouldn’t have been so blinded by them. The dude sent us in the wrong direction!

Al Bundy – Somebody had to take charge and I was the logical choice. Even Jeff recognized that, which is why he handed me the envelope. How was I supposed to know there were two Holiday Inns!?

Freckles: Al never read the line of the note that mentioned Burlington. He just assumed it was the one in South Burlington, which was closer to us at the time. We even saw the other tribe head off in the other direction! I was thinking, “are you sure about this?”

The Doctor: It wasn’t until the Holiday Inn woman said there weren’t any rooms with those numbers that we even realized we’d been misled. But Al Bundy was persistent.

Al Bundy bangs on the front-desk bell and yells for a manager; a few choice words are bleeped out.

The Doctor: And that’s when the cops were called and we got kicked out onto the street.

CAT: At that point, I had had enough and I snatched the note from Al’s hands. After reading it, I realized our mistake and yelled for everyone to follow me. Al was stubborn though and refused to leave the inn. He still hasn’t made it to our room. I don’t think he’s coming, to be honest.

There’s a shot of the Zahxurta tribe checking into Room 123. Next, Al Bundy is seen pacing on the sidewalk outside the other inn.

Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy: What can I say? That guy’s just plain stupid. And thank God for CAT!

J’a’quint tribe

The J’a’quint tribe is shown walking down a street.

The Irish Postman – I’m an Irish postman in Burlington, Vermont and so I’m familiar with the street addresses of Burlington, Vermont as well as the fastest ways to navigate them. But after the other tribe headed south, it didn’t matter. We could have had a French postman lead us; wouldn’t have made any difference.

Jay Peak – Thanks to The Irish Postman’s skills, the trip wasn’t more than a 20-minute walk. We even stopped for hot chocolate.

The J’a’quint tribe is seen sipping hot chocolate at a gas station.

Mr. Benchly – Mama Benchly was fascinated with The Irish Postman’s accent and so she was never more than three feet away from him. So I stayed towards the back of the group. The tribe doesn’t realize this but Mama Benchly’s my mom. I’m hoping that no one figures this out and we can use our secret alliance to our advantage at a strategic point in the game.

Mr. Benchly is seen saying hi to everyone on the tribe except Mama Benchly.

Ms. Parker – I don’t know why Benchly is pretending not to know his mom. I mean, seriously, three of us had met her previously! I even spent a weekend break with his family back in college!

The Prick – So then we got to the Holiday Inn and it was my idea to check out the rooms before checking in to the hotel. And thanks to my idea, we were able to determine that there was a slight advantage to our tribe if we picked Room 124. I know everyone on the tribe was glad I had that idea.

Montana Girl – The Prick said Room 124 was better than 123 because the water pressure was better in that room but, when he said that, I tested the water and it felt the same to me. So now we’re stuck with 124 when 123 is closer to the stairway. And plus, the heater in our room doesn’t appear to work. We called the front desk about it but no one answered. I expected that we’d have to rough it, but not like this. This sucks.

I'm feeling...: Reflective
I'm listening to...: Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek

For the world’s more full of weeping

Than you can understand.

Some days, when I’m overwhelmed with the anguish that seems to have set up shop in my world, I can find ample solace in the promise of my sister’s unborn and uncorrupted child. Most days, though, this baby can be only what he/she should be: a sweet footnote to an otherwise tumultuous month.

After enjoying our four-day weekend, Freckles and I returned from our Pennsylvania trip unenthusiastically ready to take on the working world again. First thing Tuesday morning, we were greeted by our company’s president, who read a statement he had been assigned by his bosses to read. As it turned out, the statement was, in effect, our termination notice. The company that owned our company had decided to close shop, move most of the work to a sister company, and offer one-fourth of the workers jobs at a sister company. As luck would have it, Freckles and I found ourselves in the group of workers “traded” to another company. As The Doctor said, “I feel as though I just used my eighth of nine lives here.”

It’s an odd feeling, this feeling of survivor’s guilt at the site of 150 of your coworkers doing the Lay-Off March. These are people with families; some with very little education and/or limited skills who fear the world outside of this small Vermont town they’ve known their whole lives. And yet I still have a job. With that said, although my intentions are still to leave as soon as a better offer comes along, I won’t pretend that the predominant emotion I’ve felt the last month is anything other than relief at having this job on which to fall back. But even so, other events in the month have served as reminders that life is more important than the company from which your next paycheck is coming.

I mentioned earlier that anguish had seemed to lay its roots in my world. I think that that’s the gentlest way to describe the fact that, in the past month, the lives of three of my loved ones have been greatly affected by four instances of cancer. The best friend of one of my best friends lost her fight with cancer earlier this month. And in the past month or so, I learned that the fathers of three wonderful women in my life were diagnosed with various cancers. After looking on from a secondhand point of view, I’ve learned how incredibly helpless one can feel at the hands of this powerful and mysterious sickness.

Again, I think of my sister’s unborn child. When anxiously awaiting all the joyous moments of this soul’s life, it’s difficult to overlook all the heartache that awaits it, too. Why do we do this? Why is it our pleasure to bring children into a world of pain and suffering? It seems that for every child that fulfills her childhood dream of starring on Broadway, there’s one that begins to successfully enter her adult life only to discover a loved one at risk to exit it. But then. Then, there are unexpected moments in your life that bring with them such a clarity that helps you recognize how worthwhile your life is.

And so it was that I found myself in the passenger seat of a car driven by Freckles, shaken up after skidding off the road into a snow bank/ditch, checking to see if Freckles was OK, making sure I was OK, fighting off the inevitable shock to determine what needed to be done, and saying a silent prayer of gratitude for being allowed the opportunity to continue to share my life with someone so special. Yes, the world may be more full of weeping than a child can understand, but as you grow older, you begin to realize that it’s mostly filled with love.

I'm feeling...: Reflective
I'm listening to...: Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand

One piece of Benchly gossip I neglected to mention in my last entry is what my favorite Christmas present was this past year. As the wrapping-paper dust settled on another Benchly Christmas, Mama and Papa Benchly said, “Don’t forget. [Mr. Benchly] has one more present.” Considering there were no boxes left unopened, I was puzzled and my expression said as much. And it was at this point that everyone in the room turned in my direction and told me in unison that Sister #1 was pregnant. So yes, that’s right, faithful LJ readers, if the fates have their way, Niece #4 will be gracing our presence in August.

It’s been a long time since my last LJ entry. In fact, it’s been more than a month since my discussion of second cousins, and while I’ve been actively responding to other people’s entries, it can safely be said that I haven’t been keeping up with my fair share of the blogging. And for that, I apologize. I’d like to get back into the habit of posting at least two significant entries every week; I just need the will power to do so.

I think it’s fair to say that my relationship with Freckles has affected my writing. Before Freckles, I was lonely, miserable, and filled to the blonde-haired brim with inspiration for meaningful (read: misery-filled) LJ entries. But after that fateful June day when Freckles charmed me by saying she was a “bad, I’m talking off-the-road bad driver,” my focus has been more on her and less on my writing. But I don’t blame her, and you shouldn’t either.

I think Sarah the L will concur with my assertion that writers are most productive in their bitter, heartache days than at any other time in their lives. Knowing this, my new goal in life is to cherish and focus on my happiness while simultaneously channeling the miserable emotions from my past for my writing. If I can find a balance between the two, I believe I’ll be able to be both happy and a good writer.

Fortunately or, more to the point, unfortunately, my life as of late has been filled with some negativity that has LJ Inspiration written all over it. And so, consequently, in this first entry of the new year, I’ll be able to draw on emotions from the present negativity, rather than worry about experimenting with those from the past. But before the negative, first some positive because, as is often the case, there was a poetic quiet before the storm…

As some of my 5 or 6 LJ readers may remember, my last entry described my excitement over the revelation that a member of my family was performing on Broadway. Well, thanks in whole to the unbridled generosity of Freckles’ family (both extended and immediate), 2005 ended with quite a harmonious bang. Following a limo ride from Pennsylvania into New York City, and a rewarding dinner at a fine Italian restaurant in the Broadway district, Freckles’ aunt handed us 6^th row center seats to Spamalot (aka, my second cousin’s show). Both the show and my relative were amazing and although I’m slightly bitter that my cousin was a no-show at our last-minute-planned meet-and-greet after the show, I was excited when Freckles and I were able to score autographs from both Hank Azaria and David Hyde Pierce.

I'm feeling...: excited
I'm listening to...: New Year's Rockin' Eve 2006 Super Mix

I learned something today. That's not the big news. The big news comes later. I know you can hardly wait but you'll have to deal because I want to share with you what I learned. And this is what I learned: I learned the difference between first, second, third, etc. cousins, as well as when to apply the term "removed." You're jealous; you're thinking, "I want to know the difference!" But don't be jealous. I'm going to share my knowledge with you right now.

The first, second, third, etc title for your cousins is directly related to your grandparents. Cousins who share two grandparents are considered first cousins. Cousins who have different grandparents, but who share great-grandparents are second cousins. Therefore, your children are second cousins to the children of your first cousins because they all share the same great-grandparents.

When the word "removed" is applied, it indicates that the two people described are from different generations. You and your aforementioned first cousins are from the same generation so there's no removal; but you are from a different generation than your first cousin's children. Therefore, they are your first cousins, once removed. If the children of your first cousins, once removed have children, those children are your first cousins, twice removed. And so on, and so forth. Make sense? Good. Now, onto the big news…

As all of you know, New Year's Eve is quickly approaching, carrying with it the brand new year 2006. To celebrate the event, I'll be traveling south to Freckles' aunt and uncle's house in Pennsylvania. These are the same all-too-generous extended family members who shared their lake home with me this past summer. Freckles and I found out last night that their latest gift is to bring us and the rest of the family to New York City tomorrow evening for the 8 o'clock show of Spamalot on Broadway. So before we ring in the new year, we'll have an opportunity to witness one of the best entertainment accomplishments of the current year. As Mama and Papa Benchly, as well as Sarah the L and Head will tell you, this is a truly awesome gift! But that's not the big news either.

When I told my father about these tickets, the following conversation ensued (with some poetic license on my part, including an inside joke that, I'm guessing, only Ms. Parker will get):

Papa Benchly: You should have your mother email Lauren to see if she can get you backstage!

Mr. Benchly: Lauren?

Papa Benchly: Lauren Kennedy.

Mr. Benchly: (blank stare)

Papa Benchly: Your COUSIN, Lauren Kennedy.

Mr. Benchly: (blank stare)

Papa Benchly: You know, your mother's mother's brother's son's daughter.

Mr. Benchly: (blank stare)

Papa Benchly: Mr. Benchly, are you listening to me?

Mr. Benchly: Shove it.

Papa Benchly: Did you just say "shove it"?

Anyway, evidently, the daughter of Grandma Benchly's nephew; aka, the daughter of Mama Benchly's first cousin; aka, the granddaughter of Grandma Benchly's brother; aka, Mama Benchly's first cousin, once removed; aka, Mr. Benchly's great-uncle's granddaughter; aka, my second cousin; is currently starring as the Lady of the Lake in the Broadway hit show Spamalot! And my mother emailed her, and she responded to say that if I let her know when I'll be attending, she'd love to stick around after the show to meet me. Of course, Benchly family historians will remind us that we have, in fact, met once before: at an extended family reunion gathering in the Carolinas back in the early 80s, when I was ~7 and she was ~10. If it wasn't so tacky, I'd bring a picture from that reunion to have her autograph. I'm so excited and oddly proud of a woman I've met only once in my life. Hopefully, tomorrow, she doesn't sing like I do!

Now that I’ve revealed the big news (and yes, in fact, that was the big news), I hope that all of my loyal and, consequently, bored-out-their-mind LJ friends have a wonderful and safe New Year's Eve and I hope that, for all of you, the new year brings with it health, love, happiness, and an ultra-talented, famous second cousin (or third cousin, or fourth cousin, or 3rd cousin twice removed…)! I'll see you in the new year...