I'm Sally Field

Matt Smith,

Half a glass of wine and I'm an expert on a great many things.

1) Car troubles = car experts. It's amazing how many things people think they know after experiencing any kind of car trouble. At 10:30 on Sunday morning, my car wouldn't start. After a few hours of mild heartbreak and a phone call to AAA, I returned home from rehearsal, hopped in my car, turned the key, and heard the engine turn right over. My little Subaru ran smoothly up until today when I trotted out over the icy terrain, hopped in, turned the key, and -- whaddya know? The darn thing wouldn't start. Seems that when something's wrong with a car, it gives you little hints -- symptoms, one might say -- of what's about to come. But everyone's got an opinion, and everyone's an expert here in Minnesota when it comes to cold weather car trouble. "It's the battery," one says. "It's the engine," says another. "It's the gas tank," "It's the starter," "It's the fuel pump," they say. Yeah? It's your FACE. Don't feed me lies. Just fix my car.

2) Schoolteachers sure are condescending, aren't they? I spent today in a school, passing teachers in the hall who spoke to their classes in melodic ups and downs, telling them such important things as, "THERE is absoLUTEly NO TALKing!" or "BOYS and GIRLS," followed by many forms of meaningless drivel. All the teachers I admired in elementary school had one thing in common: they were honest. And not just with me, but with themselves. Teachers of Minnesota, take note.

3) It's one thing to be at home of your own accord, but it's another thing altogether to be at home, truly WANTING to go out. I've spent so many nights here in the Twin Cities, just bumming around my humble little apartment, watching "Law & Order" (or some other cops-and-robbers/crime drama type show -- at the moment, it's "Diagnosis Murder," which I, of course, am ashamed of, but who doesn't love Dick Van Dyke? He's the man; you can't deny it), just being happy being warm (GOD ALMIGHTY it's warm in my apartment! The heat's so bad, I could hang paintings on it) and drinking my tea (or, in this case, wine -- I'm on glass number 2 now, even more brilliant and insightful than I was before). But suddenly, the ability to transport myself from this place to another place has been taken away from me, and I have this odd desire to go someplace. What place? I have no idea. The Dollar Store. The China Buffet. The friggin' Target... I don't care. Just let me out!!!

4) People -- real ones -- read my blog. Amazingly, it's not just Anne Brannen and Matt Smith. That's not to say that Anne and you, Matt Smith, aren't "real" people, but there are other actual human beings out there who have ventured my way -- some via my sister (God love her), and some via Matt Dunegan. (And to end the argument of arguments, I'd challenge anyone to call him Dunegan in EVERY situation; go ahead. Think you can do it? It's difficult. There are some circumstances that wouldn't warrant the use of the name "Dunegan." Trust me.)

Okay, so I'm not really an EXPERT. But I did manage to get through this entry without having to use SpellCheck.

Big, semi-depressing, wintry-scented sighs,
Meredith