When Nick shot this video Friday night, I admit that me and my cousin were embarrassed by the sound of our raucous laughter. Yet, I find myself sharing it here.

To set the stage for you, Michelle came over Friday night to help rice potatoes for a planned lefse day (which didn't work out). Nick asked hopefully if she would be staying for awhile…because then he could coerce the two of us into a board game…namely, Beatles Trivial Pursuit. We actually have a few versions of Trivial Pursuit between the two of us, but I'm afraid that we do not play board games all that often—which is a shame because some of the funniest conversations of my recollection have happened during this sort of play.

When Nick and I started seeing each other, we had a no-TV night every week. During this one sacred night, we participated in technology-free activities such as Yahtzee, Scrabble, and various trivia games. This, as with so many other good habits we used to have, fell by the wayside when I re-enrolled in my B.S. program (pun intended). I could not afford a technology free night when there was always something due—either for work or one of my classes.

Now that the novelty of sitting on the couch with absolutely nothing to do has worn thin, I am trying to make the effort to practice my social skills once more.

But the Beatles, ah. The Beatles. I have spent my life loving The Beatles. I dragged Michelle into the obsession somewhere in the early 90s, and she's been infected ever since. Being that Nick is painfully unappreciative and knowledgeable of THE GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME, his request to play that particular board game seemed all the more desperate. So, we played.

And how we laughed…and laughed, and laughed—mainly at Nick's answers because he seriously got the most difficult questions of the night. I wouldn't have known all that information on Brian Epstein either, but he made best of it and entertained us for hours. We were so amused that we laughed easily and boisterously at just about anything. And with that, I introduce the fuzziest player in our game:

It's always a little stressful having a Christmas tree (albeit fake) AND a cat. For the most part, I don't decorate the last 12 inches or so of tree because it's just safer that way. I do hang the two ornaments that Sophie received as gifts (one from Nick's mom and one from my aunt) low for her to enjoy.

We walked in this afternoon after spending the weekend away. We were fully expecting at least something out of place, but everything was just as we left it several days before. We praised her for not being destructive—we gave her bonus treats and everything!

Once we sat down in the living room, however, she realized she had an audience. It's so much more fun being naughty if someone knows about it, of course:

Sophie, like many cats, has very expressive eyes. I can tell when she's feeling happy, sleepy, bored, or affectionate just by looking at her. I can also tell when she's disappointed.

Sophie, I'm sorry. I can't play now because I have to...(get dressed/go to work/paint my toenails).

She gives me those Puss in Boots eyes, and I feel terrible (but continue to get dressed/go to work/paint my toenails anyway). When I let her down, Sophie turns to a more reliable companion, one who always drops everything just to play with her:

Life is back to normal now. The last couple of weeks have been tense as we finished up the last few details for our party on Saturday. Someone told me that we could expect about 70% of our invited guests to attend. In the end, it was more like 93%—yet another reason why I don't gamble…because you just never know. I have to say that it was a wonderful day, and I felt very loved having so many people come out to celebrate with us.

But the tension—oh, the tension! Home life has been stressful.

I am a pretty chill chick. I haven't always been this way, but I've had a—shall we say, eventful?—past several years. I've lost people, lost some dreams, lost the assurance of immortality that young people are so blessed with…what I'm trying to say is that there are much bigger things out there to worry about than a little party with 50 extra people than you tallied in your head.

Nicholas, my Nicholas…not so chill. And we'll leave it at that.



But, when the day finally arrived, he was the sweet man I married again. Of course, he opened his first beer at 10:00 and didn't stop for four hours, but you do what you have to do. We ended up with a lot of leftover beer, but Nick is staunch in his belief that he did his part—alluding, I suppose, to the minimal adult beverage that I consumed. Really, he did his part and mine...it's teamwork you see.

The weather was perfect, the food was tasty, and the company was superb. It was a golden day in the record of my life.

I have mentioned before that I started falling in love with Nick and his obvious nervousness almost instantly. Well, a few weeks into our relationship he played a David Gray song for me. When the song ended, he looked at me meaningfully and said, "It's the most perfect song I have ever heard." I now get goosebumps whenever I hear Please Forgive Me. The song was an obvious choice when I put together the following slideshow of photos from the party. Thank you to everyone for sharing in our day!

I just watched an obscure rock documentary from 1969, and it got to me.

The decade that most impassions me (besides the way this one is shaping up to be) is the 1960s. So many pivotal battles were fought during those years…battles that changed the face of our country and our definition of the human condition. This is also the decade that I feel produced the best music—but then, songwriters had plenty of charged fodder to write about, didn't they?

It also didn't hurt that in the 60s, the idea of a generation gap came to fruition. The chasm between parents and their children was wider and deeper than it had ever been before. Families warred from within, and the ideologies were polarizing. While a lot of things were being said, not a lot was being heard. Instead, the sides each spoke a little louder hoping that the other would magically realize that theirs was the only truth. In the midst of all that hot air, musicians became the voice of a generation. They penetrated the airwaves and made their way into homes across the country. Music became a courier.

I have loved Simon and Garfunkel almost as long as I've loved the Beatles. It took a little longer because, whereas my father was a diehard Beatles fan from the moment they appeared on the Ed Sullivan show, no one saturated my every waking moment with S&G: I had to stumble upon them on my own. Yes, I was a third grader listening to I Am a Rock. (My mother used to tell me that I was born old.)

But even as a child who really did not understand the strife of that decade, I felt their songs were something more than a catchy tune. They seemed so beautiful, so sad, and so haunting.



They still sing to me more like poetry than popular music. As you've probably guessed by now, the subject of the rock documentary Songs of America was none other than the group who created folk rock: Simon and Garfunkel. It's not polished at all. A lot of the camera work is shaky. The film is a mishmash of footage from 1960s unrest, live concerts, recording sessions, and candid conversations between the two musicians. The roughness makes this glimpse into the past seem raw and very honest.

The film was quite controversial when it aired in 1969. It almost didn't air at all when network executives saw the opening montage (set to Bridge Over Troubled Waters) with images of JFK, RFK, and MLK Jr: it raised their hackles that no strong republicans were featured. Angered that the executives tried to make their documentary out to be a political agenda, they heatedly pointed out that the three men were featured not because of their ties to the Democratic Party, but because they were change agents who were assassinated. The documentary did air, but only once. It is being released with the 40th anniversary of the Bridge Over Troubled Waters album.

For me, one of the most arresting parts of the piece is one of the conversation segments where Art is talking to Paul about the Vietnam War. I have it mostly verbatim (except for some of the stumbling) below in italics. Between the inflection in his voice and the directness of his eyes (which you can see even though he's talking to Paul off to the side and not looking right at the camera), I could completely empathize with this feelings of senselessness.

"It’s very easy to lose sight of what it means for a bullet to come into another person’s insides, and for a man to be killed by somebody else’s gun. For a man to be out in a—he’s home, he’s in Iowa one day, and the next day he’s in a state that he’s supposed to feel this is worth it...for me to be in this bush now, trying to kill that guy and be in a position where this guy could kill me…I’m supposed to feel that this all makes sense to me and it’s worth it. I’m fighting for something that’s worth it being in this state. It’s (shakes his head) crap."

I have seen a lot of footage from the 60s, and nothing has grabbed me like that moment. I usually see marches, protests, and open conflicts between sides. Nothing has affected me as strongly as those softly spoken words that were bleeding with palpable sincerity. I suppose this may be why I love all of S&G's music: the calmest delivery fortifies the message.

Very cool documentary.