The Time Of Our Lives

Context: This post is about the third day (and second day in the city) of my third New York City trip.

Lots of people assume that I love Fraggle Rock for nostalgia purposes. In reality, I actually barely saw any episodes when I was a kid. I started getting into it through YouTube clips when I was seventeen.

You might remember that my junior year of high school was a tough time for me. I was held afloat by a combination of many things, one of which was my religion, one of which was my friends (especially Best Friend Boy), and one of which was Fraggle Rock. When you are completely and utterly depressed, why wouldn't you want to spend a lot of time in a place where cute fuzzy creatures dance and sing to banish their worries and cares? When you feel like most of your troubles come from not being able to connect with other people, how would it not be helpful to study a world where a different interpersonal conflict is studied in nearly every episode? Ya feel me?

Once I was properly introduced to the show, I glommed on to the precious Fraggles hard. They delighted me. That delight helped me feel better, and sometimes during hard things in later years, I would still turn to an episode that reflected my feelings or my situation.

Life after high school was always a bit precarious for me. I faced a lot of things I didn't feel prepared to face. But I was proud of myself for pulling through it without drifting back into clinical depression. I figured out what I needed to stay on top, and I sought it out as required.

Last year, though...I had a lot of difficult things happen really quickly. Some of them I couldn't talk about to protect other people. Some of them I didn't want to talk about because I was afraid of burdening other people. And some of them I knew no one would understand. So I just clammed up and kind of did the opposite of what I needed to do to take care of myself. I guess I figured that after being so vigilant for so long, and having gone through way worse stuff than what I was going through then, I was pretty invincible.

Ha.

Within a few months, I was...I don't know if I want to say clinically depressed again. I know clinical depression, and this wasn't really like that. I'd say it's more like situational depression, which the Internet tells me is a kind of depression people experience after a major life change. It involves a lot of the feelings of clinical depression, except it apparently doesn't usually leave you completely unable to cope for long periods of time like clinical depression does. When I was clinically depressed as a teen, I couldn't make myself do my homework most days or sometimes even brush my hair. But this time, I didn't feel that kind of listlessness or apathy; I did everything I normally did and more. I was productive yet felt terrible.

I got things back under control again, and all was mostly fine for a few months. However, around Christmas, the terrible feelings came back, and as I was hit by more big life changes (interpersonal crises, major surgery, and more) and other things completely outside of my control, they settled in to stay. I was not okay with that, so I surged forward to fix it. And whaddaya know—there's been improvement, and I now feel completely, absolutely fine for days at a time. But when I don't...

It's not a desirable situation.

But hey, you know what seemed like it might help? A delightful jaunt through an exhibit devoted entirely to Muppets, particularly Fraggles. It was the old medicine, the old relief, come back again in a newer and more potent form.

What I'm trying to say is that when Little Brother and I grabbed pastries from Starbuck's and headed for the subway to ride uptown to the Museum of the Moving Image to Astoria, Queens, I had very high hopes for the Jim Henson exhibit.

I'm happy to report that I was very much not disappointed!

Astoria turned out to be a quiet, cute neighborhood where people lived in actual houses. Tiny houses, but houses all the same. There were even yards! We walked around while we waited for the museum to open. I could tell that Little Brother was already enjoying himself much more than he was the day before. Score. Eventually we joined the other nerds at the museum (I was wearing my Wembley Fraggle shirt, obviously), and first thing we went to the Jim Henson exhibit.

Boy oh boy! That thing was pure joy. Pure. Joy. It was interactive, with video and audio and hand puppets to film a short clip with and a Sesame Street Anything Muppet to dress up. There were fascinating notes and bits of scripts and doodles and posters. And the puppets! I could tell you about them, but I'd rather just show you.

This was the first display (well, first after a cute little intro video). Kermit was sitting all lonely in this case opposite another case with a bunch of other puppets. It was like he was being shunned at a party.

Remember when we saw Carroll Spinney live? He had Oscar with him, but not Big Bird. Now we've seen them both!

My favorite!

Nigel, the original host of The Muppet Show.

Statler and Waldorf. It's funny that the museum is in Astoria since Waldorf's wife's name is Astoria.

The Swedish chef (with fake hands added since the puppeteers use their own hands).

Koozbanians! The Koozbanian pups are SO CUTE!!!

Zoot.

The sign that Gonzo pops out of at the beginning of the show!

And that's just a sampling of what this trove of wonders had to offer! This may surprise you, but we weren't even the biggest nerds at this museum. Most of the people were older folks or parents who didn't seem to know much about Jim Henson but who were trying to entertain their little kids. However, there was a group of college-aged guys who lingered for, like, ten minutes at every display case and spouted facts, figures, and trivia.

We definitely were the biggest Fraggle Rock nerds, though. Not even those guys lingered at the Fraggle Rock displays as long as we did. We examined every inch of those three puppets.

Cantus Fraggle, the wise wandering musician. Cantus is one of the two Fraggle Rock characters played by Jim Henson. The puppet of his other character, Convincing John, was totally creepy-looking, but I didn't get a photo of him.

The one, the only, Gobo Fraggle as he appears from Season 2 on! He looks so lifelike.

Uncle Travelling Matt!

We were fascinating by the hole in the back of Cantus's robes for his tail and by the instruments tucked into the folds. We were excited by the Doozer stick's in Gobo's vest pocket and by the details of his guitar. We examined Uncle Travelling Matt's baloobius and debated whether it was the same throughout the show or whether they used a different baloobius during Scared Silly. We also discovered that all of the Fraggle hair is made from ostrich feathers, even the tiny bits that we thought was fluff!

This talks about the many themes of Fraggle Rock. Notice that "hats" was added at the bottom in handwriting. There literally is an episode of Fraggle Rock entirely about a hat.

Doozers!

Cotterpin Doozer!

A piece of puppetry equipment from The Dark Crystal. STEVE WHITMIRE'S piece of puppetry equipment from The Dark Crystal.

From the opening day of MuppetVision 3D, one of Disney's funnest attractions!

After we'd toured the exhibit very thoroughly, we checked out the rest of the museum. There was an exhibit about YouTube as an artform and about special effects and costumes and merchandising and all kinds of film-related stuff. Little Brother used an interactive stop-motion display to capture a masterpiece involving a rainbow and two Shakespeares rising out of a troubled sea.

Once we'd seen everything else, though, Little Brother said, "Should we go through that exhibit again? Just to say goodbye?"

So we did! (And, yes, said a very reluctant goodbye to the Fraggle cuties.)

On our way out, we raided the gift shop. We scored some expensive chocolates, a magnet, a pin, a children's book, and a key chain.

Wembley is hard to draw right, but he looks pretty good here! Little Brother also bought the a chocolate bar with a Boober wrapper. We opted out of the Red on because it had coffee. :/

Ecstatic, we went in search of a lunch just as perfect as the Jim Henson exhibition. We ended up at Joe Asian & Sushi, where we threw down an amount of money equal to what I'd just blown at the MOMI gift shop. Worth it, though!

These crab wontons were SO GOOD!

Also this miso soup.

The sushi was yummy, too, but we overestimated how hungry we were and only ate about 2/3 of it.

After dropping our treasures back at Older Sister's place, we lazily made our way downtown to Wall Street and the 9/11 Memorial. Too lazily, as it turned out. We'd spend so much time in Astoria that we were waaaaaay behind schedule, so we spent an abbreviated amount of time at the museum and memorial. We had to go, though, since it was non-negotiable for Little Brother. (You can read more about my impressions of the museum here.) I was glad that we did; the solemnity was just right after the giddiness of the morning.

Then we met up with Older Sister. I'd basically told her, "When we're hanging out with you, we'll do whatever you want." And what did she want to do? She wanted to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and take pictures. So that's what we did. Older Sister's phone has a special photography mode that makes every picture look like it's been Photoshopped 1,000 times. Which meant that the photos turned out really, really well.

When we had enough pictures to satisfy Older Sister, we went into Dumbo (the Brooklyn neighborhood, not the elephant) and had a delightful dinner at Shake Shack! I had my very favorite chicken sandwich with herb mayonnaise (not pictured) and a delectable chocolate concrete.

After that, we were all very tired. We took the subway back to Older Sister's apartment, where I fell asleep feeling lighthearted, perfectly content after a nearly perfect day.

The First Day Is Always the Worst Day

I needed a vacation.

I hadn't gone on a real vacation since Disneyland eighteen months ago. I've gone out of town, sure, but always for reasons fraught with family obligation. I've taken days off work, but always for illness or holiday or church reasons or special events. I never get a chance to recharge or relax, and my ability to hold myself together has worn thin.

In January, I was investigating a possible trip back to Europe; I'd been tentatively planning to go in spring of 2018 for a while. So I didn't vacation at all in 2017, and I saved...and I saved...and I saved. I had plenty of money to go on a trip! My plan was book and pay for the trip in January...go in the spring...and buy a new car in the summer. I couldn't find anyone to go with, but I wasn't giving up; there was still time.

I ended up buying a new car in January instead, and I was hesitant to dip any more into my savings for an expensive trip. I felt like Heavenly Father was saying, "DON'T GO TO EUROPE THIS SPRING" because nothing was coming together. So I didn't book anything, though I was still toying with the idea of going later in the year. Then my appendix had to come out, and I had to pay the people who took it out, and it quickly became apparent that this year was just not going to be my year.

Little Sister and her husband went back to NYC around the same time I bought my new car, and she could only gush about the awesome Jim Henson exhibit that I'd wanted to see in New York City three years before. So when I was weighing the idea of going on vacation, I decided: what the heck? Why not go back to New York City so that I could finally see the dang exhibit, eat whatever I wanted, and spend time with Older Sister? The idea appealed to me, particularly because Older Sister would be working, so I could do whatever amused me. The subway system is easy to use; I could get around with no trouble and generally have a good time. And I could stay with Older Sister, which would be very inexpensive.

So (after several weeks of hemming and hawing), I finally committed to Older Sister to come and visit. However, after I'd done so, my mother cornered me and said that I should take Little Brother with me.

That kind of killed the point of the vacation, especially since Mom wanted me to take him to the Statue of Liberty and to Trinity Church and to her favorite restaurants and generally do a bunch of things that I had no intention of doing. So I laid it out straight for Little Brother: this was my trip, and while he could come, he would more or less have to do whatever I wanted.

He said okay, and the plans commenced.

Now, before you think I'm a mean older sister, let it be known that I made sure to include Little Brother in the plans. I made room for the things that were non-negotiable for him: going to the Times Square Disney store, going to the 9/11 Memorial, getting dim sum in Chinatown, a museum called the Museum of Jewish Heritage. He also wanted to go to the Jim Henson exhibit as much as I did.

The flight was booked and the musical tickets were purchased, and in what seemed like no time at all, the day of the trip had arrived and Little Brother and I were waiting at the airport late, late at night.

A few things to know about Little Brother:

• He loves Disney and knows the most about it. Of anyone. On earth. Probably.
• He loves theming.
• He loves beautiful things.
• He loves our Jewish heritage and taught himself to make delicious challah bread. Unlike me, he looks like a full-blooded Jew.
• He loves most of the things I love, except for Harry Potter, and his appreciation for Jim Henson has turned him into an accomplished amateur puppeteer.
• He secretly kind of wants to be YouTube famous.
• He has about a million original stories, musicals, and TV shows hiding inside his brain. They come out if you listen to him talk long enough.
• After our sibling date where I introduced him to sushi, sushi became his most-favorite food.

While we were waiting, he showed me a bunch of his Snaps from Snapchat, something I've never used. It would appear that Little Brother mostly uses it to send droll pictures to his friends.

As usual, we were red eyeing it out to New York. The flight was uneventful, but...odd. First of all, when we were loading onto the plane, a man with an accent I couldn't identify asked me (I think) to check one of his items in my name. He said (I think) that he and his wife and his two kids had too many items to check even though the flight had just announced complimentary checking since there was plenty of room.

They were a cute family, but they were strangers, so I refused. I felt bad, but it's basic airline safety not to accept things from people you don't know! Luckily, we saw later that the flight had checked their extra items with no fuss.

The other odd things about the flight were as follows: 1) The plane was abnormally loud. Little Brother was sitting next to me, but I could barely hear him all night. 2) The flight attendants were weirdly sneaky. I was half-asleep the whole flight, so I barely remember, but I seem to remember that they...didn't really talk? They just communicated with a series of gestures mostly, so that they didn't wake up passengers, I guess. But it was really hard for me to see said gestures since I was trying to sleep and wore no glasses or contacts! 3) The girl sitting next to us promptly fell asleep about as soon as the plane took off and barely moved all night. I even climbed over her to reach the restroom, yet she didn't stir. (Note: I went to the restroom barefoot. That was a mistake. The floor was gross.) Then, just moments before we landed, she woke up like clockwork. ???!

Neither Little Brother nor I slept well. I don't know about Little Brother, but I'd gotten up pretty early the morning of the day we'd left, and I was miserable and exhausted. I do know that at one point I accidentally squirted hand sanitizer in his eye, and he screamed at me. But it was a controlled scream. No one heard it but me. Not even the sleeping girl; she didn't move an inch.

I was adamant that we book our flight to JFK so that we could utilize the air train. Once we'd disembarked and gathered our luggage, we took the train, no problem, to Jamaica Station. Then we took the E Train to Times Square, walked a very long time through the subway to get to a connecting station, and took a 1 Train uptown.

Finally, we made it to the Upper West Side, where Older Sister lives in a beautiful 100-year-old building with 11 roommates. Yup, count 'em—11.

A few things to know about Older Sister:

• She's crazy ambitious. She took a double courseload and finished her six-semester graduate school program in three semesters, something that had never been done before.
• She's always wanted to live in New York City.
• She's always claimed to hate "Asian" food, saying it all tastes the same and is gross.
• She works for a non-profit that teaches underprivileged kids to dance.
• She, too, looks like she could be full-blooded Jewish. When she first moved to the city, she did some babysitting for a Jewish family and would sometimes be mistaken for a relative. On Saturdays, she wears her Sunday clothes to the Manhattan temple for a shift as a temple worker, and on the streets she's often mistaken for a Jew from a more conservative sect.
• She, too, secretly wants to be famous, but not YouTube famous.
• She loves the finer things in life and has never cared much for discomfort.

So even though I knew that she was living in a crowded apartment with no space to herself, it still amazed me. It's a testament to how much she loves New York City, because she's always been the kind of person who's always wanted to live somewhere that was nice and cutely decorated and very much her own.

Not that the apartment wasn't not nice, it just barely had room to exist at all. The whole thing, square-foot-wise, surely didn't exceed the amount of space I share with my two roommates. And her bedroom, which sleeps two people, is about the same size as my bedroom minus the closet. My bedroom is okay, but on the small side, for a single person; for two people, it would be pretty cramped!

The roommate had kindly stayed elsewhere so that Older Sister could have us in her room with her. I got the top bunk of the bunk bed. Little Brother got a cot-type bed on the floor. We could hang out in the apartment, but we couldn't wear shoes while we did so. We could shower in one of two bathrooms (except if it was after 11:00 p.m., in which case we had to shower in a tiny little bathroom—more on that later). Before she left for work, Older Sister presented us with a brassy-looking set of keys. One for the apartment building; one for the apartment. We were cautioned to be very careful not to break the lock, which had apparently happened before.

We crashed for an hour or so. Then...the city.

I gave Little Brother a first day similar to my first day on my first trip. First, the Disney store, which was everything Little Brother had dreamed of. Then lunch at Junior's. I'd heard that the food was better if you ordered something Jewish-style.

Sadly, it was still kind of meh. However, it pleased Little Brother to order a brisket sandwich with a latke and applesauce.

After, we took a subway downtown. At this point, we discovered that while the subway was easy to use (seriously—this was the first trip where I was the subway navigator, and there were hardly any bumps), our smartphones didn't seem to operate properly on the streets. (Over-saturation of people sucking up data?) It took us approximately six million years to find the Museum of Jewish Heritage.

The museum was not what we were expecting. The lady at the front desk asked us how we'd heard of it, and I breezily said, "We were just looking for a good Jewish museum!" But whether it was a good Jewish museum is...up for debate. There was some good stuff, but it wasn't very well-presented, and they kind of brushed over the Holocaust, mostly focusing on Jewish culture before it and how said culture recovered after. There were some cool artifacts, but I didn't learn very many new things. The most interesting tidbit was the fact that in some countries during Hitler's regime, Jews who didn't have "Jewish" names were required to take on the name or middle name of Israel or Sara.

Following the museum, we crashed. I was incredibly exhausted: dead on my feet and barely aware. I had no idea how I was going to stay up to watch Anastasia that night. But after lazing in Older Sister's apartment for a bit, I summoned the energy to arise, dress, and lead Little Brother to Tonn Ramen.

Older Sister, she who hates all Asian food, picked Tonn Ramen for dinner. She'd tried it and actually liked it! However, she ended up staying at work late and then babysitting afterward, so she didn't join us for our first taste of restaurant ramen.

Tonn Ramen is one of the more eccentric places I've been in New York City! Little Brother described the restaurant as "in a garage." It was below street level, tiny, and crowded. Everything about it seemed to be designed to make diners as uncomfortable as possible so that they would order, eat, and leave. The whole front of the restaurant was open, so we could feel the breeze from the street. The bar stools were difficult to keep a seat on, and I could never quite get myself into a position where I didn't feel I was about to fall off. The waiters whisked from place to place, quickly collecting orders which were then assembled in a matter or minutes. Not that anyone was rude or made us feel unwanted—but there was a slight feeling of, "Oh, we're very busy, so you should be glad we could squeeze you in!" Coupled with the fact that the restaurant was open during limited hours, the general air was one of exclusivity.

In any case, we quickly ate our ramen and paid. Mine is pictured below. It was tasty, although it was still ramen.

The vegetables and spices woke me up a bit. By the time we got to the Broadhurst Theatre, I was feeling much more excited about taking Little Brother to his first Broadway musical!

However. While Anastasia was delightful, it was rough. They completely rewrote the plot and dialogue, losing a lot of what made the animated movie so good. There also was a nice opportunity for them to tie up one character's philosophical qualms (his father was one of the guards who shot the royal family to death, so he is committed to making sure Anastasia is actually dead; his turn of heart would have been more realistic had it been revealed that his father actually helped Anastasia escape), but they passed that over for some unconvincing mumbo-jumbo. Overall, the movie, with its magic and demons and sold souls, actually seemed a lot more realistic than this historically accurate version. The special effects were dope, though, and the performers did do a good job with what they had.

We briefly stage-doored so that Little Brother could get a quick video of Christy Altomare for his friends. Then we took the subway home, utterly exhausted. (Confession: I'd fallen asleep for several seconds during the show.) As I showered (in the big shower) and hauled myself up the bunk bed ladder, I was wondering if this trip was a good idea or if I would regret it.

Four Years a Blogger

Earlier this week, we passed the four-year anniversary of this blog.

I intended to have some kind of wild celebration, I really did, but then life happened and stress from work happened and so instead of party favors and Chinese food and ice cream cake I passed a quiet evening of many books and mango-coconut sushi and eggless cookie dough.

At the very least, I thought I would write a blog post, but the only thought that came to mind was, "I used to organize the books on my bookshelf by how I felt about them, but when that got too complicated I started arranging them alphabetically instead." That...that was it. That's all I had. It didn't even have anything to do with this blog. So I forewent the post in hopes of being struck by that fickle mistress, inspiration.

Inspiration apparently doesn't feel abusive enough towards me to strike me. Regardless, happy blogiversary to me and this blog with which I am seemingly in a committed, long-term relationship. I'm surprised that we're not sick of each other yet.

Hanukkahmas

Guess what, everybody?

Hanukkah and Christmas fell at the same time this year, that's what!

What's an ethnically 1/8 Jewish, religiously Christian girl to do?

Celebrate them both, of course!

The first night of Hanukkah fell on Christmas Eve. Older Sister's flight got in that morning. Then we had our annual tradition of lunch on Christmas Eve, followed by our other annual tradition of dinner, a nativity scene, and a slideshow of the previous year, all with extended family.

The second night of Hanukkah fell on Christmas Day. That morning, we opened presents. I got a sushi cookbook, a sushi-making kit, chopsticks, and sushi pins, among other things.

Then we all went to church. Afterward, we visited with family and enjoyed our gifts.

On the third night of Hanukkah, the family went with Favorite Cousin to see La La Land. Favorite Cousin and I already saw it the week before, but Older Sister hadn't yet because the movie prices in New York City are too much for her modest arts administrator budget. (While we're on the subject, it's a pretty good movie. There's kind of a bait and switch where you think the movie is about how a person has to close their eyes to some harsh realities to make an arts career work, but surprise! At the end you realize it's actually about how a person has to close their eyes to some harsh realities to make a relationship work. Plus there's a dream ballet sequence and a couple other moments straight out of a film musical from the 50s or 60s. So that's fun/unexpected/odd.)

On the fourth night of Hanukkah, we saw the LDS church's production of Savior of the World. That was actually a really good Hanukkah activity, as the production is about Christ's lifetime and is therefore steeped in a lot of Jewish traditions.

On the fifth night of Hanukkah, we actually got around to celebrating Hanukkah. All of my immediate family came to my apartment, along with Little Sister's boyfriend, Rosebud and her husband, one of our cousins and her new husband, and another cousin's four-month-old baby, whom my parents was watching for the evening. Together, we celebrated. This meant a dinner of brisket, latkes, applesauce, challah bread, and less traditional foods...

...some Hanukkah tales...

...and playing dreidel! (Spoils pictured below.)

We also sang and danced to songs from Fiddler on the Roof and Prince of Egypt. Rosebud's husband did a bottle dance. We picked Baby Brother up in a chair and danced with him around the living room. He hated it.

Hanukkah continues through New Year's Eve aka tomorrow. If you haven't celebrated and you want to, you still can. Although maybe you can't if you're not at least 1/8 Jewish. Maybe those are the rules.

Meeting Luna Lovegood

I wasn't sure if I would ever have a reason to go to Comic Con.

In August, I told Porch that I might go to Comic Con if certain voice actors or Muppeteers ever came but that I couldn't think of any live-action actors I cared enough about to spend the money on. I've just never been that into movie stars. For example, I would consider going to Comic Con to see Elijah Wood, but only because he did such a fantastic job voicing Wirt in Over the Garden Wall, not because he played one of the leading characters in a critically acclaimed and financially successful film adaptation of one of my favorite book series.

Just days later, I texted Porch.

Awkward Mormon Girl: Looook. Somebody that I would go to Comic Con for: [and then I sent a link to the Comic Con website but I'm not including it here because it will probably be obsolete soon]

If you read the title of the blog post, you might have an inkling of who this person was. If that inkling is any good, then it's pointing you in the direction of Evanna Lynch, Luna Lovegood herself.

Luna Lovegood is my favorite female Harry Potter character. Why? First of all, when I read through the first through fourth books as a child, I found that there weren't many blonde characters that I liked. Petunia Dursley, Dudley Dursley, Gilderoy Lockhart, Rita Skeeter, Draco Malfoy, Fleur Delacour—they weren't exactly sympathetic. I really wanted a character who looked like me but was likable. Lo and behold, the fifth book came out! And Luna was not only blonde, but dirty blonde—the kind that nobody wants to be but most people actually are. By the time the fifth book came out, the white-blonde hair of my childhood had darkened considerably and only got darker from that point. I cherished that similarity between myself and Luna.

Second of all, apart from the looks, I identified with Luna personality-wise. Over the years, a few people have told me, unprompted by me, that I remind them of the book version of Luna Lovegood because I march to the beat of my own drum and don't make decisions based on what everyone else does. And, as I've gotten older and refined aspects of my personality, I find that I, like Luna, am a little too honest and a little too intense.

Last but not least, Luna adds so much to Harry Potter. Before I read the fifth book, I couldn't imagine how another main character could possibly fit into the story. It seemed like it was too late in the game to introduce anyone very significant. I was wrong, obviously. Now when I reread, I wonder how the first four books are as good as they are without Luna.

Having sufficiently proven my love for Luna Lovegood, I have to warn you that I'm no huge Evanna Lynch fan. Not that there's anything wrong with her, personally. It's just that when I saw the first photo of her ten or eleven years ago, I was disappointed. Luna Lovegood, champion of dirty blondes, was going to be played by someone with white-blonde hair? I told Viola that I thought she looked too much like Tom Felton, that people who hadn't read the books were going to think that Luna and Draco were secretly related, and that everyone would be confused.

I believe this was the first photo of her that I saw.

When I saw the movie, I found that the variation of vague and serene that the director had chosen for Luna was not the same variation that I'd pictured in my head. However, Evanna did a really good job of portraying what they'd decided to go with. I had to respect that. And, in later years, I followed her on Twitter, and she seemed cool and everything, but I cared more about the fact that she was the face of Luna than about her personally.

After that initial text to Porch, I spent a few weeks in debate.

On the one hand, it seemed like it would be cool to meet her.

On the other hand, it would be expensive.

On the other other hand, I have money to spare.

On the other other other hand, I try to save a lot of that money for the future.

On the other other other other hand, nobody is financially reliant on me but me. I can spend my money on whatever the huckleberry I want.

On another hand, I had no one to go with.

On another another hand, Favorite Cousin showed an interest in going when asked.

Round and round I went in my decision making. Finally, two things decided the question for me.

The first is the connections game. In the connections game, you pick a person and try to connect yourself to them through association. For example, Jim Henson. Here's my connection to him: I know my grandmother. As a child, my grandmother met Walt Disney. Walt Disney worked with Julie Andrews on Mary Poppins. Julie Andrews appeared on The Muppet Show, which meant that she would have met Jim Henson. Or we could do it this way: Runner Bean and his family once appeared on Extreme Home Makeover. The host of Extreme Home Makeover, Ty Pennington, later appeared in a Sesame Street video with Count von Count. At the time, Count von Count was played by none other than the incomparable Muppeteer Jerry Nelson, who worked for years with Jim Henson. Bonus: no matter how you connect me to Jim Henson—and this may be the best part—from Jim Henson it's just one connection to my favorite Muppeteer, Steve Whitmire!!!

Now, I already had a fairly direct connection to J. K. Rowling. A classmate of mine from college has a cousin who is married to Broadway star Audra McDonald, who is playing the wardrobe in the upcoming adaptation of Beauty and the Beast. As all humans and maybe some inhumans know, Emma Watson is playing Belle in said adaptation, and obviously Emma Watson knows J. K. Rowling. So I can trace myself to J. K. Rowling easily. Yet the idea of meeting someone who was just one connection away from one of my favorite writers—well. That was even better.

And the second deciding factor? It seemed like maybe I should live a little. Meet Evanna Lynch? Why the heck not? Why not do something expensive and unnecessary and oh-so-cool every now and again? Ya know? There are so many things that I want to do with my life that I haven't been able to. I hope that they will come, in time, but I can't put off living a fun and rewarding life until then.

And thus it was decided. And thus Favorite Cousin and I bought tickets to the last day of Comic Con and to the Evanna Lynch photo op.

On the day we were going, I was bouncing off the walls. I wore my Gryffindor/Mulan t-shirt and golden teacup earrings. I'd brought my Luna Lovegood wand and a notebook to take notes at panels. I was rearing to go!

Here are some impressions of Comic Con:

1. There were so many creative costumes! I saw Pacha, Chicha, and Kuzco. I saw Disney princesses galore and Meg from Hercules. I saw Bert and Mary Poppins. I saw Finn the Human. I saw so many Avatar: The Last Airbender characters:Toph, Aang, Katara, Ty Lee, Azula, and Sokka. I saw Wirt and Greg, Astrid and Hiccup, and Schmendrick and Amalthea from The Last Unicorn.

2. Comic Con needs more pens. I usually carry a pen in my purse, but when I arrived at the convention I realized I didn't have one. Favorite Cousin and I scoured the booths, looking for pens for sale. We saw some specialty pens that cost $65, $35, but nothing at a more...reasonable price. Get rich quick scheme: bring a box of Bic pens to Comic Con, sell them for a buck apiece to people who want to take notes at the panels.

3. It was really cool to see so many famous people! I saw the girls from The Hillywood Show. They had a booth selling merchandise, and they were actually selling the merchandise themselves rather than having others do it. Favorite Cousin and I did a walk-by of Billy Boyd's autograph booth and were able to see him from afar! I tried to catch glimpses of Jeremy Shada and Jess Harnell, too, but was unable to.

Now here's the thing. I found the atmosphere at Comic Con to be very strange. Overall, it just...wasn't uplifting. I don't know why that was, because I've heard nothing but good things about it in the past. Yet the overall spiritual impression I got from Comic Con was a dark one.

When we saw Billy Boyd, I was drawn to him immediately. He just...he really stood out, and not just because he's famous. It's hard to describe, but he was really...full of light.

I had a similar experience with Evanna Lynch. We waited in line for a long time for our photo op. Favorite Cousin and I were exhausted at that point; we left shortly after, even though we'd been planning to stay longer.

Now, Evanna's photo op was running late. We always knew that we weren't going to get much of a chance to talk to her, but Favorite Cousin's experience at conventions in the past was that during a photo op, you got to shake hands and at least say hello. As we drew near to the photo area, however, the security people announced that Evanna had to catch a plane. They instructed us to dash up as soon as the flash for the photo before us went off and get into place quickly. We'd take the photo and exit immediately. No talking, no handshakes, no nothing.

As we drew closer, I studied Evanna. She was wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt and a pencil skirt. I noticed that she was even shorter than I am, and (with some amusement) that her white-blonde hair was showing dirty blonde at the roots. She looked exhausted, but she was still smiling for every picture.

It was almost time for our photo. The girl before us stepped forward swiftly. The flash went off. Favorite Cousin and I, tensed to move, started towards Evanna, but she cried, "Stop! Stop! Can we do that again? I wasn't looking at the camera."

It was a little thing, but it impressed me deeply. It told me that she really cared about her fans getting their money's worth. I was drawn to her the same way that I was drawn to Billy Boyd. Even in just a few seconds, I got the feeling that she was a good person worth admiring. Which was so strange...because I'm usually not the kind of person who takes to people instantly.

They did the photo over. Then it was our turn. We said a quick hello as we got into place for the picture. The cameraman snapped the photo; the light flashed. And I said, "Thank you!" to Evanna, and she said, "Thank you," back, and now I have an experience that I will always remember.

The photo turned out great. I was practically crying, I was so happy. Favorite Cousin seemed to share the deep thumbprint that had been pressed in my heart by the brief experience, because he, too, was nothing but giddy as we rehashed it through conversation over sushi.

Later, I went to visit Porch. I tried to explain how great Evanna was, but it was difficult. I felt like I sounded completely ridiculous; after all, I'd only been in her presence for a few seconds. However, Porch's face lit up, and he started gushing about Evanna. He'd gone to her panel the day before, and he seemed to share my sentiments exactly.

So that was my experience meeting Luna Lovegood. I'm not sorry I did it, in fact I'm very very glad, but I don't think Comic Con is going to become a regular haunt of mine. Unless Steve Whitmire comes. In which case I am going to buy all the tickets and go all the days and follow Steve Whitmire around and probably get arrested.

Touched by a Dog

Context: This post is about the last day of my second New York City trip.

Sunday morning marked the last day of our trip, our farewell to 35 Fifth Avenue, and our return to Utah. As Older Sister prepared for church, we prepared for LaGuardia by rolling up the many sleeping bags and sleeping pads, reassembling our gigantic shared suitcase, and, in my case, repacking a pillow/Urban Outfitter bag combination carry-on.

There were three interesting things about the trip home.

Thing #1: We took an Uber to the airport! First time using Uber, everybody. It cost 1/5 of what the taxi had cost. Not a bad deal.

Thing #2: Our layover was in Philly! I've always wanted to go to the City of Brotherly Love. We didn't get to see anything outside of the airport, but at least I ate this Philly roll while there:

Thing #3: I almost died!!!!!1!

The little sisters and I were separated on our flight home. They had seats together; I was all alone. At least, I was all alone for a few minutes until my seatmate boarded.

When you sit next to a stranger on an airplane, you always wonder if your seatmate is going to be, like, your new best friend. It became clear within about fifteen seconds that my seatmate did not want to be my new best friend. She seemed way more interested in shoving a humongous duffel bag under the seat in front of her than in me.

I wondered why she didn't put the duffel bag in the overhead compartment, where it would fit a lot better. I was even more bewildered when she told me that she needed me to move so that she could get the bag under the seat more easily.

As soon I stood up, I got a better look at the bag. It was not a bag. It was a kennel.

All I could say was, "Uhhh..." Because I was surprised to see that a dog would be sitting next to me on an airplane. I guess I assumed that if someone brought a dog onto a plane, the airline would let the other passengers know. Or at least let the person sitting next to the dog (me) know. But this, apparently, was not the case.

"Are you allergic to dogs?" the lady asked.

I said "Yes," which was easier but less accurate than saying, "Sometimes."

As a kid, I got mildly itchy eyes around cats and dogs. Then, when I was a teenager, I stopped reacting. I would go to Etch-a-Sketch's house and be near the her family's pets, or I would go to Best Friend Boy's house and sit on furniture that had cat hair on it, and I would not react at all. I still had to change my clothes as soon as I got home—Mom and Little Brother had allergies so severe that they would get a reaction just from being near someone who'd even looked at a cat or dog recently. I, on the other hand, stayed hale and whole no matter how many canines and felines I looked at or was exposed to.

If I thought I'd outgrown my allergies, though, I assumed too much too soon. When I hit my twenties, I started to react to cats and dogs again...only the reactions were more like Mom's and Little Brother's. My throat would swell up, and I would have a hard time breathing.

The lady said, "My sister is sitting in seat __." She told me that I could trade seats with her sister.

I agreed, mainly because I couldn't see another solution. I walked up the aisle, found the sister, and explained the situation to her. She gave me her seat and with it her seatmate. Hello, possible new best friend. I sat down.

The frustrating thing about having pet allergies is that most people who own pets don't have pet allergies, and people who don't have pet allergies don't really understand the danger their pets might pose to other people. They'll tell you that their pet doesn't shed, or that they always vacuum up all the fur, or something. Unfortunately, that's not really how it works. A person who's allergic to an animal can have an allergic reaction to allergens in animal dandruff or saliva, which is regularly but not only found in fur. Pets who spend time with their owners regularly leave animal dandruff or saliva on said owners. Those owners might, blissfully ignorant, go to a movie theatre and sit in a cushy red chair. If the next person who sits in the cushy red chair has a pet allergy, that person could easily have an allergic reaction to the allergens that the pet owner left behind. And that's just one example. I'm not saying that it's necessarily a pet owner's job to strip their body of allergens whenever they leave the house, but I am saying that most pet owners seem to be totally unaware that it's that easy for their pet's allergens to spread. These owners also seem to be totally unaware that some people have severe enough allergies that they could die if they don't receive treatment quickly enough.

I remembered this too late.

Not long after I sat down, my eyes started itching. And I started thinking about how, if I were a person who had a dog, and if I had that dog with me in an airport during a layover, I would probably play with said dog during said layover. And, if my sister were on said layover at said airport, I would most likely invite said sister to play with me and said dog during said layover at said airport. And then said sister would probably have said dog's fur...and dandruff...and saliva all over her person. And then, if I were a person who owned a dog and had no allergies and therefore was not aware of how allergies work, I might send my allergic-to-dogs seatmate to trade seats with my sister, and then my allergic-to-dogs seatmate would sit right down on the seat covered with traces of dog hair and touch the armrests that bore traces of dandruff and saliva and then...and then...

And then what???

Once, Pepper and I talked about a theoretical series called Touched by a Dog, where people with dog allergies are forced to interact with dogs because the dog owners don't take others' allergies seriously. Unable to reach their medicine in time, these allergic people die tragic and untimely deaths. I felt like this could be a follow-up to Over the Garden Wall; Wirt seems like the kind of person who would be cursed with severe allergies. Each episode would be a PSA written by Wirt as an effort to alert the general public to the plight of the average person with allergies. Wirt would always play the person with the allergy who dies and his brother, Greg, would always play the dog.

We decided early on that one of the episodes would take place on a plane. Because, I theorized, what could be a more unfortunate circumstance than to be stuck on a plane with a dog but no allergy medicine?

I soon discovered just how unfortunate a circumstance it was.

Like I said, I went for years without having any allergic reactions. My mom (who is one of the people who easily could die if she sat in a cushy red seat recently used by a pet owner) carries allergy medicine, inhalers, and EpiPens with her everywhere she goes; I've never felt the need. So I was wholly unprepared for my own personal episode of Touched by a Dog.

"Your eyes aren't really itching," I told myself sternly.

"Your throat isn't really swelling up," I told myself strictly. "You have an overactive imagination."

"You're being ridiculous," I told myself firmly. "Even if you are having an allergic reaction, it's probably very mild, and you will be just fine for this five-hour flight."

At this point, we were about half an hour in. I'd never reacted so quickly after being exposed to an animal before.

I shuddered to think where I would be in five hours.

I was starting to worry.

I needed to take some kind of action.

I definitely couldn't ask my new seatmate for help. Shortly after takeoff, a flight attendant had told us that since the third person in our row hadn't showed, we didn't need to sit right next to each other. Immediately, my seatmate moved to the aisle seat. "I'll make this easier on both of us," she said, but she didn't sound like she was making a joke. She sounded like she didn't like me, and she thought I didn't like her.

Apparently, she would not become my new best friend, either. But that was okay because come to think of it, I had Viola and wasn't really in the market for a new best friend.

I also didn't feel like I could ask the flight attendants for help. I thought that they probably had allergy medicine somewhere, but I had no idea had to handle this kind of social situation. First of all, I have issues with asking people for help because when I ask people for help, I feel like I've failed or done something wrong. Knowing that I didn't have very much experience with my own allergies, that I had no idea what might happen if I didn't get medicine, that I didn't know how severe my reaction might get or how difficult it might become for me to breathe, definitely spurred me to disregard that particular barrier. But on the other hand, I couldn't figure out how to ask the question...logistically. The flight attendants were all coming up and down the aisle with little carts. How could I possibly talk to one? Walk up behind one and say "Can you help me?" in her ear like a creeper? Wait until they came by with the carts and, when they asked me what I wanted to drink, say, "I'd like a ginger ale, and also some allergy medicine if you have it, and please hurry because I am in some kind of respiratory distress?"

No, there was no way. There was no way. I was never going to work up the courage to ask for allergy medicine. Maybe I would be fine, but maybe I wouldn't be. Maybe my throat would keep swelling. If it kept up, I might not be able to breathe. Traditionally, when you're unable to breathe, you die.

What dumb luck! What a stupid way to go.

As is my habit, I started to pray. Sometimes, in situations like this, God tells me to suck it up and get over myself and do the difficult social thing. But sometimes, He provides a path that is more aligned with my personality.

After praying, I had an instant idea. Baby Sister had a cold at the beginning of the trip, remember? My mother the RN gave her a bag of cold medicine to take on the trip. I was pretty sure that I'd seen allergy medicine in there, too. I felt like I should go ask Baby Sister if she had any allergy medicine.

It took me a while to work up the courage to ask my own sister for help. By the time I stepped past my surly seatmate as politely as I could and headed to my sisters' seats, we were an hour and a half into the flight.

I don't remember exactly what I said, but as I was distressed and on the verge of tears it was not particularly eloquent.

Baby Sister said that she didn't think she had any medicine left in her carry-on, allergy or otherwise. "I'll check," she said. She rummaged around and came up with a single adult multi-allergy symptom pill.

Hallelujah.

I took the pill back to my seat. All I needed was some liquid to wash the pill down, and everything would be fine. Luckily, the flight attendants were still (slowly) making their trips with the little carts.

A flight attendant with a cart soon came. I was all geared up to order my ginger ale, but this flight attendant only had biscotti. There was another cart still coming with the drinks.

I choked down the biscotti. Traditionally, biscotti are dry, but these ones seemed particularly hard to swallow. I hoped it was just my imagination and not a symptom of my swelling throat.

I waited for the drink cart...and waited. About half an hour had passed since I'd gotten the allergy pill from Baby Sister.

The only thing I could think of that would be sadder than dying of allergies on a plane because I wouldn't ask for allergy medicine would be dying of allergies on a plane while holding an allergy pill in my hand.

I swallowed, checking the tightness of my throat. Should I try to take the pill without liquid? Plot twist: I choke to death on the pill. Maybe that was a bad plan.

Just as I was about to panic, the drink cart finally showed up. I finally got my ginger ale. I stuffed the pill in my mouth and washed it down into my esophagus. Within five minutes, my throat had loosened, and my eyes were no longer itching. The rest of the flight passed without event.

And so I returned to Utah safe and sound.

Thus ended my second New York City trip. Like I said in the post before this one, I don't know if I should hope I'll have time for more travel or if I should hope to have other preoccupations. But either way, Older Sister has made an executive decision that she's not coming home to Utah at the end of the summer; she's going to stay in New York if she can find a job. So even if I find myself with other life commitments, I may still have to go back if I want to see my sister. We'll see what happens.

Things You Must Not Do or Else You're a Terrible Person

1. Forget the Alamo.

2. Say, "Disneyland isn't fun if you're an adult."

3. Change the choreography when the choreographer's not there.

4. Say, "Cartoon movies aren't as good as live-action movies."

5. Insist that the Harry Potter movies are better than the books.

6. Insist that the Lord of the Rings movies are better than the books.

7. Insist that any movies are better than the books (except for How to Train Your Dragon; How to Train Your Dragon the movie > How to Train Your Dragon the book).

8. Misquote William Shakespeare.

9. Misquote Abraham Lincoln.

10. Misquote Jim Henson.


An actual quote from Jim Henson, courtesy of ToughPigs.

11. Say you don't like sushi when you actually haven't tried sushi.

12. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for your birthday!"

13. Say, "You're an adult. You don't need anything for Christmas!"

And, my personal not-favorite, 14. Say, "You know what would be fun right now? If we talked about politics!"

Much Ado About Siblings

This month, a million things happened in the space of two short weeks. These things are as follows: Older Sister went to Washington, D.C., for a grad school trip. Little Sister went to San Francisco for a college class, and the three youngest each starred in a different theatrical production.

Baby Sister was in Much Ado About Nothing. Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite Shakespeare play. When Baby Sister was first cast as Hero in her school's production of this delightful comedy, I offered her the use of my No Fear Shakespeare version of the script.

BABY SISTER: ...you have that?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...is that weird?

I was able to see Baby Sister perform twice. She was a delightful Hero (you should have seen her faint!). She was also very short, as usual, which was good because the other characters in the play several times refer to Hero's height or lack thereof. Our mom made the costumes for the production, and those were also very good.

Watching Shakespeare always causes me to talk with an Elizabethan bent for a while--inside my head, if not out loud. The second time I saw the show, I went to an Indian restaurant with my roommates right after.

WAITER: Here's your table.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Behold! Here is a place upon which we can eat.

Little Brother's leading role that same week was Pinocchio in Shrek Jr. Little Brother usually gets cast as fairly serious characters, so I felt like he really enjoyed the chance to use a wacky voice and be funny. He also got to puppeteer a chicken in some scenes, which he also really enjoyed. Little Brother is a talented self-taught puppeteer.

Here's his program bio. It amused me:

Little Brother Obnoxious was last seen onstage as John Darling in Hometown High School's summer production of Peter Pan. Some other shows he was recently in are The Little Mermaid and Bye Bye Birdie. Little Brother is puppeteer and immensely enjoys making/watching YouTube videos and eating sushi. He would like to thank everyone who put time and effort into this musical. The end.

The next week, we all saw Baby Brother as Daddy Warbucks in Annie Kids. Ginger Cousin was Annie. Ginger Cousin is now taller than Baby Brother, so that was pretty funny. But holy cow. Nobody knew that Baby Brother could sing like that. He has the voice of an angel.

And to top it all off, Older Sister was accepted for a summer internship in New York City. She's really going to move there, just like she's always dreamed of!

A while ago, I was talking to Goldfinger. He said something like, "No offense, but your family does so much stuff that it's really...intimidating."

I'm beginning to see what he meant.

Three Years Later

Three years ago today, I started this blog.

Last year, I threw a sort-of party for the anniversary of this blog. This year, I partly forgot and partly just let it slide. Because although I love celebrating, I've reached a point in my life where if I want to go out to dinner, I can just go. I can even afford full-price sushi! I can even afford the expensive tickets at the expensive movie theatre! I couldn't think of anything to do to celebrate that I wouldn't do on a normal day. So, that's a no-go.

Looking back, I do feel that in some ways, this blog has gotten off track. I specifically said that I have a hard time writing about stuff I don't care about. Well, for the past year I've felt like I can't write about the things that are always on my mind and that I really care about. I don't want to write about the difficult interpersonal experiences I've had the past year, romantic or otherwise, out of respect for the privacy of others. I don't want to dash off a sad post every time I'm discouraged or frustrated. There's nothing wrong with being discouraged or frustrated; I just don't want my personal corner of the Internet to become a veritable fountain of sob stories. Which is why over the past year, you've been treated to an endless supply of posts about Stitch Fix and the weather.

I've forgotten something important, which is that one of the best ways to deal with difficult stuff is to make fun of yourself as much as possible. Not in a mean-spirited way; just in a way that reminds you to get over yourself. I feel like I could, and should, do that more. This blog would be the perfect outlet.

That being said, I do think I wrote some really great things over the past year. I'd say Passover, New York City, and Carroll Spinney were the highlights.

Anyways, here's to another year.

Winter Mornings

I have a love-hate relationship with winter mornings. And by "love-hate," I mean "hate." I hate the winter. The winter hates me.

Some of you naysayers will say, "But it's not even winter yet! It won't be winter until the winter solstice or whatever." But I will naysay your naysaying and say that once the snow comes, it's winter. And the snow has come. Briefly. And the cold came with it, and the cold hasn't left.

If you asked me how cold it was in my apartment, I would say that it's cold. And if you said, "But how cold?" I would say it's as cold as a deep-dish pizza. And then when you protested that doesn't make any sense, I would tell you that NaNoWriMo has exhausted my supply of good similes and distract you with a description of how I spend these cold winter mornings.

First, I sleep in for as long as I can possibly justify. Then, when I can no longer justify sleeping, I get out from under the covers. I wrap myself in a massive blanket that the Seamstress made me last Christmas, and I turn on the little space heater my landlord lent me, and I pray and read my scriptures and write in my journal.

By the time I'm done with that, my room is decently warm. However, the rest of the apartment is not. It's a rather large basement apartment, which is one of the reasons that it's as cold as a thing that isn't warm. So, in order to keep warm while I proceed to get ready for the day, I wrap the massive blanket around me and let it trail behind me like a majestic cape. It trails over the tile floor in the bathroom as I plug the straightener in. It trails over the kitchen floor as I "prepare" my breakfast of cereal or frozen waffles or once even leftover sushi that Pepper thoughtfully brought home for me. It trails over the hallway carpet as I walk around aimlessly trying to remember what I need to do that day before I can leave the house.

And then I get dressed in the warmest shirt I can find, and I leave the house bundled up. I drive to work or wherever it is that I'm driving that day. I do whatever it is I'm doing that day, and then by the time I leave it's warmed up considerably outside and my warmest shirt has become stifling and sweaty.

But, of course, if I wear a shirt that's not quite as warm, the weather invariably stays cold all day and I freeze to death. And then I wake up the next day and do it all again.

On a Roll

When Baby Brother was small, he was severely allergic to several kinds of meat, nuts, and fruits and vegetables.

One day, before she realized her son was allergic to everything, my mom gave him some carrots and told them they were good for his eyes.

A while later, Baby Brother came to her. "You were right, Mom!" he said excitedly. "I can feel my eyes growing!"

What he actually felt was his face swelling in an allergic reaction to the carrots.

Needless to say, Baby Brother existed basically on a diet of dairy and carbs and that's it.

There were two kids in our neighborhood Baby Brother's age with bad allergies. One was allergic to gluten. The other was allergic to dairy. I used to picture them eating lunch together in the elementary school cafeteria. Between them, they could consume napkins and some lettuce.

Eventually, Baby Brother grew out of his allergies. But, having eaten only dairy and carbs for so long, he had a natural suspicion and dislike of meat, fruits, and veggies and refused to eat them. Thus the world's pickiest eater was born.

Now, over the past year I've made some strides with Baby Brother. He now enjoys naan. And in July, he even tried a piece of calamari and found it tolerable. Still, I don't really know why earlier this week Little Brother and I decided to take him with us while we got sushi.

I wasn't expecting Baby Brother to eat anything, so I was pleasantly surprised when he asked me to order some calamari. He ate a piece or two of that. Then, suddenly, Little Brother was challenging him to eat a piece of sushi.

I thought it couldn't hurt, so I gave Baby Brother a piece of the Vegas roll. You can't say you don't like sushi if you haven't tried a Vegas roll. They're not what people typically think of when they think of sushi, but boy, are they magically delicious!

Baby Brother tentatively picked up the sushi with his chopsticks. He dipped it in the soy sauce as directed, then brought it to his mouth.

Then pulled it away.

Then brought it back.

Then pulled it away!

Then brought it back!

Lather, rinse, repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

LITTLE BROTHER: YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY! JUST TRY IT.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Hey, trying new foods can be scary!

Finally, Baby Brother took a small bite of the breaded exterior of the roll.

BABY BROTHER: Hey, that's good!

A few minutes later, he took another bite! And another.

He was actually consuming food with nutritional value! It was a miracle.

We praised him. We told him that this was a basic roll he could get at any sushi restaurant.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: The sushi restaurant near our house puts fish eggs on their Vegas rolls.

It just so happened that one of our raw rolls had some fish eggs sprinkled on it, so we scraped off the eggs and gave them to Baby Brother.

BABY BROTHER: That's good!

He started scraping fish eggs off my share of the roll.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Okay, that's enough...

After we paid, Little Brother and I chewed some bits of ginger to cleanse our palates.

To our surprise, Baby Brother wanted to try some ginger, too. And he liked it!

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: You're on a roll!

BABY BROTHER: Ha! Sushi! On a roll!

To conclude the story on a slightly different note, as we left, we thanked our waiter and said goodbye to him.

LITTLE BROTHER: Bye! Love y--

We laughed at him.

LITTLE BROTHER: IT'S HABIT!