This is my friend Lianne Smith at the Living Room last night, before the show started, getting ready. It was a great show. She sang this haunting song about a moth that flew in her window, and I actually had to stop listening to the words because it sounded like something very bad was going to happen to that moth. A spider was mentioned and I immediately shut down. Nothing good could come of that combination. But the melody was beautiful and Lianne's voice was sublime.
I'm planning my day. Since every study seems to indicate that you need to exercise EVERY day, I try to do something that might count as exercise EVERY day. When I go to the library, I walk there and back (a decent walk, I go to the main branch on 42nd Street). I'm trying to decide, should I go to the gym today, or the library? I only have a few things I need to look up and I like to wait until I have a pile of stuff and make a day of it.
Can I just say, our library is so great. It has everything. I'm writing about this psychic and I found two instances where the ACLU got involved because of his actions. So I call the ACLU to see if I can get copies of their annual reports, and they don't have them! But guess who does? The New York Public Library. (I gotta believe the ACLU has them somewhere though, but it's easier at this point to run up to the library.)
So, wait until I have a ton to do at the library and go to the gym, or take a nice walk to the library?
I read this complete and total nonsense on TV Tattle yesterday. It was someone's--some moron's--explanation for why Sanjaya was still around. "He's a nonthreatening teenage boy whom young girls and older women (by far the two biggest voting blocs the show has) find cute. No more, no less."
Oh for the love of God. We age and can no longer tell hot from not? I am put in the same sexual category as a 12-year-old?? I'm scared and looking for non-threatening?? That said, I laughed when Sanjaya came out last night. It's like he's thinking, I don't know why I'm still here, nothing I do seems to matter, I'm going to do this crazy thing with my hair. Maybe I will stand on my head instead of sing! Not cute. Creepy. Although last night he was less creepy, and a more palatable weird. The only way my age comes into it is, I wish the best for him. If weird is what he wants to be I hope he finds a way to make it work for him. (That said, I am not voting for him so don't blame me.) But Blake, my Blake, I loved him last night. Randy and Simon just didn't get it, maybe it's a chick thing, but he is smooth and exciting.
On a completely different note, I was thinking about the fires down at the Trade Center and the fact that they were burning for months. In my memory they burned until, like February, but that can't be right, right?? That's what I remember, but it can't possibly be right.
This is the great and wonderful Meg Myles, and I will explain why she is so great. I hope she doesn't mind that I am using this picture, but come on. Look how gorgeous she is in this shot.
Here's the story. I saw a wounded pigeon huddled on its side by a wheel of a car on my way home from the library yesterday. I tried to walk on, a million katrillion birds and someone's going to help me do something about one??? I got two blocks, but I knew I'd be haunted by it so I went back. It was the most pathetic, sorry sight, the little, turned over, partly splayed bird trying to hide behind the wheel of a car. I called Howard and asked him to google "pigeon rescue New York." He was sure it was a waste of time, nothing would come back, but it turns out there are people in New York City who will help wounded pigeons. I left a message for them, got a box from a jewelry store, and took the pigeon home.
To make a long story short, a couple of hours later I was in the apartment of Meg Myles, who is like a bird first responder. She'll give them first aid, food, and a safe place to eat and sleep until they can be picked up by the guy who will take them to the vet and then bring them to his sanctuary when they are healed. I was upset and so I didn't take down the names of all these people. The website that got this incredibly efficient machine started on the behalf of my poor bird is here.
Meg is an actress, has done a lot of Broadway, soap operas, starred in Satan in High Heels, she was a pin-up girl in the 50's (my shot must be from that era). She's also a singer and there was a picture of her and Frank Sinatra on her wall.
But I was transfixed watching her tend to my poor pigeon. She handled him expertly, got him drinking and eating. I was a bit of wreck and her care of him really calmed me down. Meg just called!! The doctor said he was hit by a car and had a broken leg and wing, but they're going set his breaks, tube feed him, and he should be okay! Pigeons heal quickly and they expect him to be okay in a week, at which point he'll go up to that bird sanctuary.
I feel so much better. I was part of that efficient machine that made a tiny life better. Thank you, Meg and everyone else, Al and Don I think are the other names. I'm sorry I didn't make sure to get the full names.
I took yesterday off, which meant making a few phone calls, doing a little work related reading and then switching to fun reading, which currently is Ishiguro's Remains of the Day. I tried to read it without seeing Anthony Hopkins (who played the lead role in the movie version of the book) but Hopkins got the character so right it was hopeless. I've surrendered to it.
Today I've got choir rehearsal, and then tonight a book party for a very very very interesting sounding book: Muses, Madmen, and Prophets: Rethinking the History, Science, and Meaning of Auditory Hallucination by Daniel B. Smith. This book could potentially be both fun and work-related. I'm interested in the subject regardless of the book, AND it's related to what I'm writing about.
Poll Question: Do you ever hear things? Voices or footsteps, or anything? (I used to sometimes hear music that wasn't there. My mind seemed to resolve noise into music, ie, an air conditioner would sound like a brass band. It was unnerving, and I was glad when it stopped!)
I had to shrink this down to fit so for those who can't read the tiny type, we're doing a selection of the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the concert has a theme: Concert for Peace.
Friday, May 11 at 8:00 pm
Grace Church, Broadway at Tenth Street
Tickets: $20 at the door, $15 in advance (from me).
I had a total mini-meltdown in the shower yesterday. I was feeling so good and then freaked out in the shower. It was kinda like a panic attack. I guess I'm feeling more stressed out than I thought. It made no sense, I'm ahead of schedule, everything is going well. As soon as I got out of the shower I signed up to learn something that was developed at UMass Medical School called MSBR (Mindful Based Stress Reduction). Sounds new-agey, I know, but I read the results of one study and I was planning to do this later in the year. So, instead I'll do it NOW.
Then I had lunch with a friend who, coincidentally, specializes in addressing stress, and she told me that even if it didn't make sense, and I'm on top of my to-do list and all, I could still be feeling overwhelmed. That made me feel better almost immediately. Thank you, Cori! I took the rest of the day off. I might take today off, too. I've been wanting to see the movie The Lives of Others.
PS: This flyer was designed by Mary Horenkamp, the owner of the fabulous Darcy, whose picture you saw last weekend.
Finney decided that sleeping under the cat bed was better than on top of.
I'm in such a good mood. I'm completely on my schedule for this book. The next chapter is going to be a challenge, though. It's going to be a lot of Duke University politics that will set the stage for the Parapsychology Laboratory leaving Duke and parapsychology in Russia.
It's a challenge because I know my editor has had enough of Duke politics, and I'm not so interested in parapsychology in Russia. Sounds like a potential disaster, I know. My plan so far: make it really short. Somehow I have to make this chapter un-put-downable. And short.
The chapter after that will be three ghost stories I've found a long the way, and I can't wait to get to that. Nothing better than a good ghost story.
American Idol Comments. Normally I'm unable to see it in one so young, but that Blake is a sexy little thing. His version of "It's The Time of the Season," was very be-still-my-heart for me. His take on the line 'what's your name, who's your daddy,' was dark and interesting. For me, it's Melinda and Blake now.
Remember that little boy I wrote about who went missing in California in 1960? I called his mother and it went terribly? There is an incredible update to this story. Another writer, Weston DeWalt, who was investigating another boy who went missing in California, Tommy Bowman, actually came across new evidence! Now the LAPD Cold Case Squad is investigating a serial killer named Mack Ray Edwards for murdering Tommy, and they're also considering him for the murder of Bruce Kremen and up to 13 other children (I think that's the total, but I could have that wrong). I believe the LA County Sheriff is part of the investigation, or maybe it's a joint investigation -- I don't understand the jurisdictions out there, I'm sorry.
There's an article about everything here and an update here. It's an amazing story. Ultimately horribly sad, but just amazing what DeWalt has uncovered and now look what's happening.
I had originally called the Missing Person's department of the LAPD, to ask where the case was left, figuring my section in the book would end with something sad like "the last lead in the Bruce Kremen case was over forty years ago." But then Missing Persons told me the Cold Case Squad was working on the case. I got very excited, because I knew that meant a new lead. The detective on the case, Det. Vivian Flores said she'd call me back, and then recently I got email from DeWalt telling me what had happened.
Weston DeWalt, by the way, wrote a book with Anatoli Boukreev called The Climb, which was written as a rebuttal to Jon Krakauer's book Into Thin Air. I remember reading a debate on Salon about the two accounts, and it was positively riveting. When he wrote me I immediately thought of the movie Zodiac, which I had just seen. The movie shows how obsessed this cartoonist, Robert Graysmith, gets with the case. It also shows how Graysmith, unlike the cops who have lots of other cases to investigate, can put everything he has, all his time and energy into this one case. He can live and breath this one case.
I experienced this with my last book. I became obsessed with one of the unsolved cases I was writing about, and unlike the detectives, who were working 15 - 25 cases each, I could concentrate on one.
So that's how I imagined DeWalt, like Graysmith. The LA cops have a kabillion other cases, never mind one more than forty years old, so he could dig deep in a way that was simply not humanly possible for them. Except now I'll bet Det. Flores is living and breathing this case.
I can't wait to see where this all leads, and read DeWalt's book about it, which I think he said will be out next year.
Here's my munchkind head, hanging out with me while I work. He's cute and all, but every once in a while a paw will reach around and try to pick off a key from my keyboard, which I just had replaced by the way.
John Maclay, our choir director, said this at the end of his last email. It's about our upcoming Spring concert.
When we call this a "Concert for Peace," we mean not just peace in the literal, immediate sense (though we all devoutly wish it), but the peace that comes from knowing that through all its tortured ages, and even from the depths of war and all its carnage, human beings have an innate capacity for reconciliation, the spine to stand up to tyranny, and an ability to seek out the "new heavens and the new earth" that lie beyond. Armies can be defeated; human beings -- soldiers, civilians -- cannot.
The first step to ending a war is to remember what peace feels like. These voices - yours, and those we read from - are powerful reminders.
I've been feeling very jaded and hopeless these past few years. I'm astounded by Bush and those who surround him. Historians are going to look back and shake their heads at us and wonder why we didn't do more to stop them. I've probably already posted that line before. I think it a lot. I do wonder what I should be doing, because I know I should be doing something.
Anyway, I liked John's hopeful email. Horrible people will eventually be subsumed, the pendulum will swing back (after many more dominoes fall as a result of the Bush Administration--sorry!).
You know, believe it or not, I'm in a good mood today. I have a pretty yellow shirt on, I like my hair, I over-paid on my taxes so I don't have to write a great big check this month, choir rehearsal is tonight and I will come home to American Idol after, and pizza, and cats, and the book is going well, my apartment is very clean, I mean the list goes on.
Seriously, what should we be doing about Bush that we're not doing? How can we make the world better? There was a guy on Jon Stewart the other night, who was like me, that this is bad on a truly horrible level, but he felt there was reason to hope and things we could do. Who was that guy?? I forget.
That's me on the phone at my friend's son's house a couple of weeks ago, talking to Howard. I mention Howard because he helped me fix my chapter yesterday. I'd written a chapter that really needed to be half the size, but I got one half of that half done, and then couldn't go any further. At a certain point you need someone who doesn't love the material the way you do to be ruthless. Howard came over and got the other half done. Quickly. Slash and BURN. Howard was THE CLEANER. And now I have a killer chapter.
I'm starting to feel just a tad freaked about getting this all done by June. I still have a pile of reading to do as I write. I keep finding stuff and people keep sending me stuff which is relevent--not a complaint about the senders, sending me relevent stuff is a very good thing. I'm excited about this one paper that was sent to me because the title is Entanglement, Consciousness Waves, and RSPK, and I hoping it's going to discuss quantum entanglement.
Because, as it happens, I discuss quantum entanglement in my book, in the chapter we were editing yesterday as a matter of fact. I wasn't putting it forward as a theory or anything. I was using it as an example of a weird thing about quantum mechanics that Einstein had a problem with, and comparing it to Einstein's problem with telepathy.
It would be kinda cool if the authors of this paper (William G. Roll and William T. Joines) actually are incorporating it into a theory about parapsychology, because then their theory would fit nicely and neatly at the end of the book somewhere. So, the point is, I want to read this paper, but the other point is, I've got to read this paper. And 20 billion others. (Sob.)
About quantum entanglement. I've never taken a physics course so I can't pretend to really know what it is. It's just intriguing in so many ways, and lends itself to being romanticized, which appeals to writers ... who don't really know what it is. There was an epsiode of the TV show NUMB3RS that did a thing on it that was lovely (except maybe those writers do know what it is). Google quantum entanglement and you will see the possibilites.
When I was in art school, if something came out well by accident, ie, someone knocked your arm and messed up what you were about to paint, but then you look and go, "Oh. I like that," it didn't quite count. You don't get the same credit as you would have if you had done it on purpose. The other night I was in a cab and saw these guys working on this beautiful window display on Madison. I leaned over Extra T (her nickname) and Ruby (also her nickname) and took a couple of shots. I didn't mean for them to be blurry, but I think this shot is stunningly beautiful, even though I get NO credit and it doesn't quite count.
I looked over what I have to do in order to hand my book in by the end of June, and now I am on a strict schedule. I only get so much time per chapter. It's a little maddening. For instance, I was working on the "drugs" chapter yesterday and came across this weird table-rapping thing in California that the Lab guys got involved in around the same time. It's just so bizarre for them to be involved in a 19th century table rapping thing in 1961. I have to look into it. So, I will spend the day on what will probably end up being two parapgraphs in the book.
That kind of thing is worth it, to have cool, tiny little parts peppered throughout the book, it's like the equivalent of Christmas stocking gifts. Not as good as the main gift, but you love them and wouldn't want them to go away. But, when you feel on deadline, you almost wish you hadn't come across them. I'm trying to chill out and enjoy them as the nice, happy accident/gift that they are.
My friend Mary had to go out of town and a bunch of us are taking turns feeding her cat Darcy. This morning was my turn. I thought Mary might like to see pictures of him, and know that he's okay. I don't know how to fix that reflecting eye thing, alas. But aside from the obvious "I miss mom" look, he is alive and well!
In the first shot he's sitting with the pile of toys I tried to tempt him with. No go. He was more like, "We barely know each other and you expect me to play with you? No. I'm going to sit right here and stare at you, thank you very much." In the second shot he's staring at me from the TV. (Actually, we got close, and I had him purring away. No cat can resist me.) I wanna get me a siamese cat.
The place I went to lunch was L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon. It's frustrating because I know I can't describe how exquisite my lunch was. I forgot to bring my camera which is a good thing, because I'm sure my photographing every course would have mortified Jonathan. But every dish was also visually perfect, the different plates they came on, the color, arrangement, the range of textures, with this wonderful bubbly foam on top of a number of them, that was my favorite I think. The work that must have gone into every spoonful of food, the different layers, and how they would taste together -- I just can't imagine it. It's a particular kind of genius/total obsession to detail that produces perfection which is almost painful, because you want more of everything you taste. (I did finally get full though.) Thank you, Jonathan. The picture doesn't quite capture that sphere, which is filled with more perfection. It's a beautiful, shiny gold. (The photograph us from http://augieland.blogs.com/.)
Last night, around 9:30 police cars and emergency vehicles started pouring downtown. At 9:31 one police car went screaming down my street and I heard it hit something and just keep right on going. That was unsettling. After a while heliopter lights filled the sky. It turns out four people were shot and killed further down on Bleecker. A guy went into a pizzeria and shot a bartender, two auxiliary police went after him and the guy shot both of them (they were 28-years-old and only freaking 19!) and then the regular police shot him.
Oh christ. I just read that the guy who shot the bartender, shot him 15 times in the back. He walked into the restaurant, the bartender gave him a menu, turned around, and then the guy shot him 15 times. And then killing those poor kid cops. I wonder the hell his story is going to turn out to be?
I just realized, my friend Jonathan, who works in the Medical Examiner's office, will be attending to all these bodies today. He told me he gives the tough cases to the new guys. "They have to learn." But I don't imagine these sad cases will be too tough.
(I feel terrible posting American Idol thoughts, so I'll just keep it to Sanjaya is still here--pre-teens and Vote for the Worst are so annoying.)
This is one of my fantasy homes. It's in Brooklyn Heights, on the promenade overlooking Manhattan. Sigh. Sigh, sigh, sigh. I WILL NEVER LIVE IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PLACE.
Richard Sweet from Chicago kindly re-touched the photo of Cricket and Bean below so that it's a little lighter and you can see them better. The picture was taken with one of those ... whatchamacallits, I have one, the little video-conferencing camera? Anyway, that's why it's not high quality. Thank you for making them more visible, Richard!!
My friend Jonathan is taking me out to lunch today, and he's a food critic, so absolutely delicious food is in my immediate future!! I cannot freaking wait. I will be posting all about it. It's a restaurant in the Four Seasons. So in this case I will give a happy sigh, sigh, sigh.
I had a long, hard, difficult day yesterday. Echo went down and I couldn't get into the building where we keep the machines until after 8PM. So, I was home all day, helpless, waiting for someone to call or email and let me know I could get in. I got home sometime before midnight, and my friend Cricket sent me a picture of her dog Bean (who she knows I love and want to steal). It's dark, but you can see his absolutely adorable face, right?
He's a little guy. I'm pretty sure if he ever visited, Buddy and Finney would KEEL him. My current fantasy is to get a chihuahua, because when we're both old I would be able to carry him or her up and down the stairs. I always thought chihuahuas were yappy, unpleasant dogs, but everything I've read about them says they are not. They are sweet, loyal and very people oriented.
This is me, Miriam, Mary, Alessandra (who is having a baby in June!!) and Dimitra!
And this is Alessandra with Rebecca, who just finished this program in neo-natal nursing, and I'm thinking I've got the name/description wrong. God help me. Memory-abilities completely shot. Anyway, I had a great time, just love the choir girls, and for the millionth time, I wish I had a pretty little apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Man, that place is enchanting. I've got a couple of pictures of my fantasy Brooklyn Heights home, which I might post later.
The Mobil building is not a success. I can see why the designers thought it was a good idea at the time. The metal work in and of itself is pretty.
But the overall building is not. (I didn't take a shot of the whole building.) It doesn't help that it's across the street from the Chrysler Building. A detail (actually, the Chrysler Building is such perfection, if you look closely, there are gorgeous details within details even in this close-up):
Yesterday felt very productive. I went to the library after my meeting, except I found a lot and have to go back. Bottomline, that's a good thing, but it just means MORE WORK. I'm meeting some friends for brunch in lovely, lovely, Brooklyn Heights, so I'll have a nice meal with friends and then head back. A nice life, overall. Can't complain. Except I will. But I have to say, I do get to walk around in a city where people come from all over the world in order to build what they hope will be the most gorgeous buildings in the world, and even when the results are not a complete success, there's good bits.
I took this picture last weekend when Marisa and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.
Before I forget, I don't know if everyone reads the comments section of this blog, but Molly posted the following in response to the cat comic. She was demonstrating how cat people talk and I just laughed at (and love) how universal it is. She's really captured it:
"You are the BABY! You. Are. The. Baby. You are the teeny, tiny baby kitteh. Yes you are! Yes you are! Can I kiss your belly?"
Perfect, right? So, I'm going up to Court TV this afternoon to talk about cold cases. Every once in a while they want to talk to me about cold cases and this time I totally brainstormed two new ideas, neither of which involve me, but they are good ideas! I'm excited, but given how these things go, NOTHING WILL COME OF IT. But they're at 42nd and 3rd, so I will take a nice, nostalgic walk back home. I will pass by where Horn & Hardart no longer is, and next to that, where Woolworth no longer is, and next to that, where Mobil no longer is. I worked for Mobil for five years and I will always be grateful to Mobil because they led me to my life now. They paid to send me to graduate school which led to me starting Echo which led to someone actually freaking paying me to write a book.
Thank you, you great big oil company, you! Oh! My one good Mobil story. Actually, I have two, but here's one. Mobil's inter-office mail was sent using the initial of your first name and then your last name. When I worked there someone high up in disaster recovery was named Stu Horn. So occasionally I'd get his mail and, as a result, the inside story on disasters around the world. I remember one from the Exxon Valdez oil tanker crash in 1989 (my last year at Mobil). I don't remember many details now, actually, just that Exxon was not accepting all the help that was being offered, which I remember being amazed at at the time. There could have been a perfectly valid reason, I just remember being surprised. It was a terrible, terrible crash (of course I remember all the birds coated in oil) and you don't need every bit of help you can get?
Oh wait. Maybe they already had enough, or too much, of whatever was being offered. I remember down at the Trade Center, everyone wanted to help, and there was only so much room and so thousands and thousands and thousands of people were turned away, and they had to find other ways to help.
In any case, I will take a nice long walk home, contemplating all the things that are no longer, and probably the fact that soon, I will be one of those things. I can't help it! Who can avoid noting that?? I won't dwell on it too much, but there it is!
American Idol Thoughts. What the hell?? Haley and Michael-Jackson-Level-Weird Sanjaya, and not Sabrina and Sundance (both of whom had problems, but still)??
This is the enduring image of the sixties for me. I think I had a lighter with this picture on it (it's from a Robert Indiana painting). It makes me happy, just looking at, although the time period was not all that great for me.
But I'm up to the sixties now with this book, and I'm researching LSD. Apparently all the parapsychologists were doing it! Okay, not all, but the people I'm writing about experimented with it a little, and really, who knew? It's just bizarre, to me anyway, this cross-over in cultures. I've got letters from Huxley and other early experimenters, talking about all the other early experimenters, and mediums comparing their trance states to tripping! Can you believe it?
My American Idol thoughts for the day. I just do not like Antonella. Not only can she not sing, but she has this off-putting, entitled attitude. Last week it was comparing herself to Jennifer Hudson, and this week, when Simon tried to tell her the truth as graciously as possible, she was just prissy and dismissive in return. She's pretty clueless, but unaware that she is clueless, and is unpleasant about it. Melinda is the best, but I want her to start owning her talent. I appreciate that we can't change our self-image over night, if at all really, but I want her to stop acting amazed and grateful that someone hasn't kicked her or something when she faces the judges.
Cats have incredibly accurate inner clocks. I knew it must be four o'clock because here are Finney and Buddy, hovering, as they always do every day when it gets close to 4 p.m., their feeding time. Look at those faces.
Finney: "Food, food, food, food, food, food. Hello? Are you still sitting there?? Do you not see what time it is? Food, damnit."
Buddy: "What he said."
And here is a cartoon, from the always fabulous and charming xkcd, which nicely explains this blog.
Oh God I love that. I've cracked up everytime I get to, "You're a kitty!" Because every cat owner knows that we totally get that idiotic. It's true.
I went out to the Transit Museum with my friend Marisa to see a friend's sister read from her book, Underground Woman: My Four Years As a New York City Subway Conductor. She, Marian Swerdlow, was an incredibly charming reader, and a great storyteller. She started in 1982 and was among the first women hired as a conductor by the MTA. Someone asked her how the men treated her and of course I expected her to launch into a horror story, but she said great! They were taken aback at first, but not in a negative way and very quickly they decided they loved having women around. "They could come for work and find a date." But aside from that perk, they were very helpful and welcoming, she said. You always hear about how badly people behave and alright already. We suck, I get it. But she spoke of them fondly and it was nice to hear for a change.
I went downstairs to see the old subway cars and it was depressing, because they were once so beautiful. I should have taken a picture of the cars now so you could see the difference. I mean, look at these trains. Gorgeous. I forgot to write down the years, but I'm pretty sure the first is from the 30's, the next is from the 40's and the last one was the 50's. SAD.
I made the title of this post "Nice to Know I Wasn't Invisible" to help myself remember that toward the end of my life I would like to write a book with that title. I was talking on Echo about high school and said this:
"I always thought I was mostly invisible in high school. I was distracted by so many things, and not very present. My parents divorced so I left school early and went to a job, had a boyfriend who was in college. But what little feedback I've gotten over the years has been mostly positive. Nice to know that I wasn't invisible."
The picture above is of the poet Robert Hayden. One of the characters in the always amazing Friday Night Lights quoted him last week. Then, whoever did the episode write-up on Television Without Pity said that the best Robert Hayden poem was Those Winter Sundays. I had to look and sure enough, it's an unforgettable poem, and fits very nicely into my invisible theme. (I defy any dad to read it and not cry.)
Those Winter Sundays
by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
Plus, I really LOVE this song. But I have to say, I also like a lot of the others, too. So it's going to be an enjoyable season for me.