Book 'em, Dano. I'm Five-O.

Confetti! Streamers! Strobe lights and slow dances to songs by sweet-voiced R & B groups! My blog is 50 today!

Being fifty, in the blogosphere, is like being thirteen or fourteen in human years. Which is to say, my blog's got a really bad haircut and a totally unrequited crush on someone who sits in front of her during social studies (Brandon Miller.) (He doesn't read this blog.) (Trust me.)

And she dreams that someday they will slow dance to this song:

ALL 4 ONE - I Swear @ Yahoo! Video

(It won't happen. He'll date her best friend, she'll date his best friend, everyone with break up with everyone, and isn't that really for the best? It is. Even if she doesn't know it yet. Life.)

In December, I started this blog because, well, the weather was really dark and gloomy, and I was bored, and mostly, I wanted to see if I could do it. It was hard to imagine making it to fifty posts, and I sort of set that number as a mile-marker for myself. Which I have now REACHED. And frankly, I'm not accustomed to reaching my goals. What do I do next?

Do I set my sights on number 100? Is that what goal-reachers do? Just set a new goal that is further out of reach? Sheesh. Exhausting.

(Fifty more posts to go, Blog. Then, a big, big, big party. With candy and slow-dances. We can do it.)

Adolescently,

Kendall

PS: Thank you everyone who offered guesses about the various photos from unpublished posts! Do you want to know the actual reasons for the photos? If not, stop reading! If you do, Okay.

1. Sam Waterson: Marshall and Carmar76, I am obsessed with L&O, and all it's spin-offs, because it is a TV show that is always on. And that's my kind of show. If I ever fought the law, and Jack McCoy came after me, I wouldn't mind it. I think he's cute, and I'm not sorry. The photo, though, was for a post I wrote because I was sure the neighbors on both sides of me were dead. They weren't. One had gone on vacation, and the other had moved his chair back from the window so I couldn't see it when I peered through to check that he was alive, as I do, periodically. I decided that a few less episodes of Law & Order were in order.

2. Lacy Sea Dragon: This one was a misguided attempt to find a picture of my favorite amusement park ride, The Sea Dragon (big viking ship, hurtles your stomach up into your brains as it swings back and forth). The reason why I was looking for a picture of that particular ride was because my blog had just tripled in size in about two days, and that made me feel, also, like my stomach had been hurtled up into my brains. However, this dragon does look like the lettuce in my fridge. (I'm impressed, Ricki!)

3. Just, you know, being embarrassed at security. Which I am. Every. time. I. fly. Twice, in the past month, I've gone through with an attractive boy either in front of or behind me in line, and I hate being barefoot in front of strangers.

4. Both Katie and SB were close on this one. It was just a blog about, um, height (remember, these are posts that were not good). Here are two pictures to illustrate why height is often on my mind.

(This was Jules' beautiful wedding, but some trick of the sand or camera angle made me look, well, Manute Bol-ish. That's me, the giant one on the end.)

(KP's been one of my best friends since we were fourteen--fifty, in the blogosphere--and usually, I forget that we've got a solid 8.5 inches separating us. Her comment on the last post cracked me up, so I had to post this pic.

In high school, our teacher always called us "Mutt and Jeff." I never got the reference. But I just googled them:

KP, thoughts? (I like your top hat.))

PPS: Sorry, my blog is getting loooong and unwieldy in her old-age. Back to brevity tomorrow!

Big Old Jet Airliner, Don't Carry Me Too Far From Home

Friends, do you like flying? Let me be clearer: do you like flying in airplanes? And most specifically, do you like flying in commercial airplanes that require going through security screenings at airports, listening to safety announcements you've heard millions of times before, and getting your elbows slammed by steely flight attendants wielding beverage carts?

Do you like taking your shoes off in front of strangers, walking around in socks that TSA agents may comment on ("I have those same argyle socks at home!"), and showing the world what travel-sized liquids you deem vital to your existence? Do you like waiting not-so-patiently in your seat for the flight attendant to fling a paltry bag of pretzels at you and ask, "What would you like to drink?" so you can say, meekly, so meekly you might even be whispering, as though you're five all over again and scared to talk to grown-ups, "Um, ginger ale?"

Do you like all that? Because I do! I know everything there is to hate about flying: the way rings (or shoes, for that matter) that fit on the ground suddenly become so frighteningly tight they may never come off your bloated, pressurized body again; the smells of so many strangers sharing tight, tight spaces; those same strangers who sometimes commit the crime of wanting to get to know you; the indignity of ritualized snack time, the anticipation of which overwhelms you and the actuality of which only makes you hungrier than before. I know all of that.

I like flying because of what you see. Today, I had to take two different planes, that made three different stops, and I was about to decide I hate flying (see all the reasons listed above). But then, during a layover in Seattle, I started watching people. Specifically, I started watching one little girl getting walked by her mother on a leash. Have you seen this? Kids on leashes? They make the leash fuzzy, and attach it to a cute animal shaped backpack to say, "Hey, I know we leashed our kid, but we leashed out of love." And this little girl was proud of her leash. She sort of swung it around with her hands, and smiled at passersby as if to say, "Jealous?" As if to say, "Don't you wish you had someone so desperate not to lose you that they attached themselves to you with a furry polyester rope?" As if to say, "Lady, I'm that important."

I'm pretty nostalgic when it comes to kids on leashes, because it reminds me of my childhood. I never had a leash, but my brother spent, oh, years on one. I still remember trips through the supermarket with Taylor straining at the end of his rope. I never needed a leash, for me such a safety measure would've been superfluous, because I was always more terrified of losing my parents than they were of losing me. Taylor, on the other hand, wanted to run free. Very free. And fast and loud. And if that's not a metaphor for our two personalities, well, no--it is most definitely a metaphor for our two personalities.

But thinking of leashes leads to thinking of family (positively, of course), and my very favorite thing about flying: the call. I like that moment when you land at your destination, and the ding! signals that you may remove your seat belt, and the entire plane reaches into backpacks or briefcases or purses and pulls out their phones in order to make the call that announces their safe arrival to the person who is picking them up at the airport, or expecting them home for dinner, or is back in the place they just flew from and needs to know that they're still safe. Isn't it the greatest feeling when you make that phone call? Isn't that the grown-up version of a furry, friendly leash designed to keep you connected to the people who love you?

Do you like flying?

Back on solid ground,

Kendall