Story time

First: Today I was told that my blog was sometimes "too thoughtful" to be really random and silly. In response I submit that the reproduction of Calvin and Hobbes dancing in the title area should contribute more than enough random/silly points to make up for any actual sincerity on the part of the blog author.

That said, children, gather 'round. Today's story will be about how Lea and her best friend managed to score Josh Groban's autograph in a completely unexpected way.

So Shannon came into town a few weeks ago to hang out in San Diego and to go see Wicked for our first time. We got all dressed up--in dresses, with makeup and cool shoes, which is not normal--and drove up to Hollywood. The show was amazing. If you haven't seen it, and you like musicals at all, I highly recommend it. (We've seen it three times.)

Anyway, after the show, we waited until most of the crowd had left the theatre to make our way out. Then, I said we should check out the merchandise (they have t-shirts and hoodies and various knick-knacks for sale at the "Ozdust Boutique") on a whim. Upon discovering that they were charging 35 bucks for a t-shirt, though, we decided that wearing "Defying Gravity" on our chests was not a commercial priority. I mean, I have a printer and an iron, and some basic photoshop skills. I can make a darn t-shirt myself for like $6. So we left.

There was still a pretty good crowd at the front of the theatre, and we were slowly making our way back to my truck, when Shannon said, "Hey dude, doesn't that guy look a lot like Josh Groban?"

I followed the direction of her finger, waited for said guy to turn toward me, and agreed with her. "He's really cute," I said.

"Lea, I really think that's Josh Groban."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You should say something," I said.

Shannon gave me her best attempt at a "look."

"Seriously, say something to him!"

"No! You say something!"

So I turned on her my most withering, disdainful glance, and called, "Hey Josh!"

And to my infinite surprise, he actually turned around. I was struck speechless for what seemed like eternity, but in reality made a quick, graceful recovery, and, instead of telling him how wonderful his voice is and how inspired I am by his music, I said, with a great deal of charm, "Can we have your autograph?"

I handed him my copy of the Wicked playbill, and to my horror realized that I didn't have a pen. And, it seemed, neither did he.

I nearly cried.

Thankfully, he remembered that there was a pen in his jacket pocket, and he graciously signed my playbill as well as Shannon's and someone's in the crowd.

Shannon and I proceeded to squeal like high-schoolers at a Backstreet Boys concert that we got Josh Groban's autograph. Then we called or texted everyone we know who would know who Josh Groban is to brag that we were lucky enough to be on the same sidewalk at the same time as he was, and weren't they jealous?

They were. And it was spectacular.

The end.

In other news, I'm officially a member of First United Methodist Church of San Diego. Which really came home to me not long after my--what, induction?--at Water's Edge, while I was eating pancakes and chatting with Beckett and LuAnn (I have no idea if I spelled that correctly). I was going to say something about Northside, and refer to it in the way I normally have, as "my church back home." But I realized that's not true now. I have a home church. That's very groovy.

I wonder what the people at Northside will say when I tell them I've joined--rejoined--the UMC. I don't think it will make any difference whatsoever in their love for me, but they're funny folks. I mean, not all of them, of course, but some. The same people who were upset with me for singing the Ave Maria at Christmas a few years back because "we don't worship Mary" will likely not understand my purpose, or motive, or whatever.

"Led by the Spirit," however, seems like a good enough reason for me.

Read the description.

Coolest website ever: www dot pandora dot com. If you like music.

I'm going to need someone to take over my little ivy plant while I'm gone. Or someone can just have it. Any volunteers? It's been alive since last summer, which is the longest period of time that I've ever kept a plant. And it's not like I can plant it in my yard... Since I don't have one.

I have no plans for my ten days of leave after day two. That means rounds upon rounds of Trivial Pursuit. I should get some new cards.

That said, if anyone wants to hang out while I'm in J-ville, let me know. Other than Shannon. She has to work. Anyway, I'll be at the beach, or hiking through the woods with Regan. Seriously. For like eight days in a row.

As long as it isn't cold. If it's cold when I come home I'm going to mutiny. Or write the President. Or something.

Hey, that reminds me. When I was a junior in high school I took a speech class. For the last quarter of the class, Mrs. Doner held a debate tournament, which, if your team won, you'd get a 100 for the quarter. Second place got a 98, and third got a 96, I think.

Anyway, my partner and I had this debate--on social reform, I think. And our plan was going to be in healthcare, or childcare, or something. So I decided to write to Hillary Clinton--because, of course, she was really into the social reform deal, and especially in this area that we were debating--to see what reforms she really had in mind. For good measure, I wrote the President, too, and asked a couple of pretty basic questions.

You know what I got back?

Presidential baseball cards.

Okay, not literal baseball cards. But seriously, I got postcard-sized photos of Mr. and Mrs. Clinton, and each card had the person's "stats" on the reverse of the photo: Where he went to college, when she was born, the year he got elected, etc. I also got a form letter from each of them thanking me for writing the White House.

Presidential baseball cards. The next campaign gimmick, I wonder?