please have snow and mistletoe.

So it snowed this morning. It's amazing how snow is this great equalizer, igniting in all of us the magic of that first snow every year when we were children standing with our runny noses and sticky hands pressed against the window panes. Snow is one of our last connections to innocence, in a way. It's nice to know that even as adults, the excitement of the first snow is one special moment we are allowed to hold on to.

My friend Taylor took this picture of the view outside her bedroom window this morning. I would have taken a picture from my bedroom window, but I think the barbed wire {I KID YOU NOT} would probably mar what would otherwise be a picturesque scene.

And of course, it also means Christmas is on its way, and it is now perfectly acceptable to listen to Christmas music to your heart's content, as I shamelessly did this morning. And drink white chocolate peppermint mochas in flashy Starbucks Christmas cups, as I shamelessly am doing now.

Thanksgiving, shmanksgiving. Maybe if there were any good Thanksgiving songs, people wouldn't skip that holiday and move straight on to the next month's.

But that's not to discount New York in the fall. As my last post gushingly conveyed, this city is splendid in the fall. Particularly when my parents come to visit {and buy me food}. There are Broadway shows to see and delicious meals to eat and crisp, colorful parks to stroll through. New York is always best when you have someone with whom you can share all your excitement and love of the city. And believe me, I have a lot to share.

Second round of The Great McCabe Vacation photos will be up soon, if my mother will ever send them to me {hint hint nudge nudge, Mom}.
Hopefully I can actually locate one with my dad in it.

Of course, I also have a lot of pent-up aggression {which, to be honest, probably just means I'm starting to fit in here}. For example, when I'm woken up each Sunday morning at the crack of dawn {or, you know, 8 a.m., which is pretty much the same thing} to the dulcet melody of what is either an exorcism or a baptist church service blasting from the building behind my apartment. Or when I see a mouse run under my door and behind my bookshelf when I'm in the middle of watching a horror movie {more horrifying than any movie, let me tell you}, leading to my roommate and I spending the next 10 minutes standing on top of the furniture, knowing that there is absolutely no way we are going to be able to kill a mouse but IT STILL CAN'T STAY HERE. Or when we try turning our ancient radiator on {as we can only wear 10 layers to bed for so long}, only to find the apartment has turned into a smoky, musty sauna after an hour. Or the fact that there are CRAZY CRAZY PEOPLE in our building, who, while being incredibly obnoxious, are also in possession of some of the most colorful insults I've ever heard. Particularly at 3 a.m.

These are a few things that make me a little angsty.

Yet I am willing to put up with all these things for the chance to live in New York at Christmastime:

Ice skating in Bryant Park, window shopping down Fifth Avenue, frozen hot chocolates at Serendipity's, lighting the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree... So many great Christmas movies take place in the city, and for a good reason. It's going to be magical. I can already feel the energy humming from the bundled-up crowds in the subway stations as they brush the snow off of their hair and eyelashes, their eyes shining just a little brighter and their cheeks flaming just a little redder. We are all starting to get caught up in the sweet anticipation of the season. There's not much better than this.

I'm not willing to completely push aside Thanksgiving, however. I have a friend visiting from D.C., and we plan on cooking our first Thanksgiving dinner — complete with a turkey{?} and pie, obviously — while watching the parade on TV {because let's be real, there is no way we're fighting the crowds to see it in person} and then eating until we throw up.

Doesn't that sound glorious?

And in six short weeks, I get to go home for 8 days and bake more Christmas desserts than any sane person should ever consider baking {luckily for me, sanity has always been simply a suggestion}. It turns out I'll be home for Christmas after all, which is actually the best gift I will get this year. I love the city, but admitedly, I miss my Kansans just as much.

But before ANY of that, I get to go see Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan in "Waiting For Godot" this weekend with my aunt. As these are two of my all-time favorite human beings, you can guess how excited I am. I mean, CAPTAIN PICARD AND GANDOLF. TOGETHER. IN THE SAME ROOM. I hope we don't spontaneously combust from the sheer amount of awesome concentrated in such a small place. I also hope this erases the bad memory of the A Midsummer Night's Dream opera my roommate and I went to a couple of weeks ago at the Met. Beside the problematic fact that making this play into an opera removes all comedy the play actually has, let me just say this: I understand that the play is basically an ode to homoeroticism, but when your Puck is a 15-year-old kid and your Oberon is a 35-year-old man, you DO NOT get to play up that aspect.

Needless to say, this opera was the only show in my life I've left only 1/3 of the way through. 

Hey, at least we looked good, although if you look closely enough, you can see our eyes are still bleeding from the horror of that show.

It's nice to check in. I should probably do that more often, as I'm sure you are just DYING to hear all about me, right?

On a side note, I've started a book review / general publishing blog over at ThePervasiveRandom.blogspot.com, if any of you guys want to check it out. I'm still in the process of designing the site, but I've added a few posts in the last few months to get me going. I'll be linking to it on a button in the sidebar. I plan to eventually start posting more about the publishing business there, but right now I'm playing catch up trying to review all the books I have been reading lately {as riding 40 minutes each way on the subway has left me with some spare reading time}.

And with that, I'm off to watch an embarrassing number of Fringe episodes.

Ciao, beautiful people.


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