Over the break, Dan and I made the fatal mistake, along with the rest of my family, of getting sucked into the first season of Lost on DVD, which my sister Audrey got for a Christmas present. On the last day we were in town, we all watched on obscene number of episodes of that show, but Dan and I had to leave the next day and missed the last disc. So we rented it via Netflix, and watched the rest last night. Big mistake. The thing that has always irritated Dan about Lost and that now bothers me immensely is that the show is so good at building up all this suspense about why the surviviors of a plane crash are not being rescued from the desert island they've landed on and whether or not there are other people on the island with them. And the suspense is all just fantastic, except that they never really give you any ANSWERS. I suppose that is how the creators of this show are able to sustain an audience for a plot line that in a rational world would end after about 4 episodes, but it's still annoying. So last night, we got down to the last episode, the season one finale, and whoever is in charge of this awful show leads you to believe that you're finally going to find out who else is on the island and why.
Once you've been watching Lost for a little while, you become intensely aware of how long an episode is, and without fail, as the final moments of the show are ticking away, you realize in despair that you are once again going to be left hanging. So as the season finale wore on into its second half, I was realizing that there couldn't be much time left, and I STILL DON'T KNOW WHO IS ON THE *#&$@ ISLAND!
At that exact moment, the writers chose to use precious time that they COULD have spent telling me something useful to include a deep conversation between a man, Michael, and his son, who is his child from a previous relationship, and whom he hadn't really known until his former wife died and left him the child. It's a very heart-wrenching side plot, and were it not the season finale, I would be all in favor of this moment of character development. But as it was, I was totally irrational, which lead to the following piece of dialogue between me and my TV set. Talking to your TV is not exactly a sign of great mental stability, so this was the exact moment when I realized that this show is invading my mind to an unhealthy degree.

Little boy character on the show: "So Dad, why didn't you and my mom stay together?"

Me, bolting up from the couch and yelling: "No one cares, kid! It's the season finale and I just want to know who is on the island! You could have discussed this at any other point in the last 24 episodes! Aaaah!"

Dan, looking over at me in that way that only your spouse can look at you: "You have got to get a grip."

And it's true. I need to get a grip. But still. I just want some ANSWERS!

Hey, bloggers with more experience than me: What do you do to combat spam? I just got done deleting about 400 spam comments left on the blog offering me prescription medications and all manner of other, umm, things I don't want, and I need to find some way to slow the influx. Any tips would be appreciated. Thanks.

At long last, here are some of the photos I took when we were in Mississippi in December. I didn't take as many as I should have, due to my general inability to muster the motivation to get off the couch, but there are a few good ones.

I don't know why so many of our good photos come from the Semi-Annual Rice Family Poker Showdown. Gambling just seems to bring out the best in us. Maybe it's the money. Speaking of the money, we got up to $50 this year:

If you look closely at this photo, you'll see Ryan putting a chokehold on Audrey. As the game progressed and she started wiping the floor with him, I'm sure he wished he'd kept it going until she lost consciousness.

But before that happened, Ryan was having a pretty good run. He started referring to his stack of chips worth 500 as "The Green Tsunami." This is him demonstrating how the wave works.

The problem with the tournament is that we always seem to start it late, and when there are about 10 people playing, this tends to make the game wear on until the wee hours of the morning. Thus, Audrey is wearing her bathrobe in this shot, because she really just wanted to go to bed. But instead, she was taking Ryan's chips. Clearly, he was feeling less cocky by this time.

But later in the night, the dealer, Dan, got a little sleepy, and the final hand that would have settled the match between Ryan and Audrey may or may not have been misread. Since Dan had already picked up the cards, we really didn't know who had won. So Ryan and Audrey split the pot and share the title for now. Next time, we will bring in a professional dealer.

Another highlight of the evening was that Mom decided to join us, learning to play poker pretty much as the game went along. This resulted in some great poker lingo usage from Mom, such as "I'm going to stay out," instead of "I fold." She was really doing well by the time she was eliminated, and she spent the rest of the night studying the list of pokre hands that Dan made up for her. Next time, I'm sure she'll beat us all.

Other highlights included Aaron buying me a cigar that I tried to enjoy outside on the deck for about 30 seconds before I remembered what a wuss I am, Dan getting beaten out when high school girls were still very much in the game, and Hannah's boyfriend Daniel and Audrey's boyfriend Cade joining in the fun. And, even though Dad says it wouldn't be fair to us for him to play, since the game would be over so fast, he did grill us some great steaks before we got started.

If you're in the neighborhood this summer, feel free to reserve your seat in the best poker game ever. We only charge a $50 fee for non blood relatives.

Apparently, this is National Delurking Week. To lurk is to visit a site often without alerting the host that you are reading via a comment. I do this all the time. It's kind of a compulsive habit of mine. But I'm going to try to do a better job of declaring myself, and you should too. If you read this blog, but have never commented, step up to the microphone and leave a comment. I promise, you're welcome here. Unless you're the one offering me all the prescription drugs via comment spam. Then you should be forced to attend whatever the Internet community's version of Traffic Court is. Every day of your life.

I love Thursdays. Do you know why? Because on Thursdays, Dan cooks dinner. Thursdays are usually the point in my work week when I have just about had it, and even though it's almost Friday, I am just fried and I do not yet see the light at the end of the tunnel. So a while ago, Dan volunteered to start cooking dinner for us that night. This means that if you come and have dinner at our house on a Thursday, we will eat hamburgers, red beans and rice from a package, bratwurst, or stromboli sandwiches, but really, those are pretty good choices. Laugh all you want, but the fact that Dan cooks even one night a week is one of the things that makes me love him more every day. Because I know that cooking is not exactly something that Dan loves to do, and he does it for me, because he loves me.
So all those silly magazine's that write articles on "How to Spice Up Your Marriage" should talk to my husband. He would tell them that the best way to make your wife even more attracted to you than she was when she married you is to do things that ... here's the amazing secret ... make her feel like you love her.
Write it down, men.
Cook dinner.
Your wife will thank you.

Warning: Fairly pointless rant to follow. Read at the risk of wasting your own time.

I just got done watching the Clint Eastwood-directed film "Mystic River," based on a great book by Dennis Lehane. Sean Penn won Best Actor for his role in the movie last year, and when it started getting a lot of publicity, I decided to read the book, even though I'm not usually big on crime dramas. Aside from good plot, the book is written in a way that just makes you deeply nervous for some reason, even before you know why. It gave me the feeling right from the start that something very, very bad was coming for all the characters. And of course, if you've seen the movie, you know that I was right. The book is incredible and I would highly reccomend it. It's hard to create that kind of ominous aura in print, and so I was eager, if somewhat afraid, to see the movie. Today, I finally got around to it.
Before I get to the point of this post, let me make a few disclaimers: the movie is good. Sean Penn earned his Oscar. He's perfect for the character, and he does a great job with it. Tim Robbins also more than deserved his Oscar just for managing to disturb you more at times in the film than Sean Penn does, and Kevin Bacon was also great. I have no beef with the way the story was adapted for film, because I understand this is a movie. Considering the butchery that is usually in store for good books turned into movies, this was OK.
What I have BIG issues with is the music. Music is incredibly important in films, because whereas Dennis Lehane had 400 or so pages to make you feel nervous, a film has maybe 30 seconds to put you in the proper frame of mind for a scene. And how you feel is very important in the context of a movie like this that has intense characters, intense plot lines, and some moments of drama that ought to be just short of painful. Notice I say "ought to be." Because while the acting, writing, and filming of this movie are perfectly aligned to make you feel like you should feel, about 20 minutes into the movie I started to notice that someone, and I was trying really hard not to blame Clint, but someone chose music for this film that I promise you could have worked just as well as a backdrop for mild moments of tension in a Disney cartoon. It sounds like nothing. Like every movie you've ever seen. Like every movie you ever flipped past on a trip through your TV channels. Like ELEVATOR MUSIC for crying out loud. Maybe I pay too much attention to music, but to me, it was distractingly bad at moments.
So bad that after watching the movie, I got online and started googling around to find out who was responsible. And do you know what I found out? CLINT EASTWOOD WROTE THIS GARBAGE. Not just chose it, wrote it. And put it in the movie. And no one stopped him! I don't know why that makes it seem worse to me, but it does.
If you've never seen Mystic River, please don't think I'm saying it's not excellent. Because it is. But now that I've brought it up, I dare you to sit through the movie without wanting to weep for how good it could have been with music that had anything even resembling a backbone. Let me know how it goes.
I'm off to write a letter to Clint Eastwood.

Time to play a game, readers. Which of the Rice girls in this picture is having a birthday tomorrow?

OK. It's kind of a trick question. Because Hannah, over there on your left, had her 19th birthday last week. Happy birthday, Hammer. And my mom, who isn't in this photo, had her birthday the week before that. Lots of January birthdays in our family. Audrey, in the middle, was born in May, so it's not her birthday. (Sorry, Audge.)
Nope, tomorrow, Monday, January 16, is my birthday! I'm the one on the right. Still the tallest, too, if you notice. (Haha, baby sisters.)
Since Monday is kind of a boring day for a birthday, I decided to celebrate on Saturday. Dan took me out to a nice dinner, and then we had dessert at the Melting Pot, a fondue place where they let you pick out your chocolate for the fondue. So good.
But tomorrow, I will officially be 26 years old. Twenty-six! I'm trying not to think of that as four short years until I'm 30, but it's definitely started to occur to me. Still, 26 is a good age, and I like my life a lot, and I'm sure 30 will be great, too.
So wish me a happy birthday, people!

Tonight, I have opened a bottle of wine that Dan bought on one of his business trips to California a couple of years ago. I've been saving it for a special occasion, and I think my birthday qualifies. This particular wine was bottled in 2002. That was kind of a watershed year for me, one that has quite a lot to do with where I am with my life today.
Let's review.
In January of 2002, four years ago tomorrow as it turns out, my mom and dad helped me load up all my worldly belongings (the funiture pieces of which were actually some of their worldly belongings) and the next day, my mom and I started out on the long, boring drive to Clovis, New Mexico, where I was headed to take my first newspaper job. A few weeks earlier, my dad had flown out to Clovis with me to see the town and meet the editor of the paper, who told me that if I came to Clovis, he would teach me how to be a reporter. His name was David Stevens, and he was a quiet kind of man. He still is. And he wasn't lying. He taught me everything I know about newspapers. Which isn't all there is to know, but which is a lot more than I knew then.
But back then, I didn't really know how the whole thing was going to turn out. It was the scariest decision I ever made, and I'm not sure that if I had to do it over again, I would be brave enough to go for it. And if I hadn't, a lot of good things would never have happened.
I went to Clovis, and my mom helped me find an apartment and move into it. She stayed in town for a few days and hung curtains and blinds in my very first apartment. I am pretty sure that if my mom had any grey hair, I gave her some of it on that trip. But when it was time for her to go, she did, and she's a brave woman for doing it. Thus started 2002. David taught me how to write for newspapers, and bore with me while I made mistakes that some people would have fired me over.
And then in March, a weird thing happned. I got an email from a guy named Dan who I had met about a year before when I was helping my friend Liz move to Texas to be an intern with Reformed University Fellowship, the campus ministry of the Presbyterian Church of America. Dan told me that he had just accepted a summer internship with Sandia National Labs, and he'd be coming out in May. And when he did, he'd like to stop by and take me to dinner. We started emailing back and forth, pretty much every day for the next two months.
In May, he came to visit, and we went on our first date to a little Mexican place called Guadalajara Cafe. It's this hacienda-style place, and it's not designed for tall people. I remember that Dan hit his head on the door on the way in. It looked pretty painful, but he took it with a sense of humor. And that put me so at ease that we had a great night and sat on my porch and talked until midnight. We started dating that summer. By the time he was ready to go back to school, we had decided we were going to get married. I went to San Antonio to meet his parents. He came to Mississippi to meet mine.
In November, I came home for Thanksgiving and was surprised to see Dan in the airport, holding a bouquet of roses and a beautiful ring. He had driven in two days early to ask my dad for my hand in marriage. And Dad said yes, a brave move considering that he didn't know a whole lot about Dan at the time. I said yes, too. We got married in April of 2003.
I am still a newspaper reporter. I am married to Dan and we live in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Life is good.
So here's to 2002. And 2006, the 26th year of my life. I have every reason to believe it will be good.

This one right here.
In case that link doesn't work for you, the book is Peace Like a River by Leif Enger and it's wonderful. You won't want to put it down. I just got done reading it for the second time after handing out several copies for Christmas presents and I love it even more now.
Anybody else read anything good lately? I'm always taking suggestions.

I have to say I got some pretty awesome birthday gifts this year. Not to brag, but I bet your birthday gifts weren't nearly this cool. Here's my list.

From Hannah: Death Cab for Cutie’s 2005 CD “Plans.” So very fantastic. I can’t listen to “What Sarah Said” too many times though, or I’ll cry. Break down and weep.

From Mom and Dad: The Gregory Peck memorial edition of the classic film “To Kill a Mockingbird.” My favorite book, also one of my favorite movies. Amen.

From Mom and Dad Wachdorf, Dan’s parents: A $50 gift card from Borders, and a Starbucks gift card too. Books and coffee. These people have my number. I am going to have a great time.

From Aunt Merry Lynn and Uncle Steve: An awesome T-shirt from Broad Street Bakery, my favorite Jackson, Mississippi eatery. My aunt bought it for me when she stopped there for lunch on her way to catch a plane back to L.A. after a trip home this fall. How cool and thoughtful is that?

And, from Dan: A car adapter for my MP3 player he got me for Christmas. Now I can pretend that I am listening to the world’s greatest radio station, composed entirely of my own CDs, even in my car! Woo-hoo!

And perhaps best of all, my own big copy of this photo.
Hannah’s fantastic photographer boyfriend Daniel took this photo early one morning on my parents’ land in Oloh a while ago. It was foggy, and the trees look kind of surreal in a very beautiful way. The picture means even more to me than it otherwise might since, a few months later, 90 percent of those trees were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. I’ll probably never see this sight again in person, but at least I have this beautiful picture. Major props to Daniel and Dan for getting this all fixed up for me without me knowing. You guys are awesome.
Daniel is working on a new Web stie for himself these days, so when it's done, I'll post a link to it so that y'all can see more of his work and say that you knew him before he was world-famous.
So, are those good gifts or what? I feel so loved.

A few days ago, Aaron called me. We talked for a while, and then he told me that he and Kelly were on their way to buy a puppy. He sounded kind of noncommittal about it. When he told me that they were going to buy something called a "maltapoo," I thought he was kidding. But no, I was informed that a maltapoo is a cross between a maltese and a poodle, and Kelly had fallen in love with one, and they were on their way to buy it. Aaron's only real comment on this was to say that Kelly had told him the dog will only weight seven pounds when it's fully grown so "at least I won't spend a lot of money feeding it."
So the next day, I get this photo emailed to me, apparently taken about an hour after Aaron and I talked. Mr. Tough Man appears to be warming up to the dog, wouldn't you say?

Aaron called to tell me to look at the photos. Then he emailed the photos to mom and called and talked to her about the dog for an hour. About how smart the dog is, and how Kelly is better at disciplining the dog and house-training him than Aaron is, because Aaron feels bad when he starts whimpering. The dog's name is Jake. It's a great name, but it makes it hard for me to think of the dog as well, a dog. So I've just decided to go on and think of Jake as my nephew. Welcome to the family, Jake.
Of course, this doesn't mean I'm not still going to make fun of Aaron for owning a maltapoo. Hahahahaha.

Here is a photo of the final signature page that came at the end of about 4,000 pages of documents Dan and I signed in the last week. My hand hurts.

But I'm pretty sure it's going to be worth it, even if I do develop carpal tunnel syndrome. Because this is what we bought:

Yes, we are officially homeowners! Or, at least, we will be when we close next month. Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths worth of our own little corner of the world. And while I am sure I am violating all kinds of rules about what you should and should not say on the Internet, I have to tell you the funniest thing about this house. It is on a street called Sea Breeze. In Albuquerque, a city located in the middle of a landlocked state! The irony is so perfect that I don't see how we could not buy the house. I laugh every time I think about it.
No doubt, we'll have lots of stories to share from our upcoming adventures in home ownership and, of course, moving, a fate worse than Wal-Mart, and those will make for good reading. So really, this is good news for y'all, too. Celebrate however you feel is appropriate.
And if you have any boxes, please give them to us.

Yeah, I just quoted Queen. I can't help it. I have been under some pressure in the last few days and it's affecting the soundtrack in my head. Now the drop-deadlines have passed and I'm under the kind of pressure where you sit around and think of everything that you might have gotten wrong. Journalism is awesome, because if you screw up, you do it in front of thousands of readers. Woo-hoo!
But this story does have an up-note, and here it is: In the middle of a day that had me questioning why I do what I do, not because I don't believe in it and like doing it most days, but because it makes me worry that I'm going to have some kind of stress-related medical event at a very young age, in the middle of this day, the receptionist in my office called and asked if I would come out to the lobby. I did, and there was a big, beautiful bouquet of roses and a bunch of balloons waiting for me with a card from Dan! He sent me flowers! All the rest of the day, people asked me if it was my anniversary or my birthday, and I got to tell them, 'No, it's just something my husband did for me."
I know you all want to gag right about now, especially since I recently wrote about how great my husband is. But seriously, my husband is great.
I'm sure that one day, I won't remember all the many reasons why I thought my head was going to explode today. But I hope I will remember my roses. That's a good memory to keep.

This takes a while to upload, but it's funny.

Yep, that's Ryan, me and Aaron in the swing in front of my parent's first house in Yazoo City. I would like to know why I'm apparently off to the races with my purse and knee socks and the boys are wearing pajamas. Maybe I was going to school. Or maybe I was just being prissy. It's hard to say.

Overhead at the Wachdorf house:

Haley: Your hair smells good.
Dan: It must be my hair gel.
Haley: What kind is it?
Dan: Garnier Fructis.
Haley: That is such a girl product! You better not admit that in public.
Dan: Well, it's not like they make non-girly hair gel. "Introducing Manly McBeefcake, the hair gel for men. Made from raw cow hide and the sweat of dead men." They don't make that.
Haley: It wouldn't smell good, either.