Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me…

And so I am here again in lovely New York City, tired as you would imagine after nearly 40 straight days of work with only one day of rest (i.e. no weekends off). But today finds me nearly three days out of work, now having spent a weekend at the Shore with some of my closest friends for a little thing Vince and I like to call our “Mourning the Loss of Summer” Party. I’m sorry you missed it…unless of course you were there. Which, if that’s the case, you’ve probably been kissed by me more than any sensible person would want, and then some. How good it is to be home!!!!

In any case, my thoughts from my last blog have not changed in the slightest. I am on the verge of quitting my fabulous job in the hopes of finding something more fulfilling. As I was discussing with my new good friend Michael this past weekend, I am looking forward to a job that will make me MORE me. He has a lot of good things to say, that Michael does, and one of them had much to do with the act of creation that so many people do each day, making something out of nothing for the rest of us to enjoy. Well, I want to join the ranks and do something that matters, raise something up out of the dust and air, and make it beautiful – starting perhaps with my inner self (which has been struggling with this new career and trying to avoid the crush of normality and closemindedness that seeks to overwhelm my better senses).

So let me now give a shout out to my party attendees, whether they want to hear me or not: Kathryn: stop apologizing, or make up for it by becoming our new house girl! ; Michael: I know I made a good friend when I met you, and thank you for the conversation – it was the first spark of intelligence I’ve seen in more than a month of work!; Starr: as always, you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey….; Corinne: you’ve made my Vincent the happiest man on the face of the planet, and if you can believe it, I’m even happier than he is knowing that you were able to attend and we were able to get you drunk!; Jimmy: my gay boyfriend, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…; Tyler: thank you a million times over for teaching Vincent that alcohol, sparklers and a box of firecrackers should never mix!; and Saleah: great shots of your butt cleavage to be coming soon to an e-mail near you! The rest of the party attendees just haven’t handed me their email addresses so I’m afraid they will not be mentioned in my blog, unless they send me their first born and a favorite limb… Actually, after all my professions of not wanting children, why again am I asking for your first born? Just a simple limb and an email address will do.

And back to whatever point it is that I am always trying to make on this thing (i.e. my blog). Did I tell you that Vincent started a blog in secret? Well, he did and you may now find him on http://neodem.blogspot.com. Just you and he, real personal and up close…

Well, truth be told, I am still exhausted and now I have to go clean the little “surprise” Chi-Chi left for me on our bedcovers. Then I can finally lay me down for that long-deserved, much-needed nap I’ve been meaning to get. I need to be well-rested for my requalification test tomorrow (i.e. with my handgun – what fun!).

Wish me sweet dreams and maybe I’ll consider putting one of you lucky readers in them! Miss you, love you, running away now, bye…

[first written on: 08/22/03 07:00:00 PM | Ryan Janda]
I’ve let time slip by yet again, but this time I have a valid excuse. I haven’t been at home in New York since the end of July. In fact, I write this with still more than a week to go in the month of August, but you won’t even see it on my Blog until September, I would think.

In any case, where in the world is Ryan? Well, at the moment of writing, I am in Wainscott, New York, which is a small section of the Hamptons. I am listening to Beth Orton and trying to rid myself of this damn pesky headache that attacked me as soon as I got out of work this afternoon.

Needless to say, I am on a temporary duty with the Secretary’s Detail. As in Colin Powell. Nothing new and exciting here, just a simple vacation. For him, anyway.

There have been a few star spottings along the way, of course. We saw Alec Baldwin pulled over by the local police, and then again on other random times. Then we saw Tommy Lee, and one of the guys saw the actress Julie something-or-other from Ed and nearly lost control of his bowels. At the club next door to our hotel last Saturday night, the guys saw Carson Daly and P. Ditty (is that really a name? I even feel stupid putting it to paper…). Oh yeah, and I’ve seen Colin Powell.

For the most part, the work here has been relatively boring. I think, however, it is propelling me toward a new conclusion: it’s about time for me to quit. The more I work, the more I realize that I don’t like this job for several reasons. The only real perk for me is the overseas travel, and all the benefits associated with that (i.e. the free plane tickets, the free housing, the percentage pay increase, etc.). Everything else about the job just isn’t me. The time away from family, friends, and my Vincent; the criminal work; the protective details where I just stare at doorknobs; even carrying a gun – these are the things that I don’t like about my job. On top of that, I have to constantly deal with the sexism inherent in law enforcement and it just brings me down to a whole new level. There is nothing I say that anyone gives credence to, and my intelligence is being ignored. It’s shocking to me that this kind of work environment still exists.

On top of that, most of the people I work with (especially here on the Secretary’s Detail) are incredibly lazy. It is terrible to see a complete dolt be praised or promoted ahead of someone who is truly deserving. Some of these agents in supervisory positions really need to get their heads out of their collective tushies and take a look around. This agency is flagging, and it’s poorly run. Good riddance, I say.

Of course, I know that I will find more of the same in other jobs I may run to, but it all comes back to my original point which is: this job isn’t me. My parents always told me that it is better to find a job that makes you happy than to find a job that pays well. So I think it’s time for me to begin searching – again. I learned quite a bit from my mistakes and small successes over the past year in this endeavor and I know I can lend my experience to something greater. Maybe try number two will be the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow.

Here’s to returning to New York and my Vincent in September…

Where oh where have I gone? Where oh where can I be…?

And the million dollar answer is: Washington D.C. I am back on the trail again, off to our nation’s capital to do crime-fighting at its finest: guarding the ever-holy door knob. Yes, I know, you are all slobbering in your envy, but really, you cannot come. Apparently, our fearless leader of DoS is not exactly the kind of man who wants you to stand outside his bedroom door.

But ME on the other hand, why, I am more than welcome! So it’s off to a month of the Secretary’s Detail, where I get to spend the sunlit hours sleeping and the long nights guarding our national treasures: every sewer plate within a five-mile radius of Colin Powell.

As you DCers already know, I will be in your area beginning tomorrow and spanning through the 14th (at least as the current schedule stands). Call me if you want to see my bright and shining face.

In other news, I was recently handed a lovely spot on the Israeli Foreign Minister’s detail (Silvan Shalom) – right in time for my mother’s visit to NYC. Just like when Michelle visited…. In any case, I must say that if I never see the inside of the NYC Toys R Us with a detail again, it will be too soon. I was dodging and weaving through aisles of toys, running around shelving, dodging the Israeli Shin Bet (who, despite requesting our assistance, also insist on sending out a contingent of no less than 15), and toppling small children. It was a full-contact sport, and all so I could stand to the left or right of Shalom when he and his personal shopper made any move throughout the store. Because, as you know, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to take a bullet for someone else (and yes, said with all due sarcasm). At least I was able to get a workout, having not been able to make it to the gym for several days.

Did I mention that Shalom actually got spotted? Yes, I am serious. A group of Israeli kids just so happened to be in Toys R Us at the time and completely bum rushed the guy. The Shin Bet people stood aside to let them pass and then there was me, the total a$$hole standing in their way saying, “No.” They began speaking in Hebrew to me, so apparently my completely blank stare wasn’t getting through to them. I said, “I don’t speak Hebrew.” Oh, those poor children! They seemed so confused. In any case, they finally had their way with the foreign minister and snapped several dozen photographs with him. I felt like I was protecting Madonna or something.

Well, despite all the shenanigans, throughout the detail I though of our lovely Yael. Yes, yes. Some of the Shin Bet even had names like Michal… on an unrelated note, one guy was named Israel, and I thought he was joking at first. How was I to know that it is a very popular name in Israel? Go figure.

There was another woman named Enat (phonetically spelled, it is pronounced something like “A Gnat”) who actually had the Star of David tattooed in her front teeth. How do you approach someone like that? “Hey, I’m a Catholic, what are you?” She smiles. “Oh….oh, I see…”

Whatever. Very hardcore. But nice. The funniest thing I saw with Enat was one of the housekeepers at the hotel trying to convince her to turn to the New Testament and Christianity. I don’t think the housekeeper was winning any points that day.

Speaking of the hotel, however, the following famous people were spotted within a span of 2 days:
Mark Paul Gossler (remember Zack Morris? He was on site to shoot a scene for NYPD Blue)
Larry David (Seinfeld anyone? Curb Your Enthusiasm perhaps?)
Peter Boyle (most recently the father on Everyone Loves Raymond)
Barbara Walters (needs no introduction…but she talks just like my grandmother!)
Lauren Bush (supermodel extraordinaire)
Luis Guzman (Carlito’s Way, Punch Drunk Love, Traffic, Magnolia…)

Yeah, so now I can say that I held the elevator for Barbara Walters…whoopee!

Other than that, my mom was here, like I mentioned earlier. We wined, we dined, we walked through the park… Glorious good times, my friends. Twas nice to see da’ momma and San…

Now, like I said, I am off to DC and wherever for the month of August. Then it’s the UN General Assembly here in New York for the month of September. So it’s looking like if you email me, I won’t be getting back to you until October. You’re looking at one very busy girl here!

I will have you know that I will have both my cell phones on me while I travel, and therefore will be able to communicate somewhat. So call. Call. CALL!

Begun on Wednesday, 10 July 2003 and finished on Saturday, 12 July…

Well, it’s a lovely Wednesday morning in which I am writing – from my lovely Ford Contour, somewhere in downtown Manhattan. Apparently there was some confusion about who was to do what today and I am waiting for my squad leader, who left to bring a coworker to the airport, to come back to his apartment. I am feeling very much like a stalker. Good times.

So. I’ve managed to miss yet another month in which I should have written more and wasted less time. Unfortunately, I don’t even have the excuse that I was out of the country. I spent most of my time at work, investigating my criminal caseload. There’s nothing quite like invading the homes of those less fortunate and more cockroach-ridden than you, and telling them that they’ve committed a federal crime and they better fess up so you can throw them in jail. I mean really, the fun times never end.

This guy, Doug, with whom I’ve been working a lot lately, even saved me from getting a cockroach in my hair on a recent case. I was leaning against the wall, the cockroach was busy walking down the wall, and inches before the two of us meeting, Doug sends out the warning. I am eternally grateful. In fact, Doug even went one step further and got on his hands and knees in the kitchen to go through the trash in search of evidence for my case. All in a days work, baby, yeah.

In the life o’ Ryan outside of work, Vince and I have been keeping busy. On June 14, Vince formally graduated from Drexel University with a Masters Degree in Software Engineering. Of course, we didn’t attend the ceremony, but we reminisced about it on June 15th when we attended his cousin Bruno’s graduation party – he just finished up at the naval academy. Vince’s favorite part? The jealousy that comes from wishing you too could be paid for flying planes for a living. My favorite part? The MUMMERS!!!! They came, umbrellas and all, from our old stomping ground of South Philadelphia. For those of you who wonder – what the hell is a Mummer?! – I have the following for you: http://mummers.com/. They have links for all the Mummers clubs.

Well, we spent that Sunday afternoon with Vince’s Mom, Joe, Grandmom, Grandpop, and we even saw his sister Nicole and her husband Christian for a few seconds (before they quickly departed to “go take care of their new puppy”).

Oh shoot, I just figured out that I got the dates all wrong…not that you care, but Vince did officially graduate on June 14, but Bruno’s graduation was the Sunday before, on the 8th. Now don’t you all feel better knowing the right dates – but even more so that Ryan is losing her mind at such an early age?

The day before Bruno’s party, we were scheduled to attend Field Day Fest here in NY – an all day music festival held at Giants Stadium. The headliner was Radiohead, but also scheduled were Beth Orton, Beastie Boys, Elliott Smith, Blur, Underworld, Liz Phair and Beck. Originally it was supposed to be a two-day camping event in a huge field in Calverton, NY, but there were problems with permits at the last minute and they changed the venue to Giants Stadium and reduced to festival to one day.

To make matters worse, god cried all over us all day. In other words, it poured. So Vincent and I decided to attend the show later in the day, in an effort to stay out of the weather but still see the bands we wanted to see. I saw about ten minutes of Elliott Smith, who really did not impress me at the time, and then we went to our seats in the stadium to wait for Beck to come on.

Oh yes, I waited and I waited. Vince went out to buy me a hot dog. And then I waited again. After about a half hour of thinking the stage crew was setting up for Beck, the girl next to me says, “You know Beck isn’t playing right? He went to the hospital.” And it was true. Beck was accidentally hit by a stage crew member who was carrying something while watching Blur play and suffered from some minor rib damage – although nothing was broken. Eventually the Beastie Boys came on – now, I’ve seen the Beastie Boys play before and I know they are absolutely brilliant when it comes to producing their records. They make sounds and harmonies nobody else would even consider that end up sounding fabulous. All that aside, they suck. More than Hoover, they suck. They cannot sing. They do not dance. I am not entertained.

After about twenty minutes of deliberating, Vince and I went home, missing our chance to see Radiohead. We just could not wait the two hours until they came on stage.

So now I am actually ready to talk about Vince’s graduation weekend. We went to the Shore and staid at his father’s house in Margate. We rode bikes and shopped for the apartment on the Bay in Ventor – Vince’s father had some work done on the apartment and threw everything out so we had to buy a new couch, table, chairs, mattress and spring box, and bed frame. Vince and I even had the pleasure of digging through all the “wonderful” piles of god-knows-what that were still in the apartment. We were supposed to pick out things to throw away, but it turned into a case of us picking out things to keep. There was almost nothing we needed. Sometimes I laugh at how similar Vincent and his father are: they both like to collect things and then, even though they don’t even remember they have it, they don’t want to throw anything away. Personally, I think that your belongings mean more to you the fewer you have. It’s like that law in economics of diminishing returns. The more you have of something, the less you appreciate it. Know what I mean, jellybean?

Now I say all this because when we got back to the apartment a few weeks later, the Senator hadn’t allowed Ruth to throw away half as much as we wanted to. I was amused.

So that was my weekend.

The following weekend, or the last weekend in June, Vince and I spent our first weekend on the town. Saturday found us at Café Gitame for brunch, a quaint little French shop down in the West Village. We walked around window shopping for a short while before attending our first Broadway show: Baz Luhrman’s La Boheme, adapted from the opera and set in the 1950s. Vince adored it, as he adores the opera of the same title, but I loathed it. It was incredibly difficult for me to stay in my seat and not walk out on it like Starr and I did when we went to the ballet. If it weren’t for the fact that Vincent was so enthralled, I would have run, not walked, to the nearest exit (which just so happened to be directly to my left – not that I was looking for one, mind you).

So then we window-shopped some more and ended up meeting my friend Andrew for dinner. Down from Massachusetts for the weekend, Andrew was visiting with his old high school buddies who now live in NYC. We even brought him back to my apartment for a drink before he returned to his gallivanting with the boys. Andrew says, and I quote, “You have a very nice apartment, I must say. One of the best that I've seen out of all my friends, and certainly the one with the most posters/photos of breasts on the wall.” Now if that isn’t an advertisement that will pull all the customers in, I don’t know what is!

That Sunday we devoted to museums. Lucky for us, we made it to only one. The Museum of Sex. It certainly was an adventure just getting there. Apparently, the Museum of Sex is on the Gay Pride parade route. Vince and I had to cut off some transvestites and boys in drag to run across the street without being run down by a float! It was a scream! We only took a few photos, but there we were: in the midst of gay boy heaven.

The museum was incredibly interesting. And that means a lot coming from someone who really hates museums. I can go through something like the Met, or the Louvre for that matter, in about 30 minutes. I am too bored to do anything but yawn and run through the exhibits. But there, at MoSex, I read every last article on the wall and watched every last porn (and yes, there was porn – all the classics, I’ll have you know!). It was very educational. (Did I mention that was the first time I’d ever seen porn in public? I just can’t get over it!!!)

We must have finished with MoSex sometime around 6PM, and we spent another half hour or so with the tarot card reader sitting in the lobby, right by the packets of “Dicklets” and the Betty Paige cut-out dolls. Much like La Boheme, Vince was enthralled and I was skeptical. Every time the tarot lady tried to figure me out, I gave her a blank look. Vince, on the other hand, kept nodding and grinning. Her readings were quite good, if not somewhat general, but her numerology was WAY off. And she even calculated the wrong number for Vince, and then told us about it. It was like, blah blah blah for ten minutes and then, “Oh, that’s the wrong number, but you’re still… and the same still holds true.” Excuse me?

So Vince and I hit a boutique somewhere on Fifth Avenue, near to the Museum, and then it was off to an Irish Pub, across the street from the Empire State Building. And so we ended our weekend.

Finally, the 4th of July. Starr, Vince and I were off to the Shore – this time to the apartment in Ventnor. Lucky for us, they were just finishing up painting and we could move in. A quick stop to Bed, Bath and Beyond for the much needed bedding and we were in like Flynn. Starr and I spent the entirety of the 3rd cleaning the house. Remember how I said the Senator refused to throw everything out? Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Of course, we are not mean, ill-tempered harlots, but rather the kind of girls who throw away the broken fish statue and keep the old photo albums. So we scrubbed and disinfected, washed and put away.

Then we celebrated with a little party of steamed clams and corn on the cob, on the deck by the bay. Beer, wine and everything fine…

Vince and Starr’s friend, Kara, joined us from Philly on the 4th. She brought her boyfriend Angel, and two friends: Rob and Eddie. They called themselves “New York Ricans” and added all the spice we needed to our little party of seven. Most of the day was spent on the beach, drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice and vodka (Starr’s tip of the day: As long as it is fresh-squeezed, you can’t taste the alcohol – and it’s true!). Then we joined the huge 4th of July BBQ, held by the Ruth and Mitchell, the Senator’s head staff members who have a condo in the same building as Vince’s apartment.

After tasting the food and swilling some beer, we seven packed up an Igloo of Rolling Rock and headed out on “Friends,” one of the Senator’s boats. We headed for the ocean to see the fireworks…and that, my friends, is that.

So the rest of the time at the Shore was more sun, bike riding every morning, more fresh-squeezed and vodka on the beach, and a ticket for Vincent for having a headlight out on his car (ha ha!).

And so, you can now consider yourselves basically caught up on my life and history. We are spending another weekend in the wonderful world of Inwood, where we intend to catch up, clean up, and ride our bikes. Good times, my friends, good times…

So I forgot a few things! First of all, I completely failed to mention who it was that I was in Egypt protecting. As you may have noticed, had you tuned into CNN once in a while, both President Bush and Colin Powell were in Egypt for some Middle East negotiating this past week. Well, I was there, making sure Powell got an undisturbed night’s slumber. Yes, yes, that is the excitement that is a midnight shift!

However, it may delight you to know that he hardly ever sleeps (damn those military boys!) and neither does his staff. Everyone is up during all hours of the night – and here I was thinking we were the only people crazy enough to do that!

In other news, Prince Bandhar was also staying at the Hyatt where we were. We were in a villa on one side of the resort, and he was in a villa on the other side. Apparently there were a few more important people staying there as well, but I didn’t pay enough attention to catch their names. I was too busy with my own protectee.

Also, the other thing I forgot to mention was that on the way home I had a nine hour layover in Cairo. What that meant for us was that we had nine hours to explore Cairo. So we rented a van, and finagled our way onto some horses at 3AM. The horses led us to the Sahara, and the Sahara led us to the pyramids. Yes folks, your little country bumpkin has seen the pyramids! And I wasn’t even self-righteous until after the whole affair, when one of my fellow DS guys informed me that the only reason I wasn’t allowed to have the reins of my horse was because I am female. The nerve!

Of course, you don’t want to hear about that. You want to hear about the Sphinx, which could probably fit into a New York closet. I was disappointed that it is only a mere stone when viewed next to the pyramids. It’s a strange, strange thing. The sphinx is actually bigger on Looney Toons…

So, with the little extra time we had after our journey into the Sahara, we went to this little club at the Hilton Cairo. We got a few drinks, danced a little, and got our partying tushies back to the plane. It wasn’t until later that the guys realized they had been in a gay bar and began to regret their adventure! Ah, but I laughed!

Okay, so that’s really all that I left out. You don’t need to hear about the part where I flew for seventeen hours or so…

Hey everyone! I want you all to know that I am NOT in Egypt anymore. I have been home since last Thursday, after a long, hard week in the Middle East. So yes, Yael, I was only a stone’s throw away from where you now live, but I didn’t have an inch of wiggle room in which to meet up with you in your home town. Sorry, my dear…

As for the rest of my trip in Egypt, I spent two days flying out to Sharm El Sheikh, three days working, and then two days flying back to New York. The first night we arrived, we all met up and went out on the town. That meant that we got ripped off by the taxi driver, who then ripped us off again by sending us to his friend’s/brother’s/cousin’s restaurant. The food was sub-par, but I did learn about 7 words of Arabic from one of the waiters. Of course, we sat outside on the rug-covered chairs, where people were smoking hookahs and the like (I thought I had seen the last of those at my last party at Pi Lamb!). More of our group joined us later and we went drinking until the wee hours of the morn.

That is when the brilliant idea hit a few of us to go swimming in the Red Sea. Many, many gouges later – thanks to the coral – we were kicked out of the water by the local Navy and allowed to spend the rest of our morning in the swimming pools. Which is precisely where we watched the sun rise. Then, before our coworkers could awaken and find us out, we ran back to our rooms!

Somewhere around Tuesday of last week, I went snorkeling for the first time. Yes, I donned a wet suit, goggles and flippers. Stop laughing. No, really. I mean it. Did I mention I have a gun?

In any case, I went snorkeling. At first, my mask didn’t fit me properly and all this water came into my eyes, temporarily blinding me as the copious amounts of salt burned my very corneas. But I got over that when Ari gave me his mask. Then I had to master the whole snorkel concept. Let me tell you how TERRIBLE the Red Sea tastes. Just when I began to be able to open my eyes without pain…

Finally, I got the gear working properly and I started swimming around. And around. And over the coral. I saw one big blue fish, half my size, and Ari made me touch a jellyfish, but other than that, I think I could find better things to do with my time. Under the sea is no place for me! Especially when you have to swim over coral that is only a foot away – after gouging my feet all to heck that first night, I was not looking forward to scraping my underbelly all along the coral! No, Sam I am, I do not like green eggs and ham…

Did I mention how annoying the hotel staff was? I mean, helpful? Since I was working midnight shifts, I slept during the day. Of course, that meant that the housekeeping staff was obliged to call me at least six times to schedule a time when they could come in and clean. You see, they noticed that I had turned on the privacy light…. Hurumph!

But I am not bitter. I think it is because I am the only one who returned from our trip completely hydrated and without a burn. There’s something about men that makes them stupid – they drink, they sit in 100+ degree weather, and they burn to a crisp….all rather humorous really.

And so I am home again. Back to the grindstone, and incidentally, back to a city that hasn’t seen the sun in months. What a change!

Here’s to sunnier times…

[06/01/03 4:08:00 AM (local time) | Ryan Janda]
I am writing from Egypt and thought I’d start off the month with all of my friends and family, even if I won’t have a chance to post until I return to the states. Again, or for the very first time, I am writing from Sharm El Sheikh in Egypt, which is a little old resort town on the Red Sea, and I am terribly homesick.

The place is, of course, beautiful. We are staying at the Hyatt and you can view pictures and the like on the internet at www.sharm.hyatt.com. Then you will know the kind of “hell” in which I am trapped.

But for those of you who are not willing to explore the place on your own, I will describe it for you. Imagine the desert. Stretches of sand for as far as the eye can see. In the distance are red mountains. There is only one road that runs through the entire city. And it isn’t until you step inside the lobby of the Hyatt that you can even see water. And there it lays, at the bottom of a perfectly manicured hill with several layers of pools and a waterslide – a field of blue that stretches out to the horizon: the Red Sea.

Apparently this place is really popular with divers and snorklers. We are right on a reef – which has already managed to cut up the bottom of my feet when we were swimming in the Red Sea (like high schoolers playing hookey) during the wee hours of Saturday morn.

Other than the water though, this place isn’t really on my list of things to do. There is no indigenous population of Sharm, everyone working here having been trucked in from outlaying villages and the like every morning. The whole city was built to cater to Western, particularly European, sensibilities and there isn’t much to do beyond visiting the local Hard Rock Café – which inexplicably becomes a night club late at night – and a few casinos and bars.

I have been amusing myself by learning a few words in Arabic and wandering around the resort. But that is honestly where the fun ends for me. I am still at work, and I still work with some of the most unenlightened men on the face of the planet. It’s not really because they’re terrible people, but they sure do know how to make a girl feel incredibly left out of the party. I am feeling a bit dissociated and all I want is my Vincent!

Maybe by the time I leave I will have sampled the fun of the on-site spa and health club, and perhaps snorkled, so then I will have more to speak at long length about. But, as it is, I am working midnight shifts, which are just as exciting as they sound, and I am still suffering from the two days of flying that it took to get here (yes, I left on Thursday and arrived on Saturday). I will have to get back to you on the excitement and enthusiasm.

So, without further ado, I take my leave. I curtsey, I blow kisses, and I pirouette off stage left…