Tell me something about yourself that we probably don’t know.

The first famous man I fell in love with was Danny Kaye.  I was probably in fifth grade when I saw The Court Jester, and that was it.  Love.  Then came Dan Akyroyd and Chevy Chase when I was staying up too late to watch Saturday Night Live reruns.  Love.  Then Harry Anderson once he was on Night Court in the 80s.  Love.  It wasn't until I was much older that I sensed the pattern, and it wasn't until I was older than that when I realized the real connection between all the odd choices for a young teenager's obsessive love.  I didn't want to love them; I wanted to be them.  Tall and cool and smooth and talented and funny and confident and famous.  Does everyone fall in love with the kind of person they want to be, or was it just me?

Pageant Question: Which TV program best describes your life?

K: The number one question we are asked is, "Are you guys like this all the time?"

A: The answer is: yes.

Opening montage and theme music to All The Time, a new reality show on A&E Network, now in its third season.

Today's episode finds K and A already awake and in the kitchen of the house they purchased near the end of the second season and have been renovating.  They are making breakfast.

A: (to the tune of the Spider-man cartoon theme) Chai-na-bagel, chai-na-bagel.  Eating breakfast whenever we're able.  Butter is out, steam the soy.  Don't forget my spoon, boy oh boy.

K: (brandishing a soup spoon like The Tick) Spoooon!

Once the spoon is down, K and A start to dance for no apparent reason, kicking off their slippers and sliding their stockinged feet on the floor and singing the theme to Mission Impossible.

Interview:
Producer: Don't you ever get tired?

K: Sure!  Then we go to bed.  Sometimes that takes a while.

Pageant Question: Substance abuse is huge problem among teens. How do you stay drug free? What solutions do you propose to solve this problem?

Vic's house was the first split-level that she had ever seen, and she thought it looked like one of those cool, rich-person's multilevel apartments you might find in New York City.  It was also walking distance from the high school, which she also thought of as cool because she would have gone home every day for lunch.  Lora, however, lived in what had been a "show home" neighborhood back in the 1970s.  As a very fresh freshman, she was only just beginning to think outside her own world view, and it gave her a tingling feeling in the back of her mind that, perhaps, her family was rich, and everyone in Vic's neighborhood was not.

Lora was not Vic's girlfriend, but rather a friend who happened to be a girl.  Cheryl was Vic's girlfriend, and also one of Lora's best friends.  Vic, Chris, and Frankie were buddies.  Lora, Cheryl, Jenny and Barb were besties.  Freshman year was when they all discovered each other and found that boys and girls could mingle.  So far, it was working, and on the night of the Fall Dance, they met up at Vic's split-level to hang out before walking over.

Each of the friends had a secret none of the others knew.  Lora only knew hers: she had fallen for Vic.  Her fall was solidified that night when, in her mind, Vic saved them all from a gang of druggies.

328

The enchanter bent low over his crystal bowl, concentrating on seeing images in the shallow water.  He was focusing not on the King nor any of the Royal Family.  Nor was he focusing on his enemies.  The enchanter was focusing on a seamstress.

267

Kell's fingers held her chin, tipped up to see eye to eye.  Lane blinked and her mouth went dry for Kell's eyes seemed to hold the world.  His dark, swooping eyebrows were always so expressive, and now they showed caring beyond that which she had ever experienced.  Eyes, wide open, taking in and showing everything.  The moment stretched and held and Lane would go back to it again and again in her memory, wondering what had become of Kell.

251

Today is the day that my grandmother died.  She was 97 and was born in 1917.  We all knew it was coming, but, still.

It makes me sad I didn't get to see her one last time.  That the last time I saw her was the one last time, though it was a good visit.  Gram patted my hand and looked at my arm and said, "You are so white."  I said, "Thanks, Gram.  It runs in the family, you know."  I'm not sure she knew who I was, but Gram was always friendly and happy.  Always happy.  Always smiling.  Gram didn't always live a smooth life, but she still came out happy.  I try to remember that when I hear myself whining or getting ready to be snippy.

I love you, Gram.

248

Script pitch: Love story about a shy man who suddenly finds himself reaching old age without a companion.

Lead role: Gene Wilder

Opening: An older man (mid-70s) sits alone in his rather large, neat, beach-front cottage home in Connecticut.  We see him go about his morning, making himself tea, doing the puzzle in the paper, and painting in his home studio.  We finally see him looking in his calendar.  Forthcoming are a few doctor's appointments and one art opening that looks important.  The man looks rather disappointed that he doesn't have a more full social calendar.  He makes a decision and grabs his "little black book".  The entries are old, and many are crossed off with notes like "married", "moved to California", and "deceased".

147

"Promise me you won't leave me."  Her hands were cold and dry, her grip weak.

"I promise."  Martin's tears splashed down on Marta's arm, and he watched them instead of her face.

125

I will start at the start and begin at the beginning, if it is what you will, and I know it is since you were always a stickler for first things first.

I first saw your mother when she was just a girl, though I didn't know she would become your mother. My first impression was that she was a brat. A dirty brat with skinny legs and ratty hair that hung over her crabby face. It's a good thing I didn't think that way forever, or you'd never have been born!

Shara was unruly and wherever she went, she stirred up trouble. This continued for her whole life. It is probably why you have rebelled by being so straight-laced, but I digress. The beginning begins with your mother nearly dying, and your father being a hero.

77

She wasn't the same dog, but she was a good dog. In some ways, she was a better dog, but, again, not the same. Finn still expected her dog to bound to the door. She still had trouble calling the new dog by her name and not by his name. She had trouble thinking of her as "her" and not "him".

But the new dog wagged and wagged her non-existent tail. She whined with joy. She came when you called. She leaned on your legs. She would let herself be pet and pet and pet until she fell over. She was a good dog. Finn missed her dog, but she loved this dog, too.

71

He was sitting in the window of a Starbucks holding a huge, hot beverage. This Starbucks had a long table tucked into the window nook so people could look out. Inevitably, they were also looked at. There was a bookstore across the street with a few black ironwork tables and chairs out front under an awning. A small rack of books they didn't mind anyone stealing were for sale outside. It was a beautiful fall day.

A long, earth-toned coat was hanging on the back of his chair. He was wearing earth-toned cargo pants and a blue shirt that matched his eyes. His hair was silver. He had a book open, but was only glancing at it while he people-watched.

She had been planning to go to the bookstore that day, but kept getting sidetracked by projects, dishes, the phone. The Universe turned and waited for them to finally meet.

63

An older couple was walking through Central Park on a bright, fall day. The sun was warm, the sky was blue and the trees were slowly releasing their brightly colored leaves around the man and the woman who were hand-in-hand. They strolled without seeming to see any of the beauty because they were too busy stealing glances at each other as they talked and laughed. They were so obviously in love you could practically see the cartoon heart sparkling candy red above their heads.

53

After all that I've been though, you might think my advice about men would be: "Be suspicious." It's not. In regards to your love life, you should always love freely and with all your heart. Becoming suspicious will only make you miserable; you can always be miserable later. For now, enjoy the freedom and possibility of Love.

That does not mean: "Be stupid." There is room for whole-hearted love and independent thought. Loving freely should never mean losing your Self; it will only make you bitter. You don't want to hate the person you love just because you couldn't stand to love yourself, too. Love yourself freely and with all your heart: you deserve it.

Be honest, especially to yourself.

Have fun. If it's not fun and you can't make it fun, why are you doing it?

Love. Love keeps away wrinkles, lowers blood pressure, prevents irritable bowel syndrome and will make you lighter. What's not to love about Love?

17

I know it's a cliche, but seriously, Paris in the springtime really is beautiful. It's warm and sunny. Everyone seems to be carrying a bouquet of flowers and the city's famous cafes are ready and waiting with their little iron-legged tables draped with crisp white linens, waiters unobtrusive and poised to serve. I had ever been to Paris in the spring until the day I ran away from home.

It sounds like I'm some uber-smart teenager who secretly saved my babysitting money, figured out how to get a passport, and snuck off to the airport, ditching my parents and the remainder of high school just to live the life of a tragically misunderstood artist in France.

First of all, that never works; girls like that turn into tragically diseased prostitutes. Second, I'm not a teenager. I'm in my thirties, and I don't feel particularly smart. Especially alone in France. I did manage to figure out the passport thing, secretly save money and sneak off to the airport, but I was ditching my husband and the remainder of a flawed marriage to live the life of a... well, there's the thing. What am I? Tragically misunderstood, no doubt, by everyone I left behind. Except for one person. The one to whom I just sent his own one way ticket to Paris.

Hint: not my husband.

12

It was when Louise started to go deaf that the music began. At first, she thought it was coming from outside her bedroom window overlooking the rest home's northwest lawn. She mentioned to the day nurse about the wonderful big band she thought had been playing in the gazebo just beyond her view and asked why she hadn't been notified so she could have gone down in person, but the nurse insisted there had been no band of any sort.

The next day, when Louise was walking on one of the wide, well-manicured paths through the woods, the music came again. She froze, and the just-turning leaves shivered in a breeze. There was no band this time; it was a single voice. A sweet, clear, single voice she had not heard in twenty years singing one of the silly songs he had made up for her as they made breakfast together, or lunch, or dinner, or while they folded laundry, or as an ode to their pet fish, or an echoing song sung in the shower. He was singing to her now, after all these lonely, heartbroken years. Louise sank to the ground and listened and cried.