Phew. It appears I have some catching up to do. Not to fret, a black hole did not sweep me into its vortex nor did I cross the border to Canada... emigré Van Arsdall. By the way, how many years until a standard student passport expires? Dad is a man of few words. Yet somehow he manages to spearhead vacations, allowing his extra Marriott points for distribution. This time, he reserved a weekend in Charleston at the Renaissance on Wentworth. His gift "without a bow" but honestly, the best presents usually arrive bow-less. (ie: pets, holidays, warmth of friends and family) He is a clever man and an articulate business man. No wonder he scheduled this trip around decision-making plans for college. He succeeded... I am sold on College of Charleston. Regardless, UChicago and American University are still priorities (if I am admitted). My slides arrived yesterday. They are formatted two ways- green, black and white. So, I should investigate which type UChicago prefers. My admissions counselor have become quite acquainted. Watch it actually be a computer automated system named "Martha " or "Nancy". Slick. Saturday morning, I woke up after reading 30 pages in A Prayer for Owen Meany the night before and loaded Sadie into the Explorer because the kennel opened at 8:00 and I was to arrive ten minutes early. My forty pound dog enjoys stretching her snout outside the window while sitting in my lap, meanwhile squishing me. En route, I read more Owen Meany, took blackmail photos of Elizabeth Anne and Susanne, frequently leaning over my tan-suede seat to adjust the lumbar support. Recently my veterbrae have been screwy. Culprit? Running 3.1 miiles, revisiting my old love... cross-country. I suppose if I retire stilettos, the harm they would have caused can be subsituted by a healthier matrix of running long distances. Welcoming us as we crossed the highway impasse leading to Charleston, paper mill fumes filled our noses, taking Susanne's high opinion of this glamourous city and debasing it. I reassured her this was only a temporary scent. Ah, nothing says welcome like pollution. So, we arrived, unpacked the car, registered at the marquis, and toted our stuff upstairs.. to the 6th floor. A perfect overlook of the city shone through our window every morning, a panoramic cityscape intersected vertically ever so often by church steeples and domes. I think this is why Jump immortalized this view in Holy City. Listen to the words, you'll see what I mean. Searching for grub, we walked down St. Philips to Vickery's, an old haunt reliable (minus the time the server spilled gazpacho on Dad's khakis) I ate only rice and beans, managing to snag a few scrumptious bites of a Cuban roll belonging to my mother. Then, more walking.... down Church St., past Dock Street Theater... it reminds me of a Charlie Chaplin movie where he tries to kiss the girl and she climbs up the rose trellace, attempting escape but her dress gets snagged by a thorn, like the intricated ironwork design on Dock Street's Lousiana-style facade. We walked all the way to the Battery, me giving the standard historic tour of the Calhoun mansion, Meeting Street Inn, the four corners (jail, mail, bail, hail). I've been on so many guided tours, I blurt out what they're going to say before they say it. Heh, sorry. Feeling lackedaisical and needing a "livation" Mom and Dad went back to the hotel, giving Elizabeth Anne and Susanne the option to go with them.. and buy postcards in the lobby. I was solo and loving it. So, I took a brisk walk around campus, bought bread at Normandy Farms bakery, and eyed a Burberry scarf at Willy Jay's as a potential gifty for Susanne. Dinner at Magnolia's, 6h00. Mmm. That place never ceases to amaze me. Neither does my Dad, who arranged a carriage to pick us up from the hotel. How... fairy tale-esque. Susanne and I split down home cookin' item "Buttermilk-Fried Chicken" that came with collards, corn, and cracked pepper biscuits. Lest we forget the fried green tomato appetizer. Miam, miam. Elizabeth-Anne ate... sweet potato fries (holla, Emily!) We walked "home" on our own two feet. Braving the elements, Susanne and I walked arm in arm much to the chagrin of Dad who cited we looked like lesbians and had gotten several double takes from other people on the street. It was cold, come on. Europeans do it all the time. Sunday. I overslept. Plan A was to attend mass at St. Mary's on Hassell. Euhps. Via Plan B, we all went to Trinity United Methodist. Ironically their service was the same carols/lessons set-up as the one at my home church the week before. Highlighting the entire event was this elderly old man in the front pew whose faded blue tuxedo was the same color of baby blue walls framing the church narthex. After the pastor delivered the doxology, this man rose from his seat, walked over the piano, stood in the curve of the baby grand, and sang the most regal version of O Holy Night I have ever had the privilege to hear. It was breathtaking. To hear the bassa nova boom of this mans voice was to be listening to faint claps and crescendo of approaching thunder while sitting on your front porch. Church dismissed. We tried to eat at Jestine's but apparently she closes business on the Sabbath. Instead, we walked four blocks to Rue de Jean. THE most spectacular French restaurant outside of France. I ate a mesclun salade and split a plateau du fromage with my Dad. There was a native cheese from Clermont -Ferrand. My old friend, the forme d'Ambert, which I ate and called my mom later on confessing I might die from its consumption, all the while holding my stomach and crouching doggie-style to avoid vomiting up bleu cheese. Oh la la. Then, we walked around Charleston Village admiring the multimillion dollar homes that Charlestonians consider middle-end homes. I shall be a penniless student. Does that make me subzero-end? Elizabeth-Anne and I held each others hands and walked the perimeter of Colonial Lake, hand in hand. I scammed her, telling her about a legendary alligator that once ate a college student who went fishing for his lawn chair that had fallen in because of a gusty wind blowing it to the middle of the lake. She walked a safe distance from the edge.. needless to say. We walked back to the hotel, passing various eating establishments including Yo Burrito whose windows were plastered with flyers for Jump's Dock Street shows. Life can be unfair. Susanne snapped a pic of me poutyfaced pointing to one. Again, the parents crashed at the hotel, leaving Susanne and I to complete last minute Christmas shopping on King Street. Shops closed at 6h00 however Victoria Secret and Banana Republic remained open past regular hours. Dad ordered pizza pick-up from Andolini's. So, after dropping onto the bed shopping bags falling tot he ground and watching 15 minutes of Bend It Like Beckham, I walked two blocks down and got the order. No Owen Meany; instant head to pillow. Final day.... checked out by 1:00 pm. Ate brunch at Baker's Cafe, bought collectibles at Historic Society shop (no tax, nonprofit setup) and investigated max costs of owning a bike. Last minute gift cards from April Cornell for mother dearest. And.. five ten dollar gift cards that expire in 30 days, meaning I can expect another weekend trip to Chucktown anyday... Home by 6h00. So kids, that is my weekend in detailed format. Hurrah for reading thus far. And... Merry Christmas, everybody!