Stockbridge and Great Barrington

Readers, I proudly present to you a first in Catherine the Greatest history-- a guest blog post! Many loyal readers have sent me subtle inquiries about a mysterious Josh figure who has been mentioned in several recent posts. He is a leading expert in small-town America, and exhibits a passion like none I have ever seen for the charming and quaint. What better way to debut him to my public than with a mandatory writing assignment! Without further ado, I bring you...

 Wandering the West
by Josh
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For most of us living in the Metrowest area, western Mass is anything past Worcester, but did you ever wonder what neat places exist in the great West of the Bay State?  For Catherine’s birthday, we took a trip to the southern Berkshires.  We were excited to celebrate and learn more about our great state.

Our trip started by visiting historic downtown Stockbridge which is famed for being the quintessential New England town.  I am undoubtedly a huge fan of small towns, and Stockbridge was no exception.  It has a wonderful blend of small stores to browse, bakeries, eateries, and cafes.  What delighted me the most was the balance between upscale atmosphere and classic New England charm.  Also, this town was also home to Alice’s Restaurant, the basis of the famed Arlo Guthrie song.  The restaurant is now named The Stockbridge Cafe.

After exploring downtown, we headed to a historic home and garden called Naumkeag, a property owned and managed by  The Trustees of Reservations for the enjoyment of the public.  The house served as a country “cottage” for the prominent Choate family.  This cottage is truly an impressive mansion.  The most dazzling part of the property is the gardens.  Much of the garden was designed as outdoor rooms by renowned landscape architect Fletcher Steele.  Miss Mabel Choate, who inherited the property from her family, took a strong personal interest in Naumkeag’s landscape and Fletcher Steele's expertise, working on a multitude of projects for 30 years.  The must-see garden element is the Blue Steps, which consists of a series of fountains flanked by stairs beneath a White Birch grove.

                                                      (the author, posing in front of the famed steps)


After our step back in time to the Gilded Age, we headed to the Norman Rockwell Museum.  I have always been a big fan of Norman’s Rockwell’s art.  I am constantly inspired by his ability to portray everyday life in a way that people of any age and background can relate to. So many of his works bring a smile.  They also bring home the idea of everyday heroes and a sense of community.  Although I had seen many of his paintings in books or online, I was excited to see some originals. I was amazed with how large and detailed most of his paintings were, which afforded me even more respect for my favorite artist.  I have to admit, I was holding back some tears when we viewed the Four Freedoms- this is worth the visit.


For Catherine’s birthday dinner, we visited Great Barrington.  After taking a driving tour we stopped at The Point Restaurant at Thornewood Inn.  One thing we learned about the southern Berkshires was that large hotel and restaurant chains do not exist; instead there are many Inns and unique local eateries. The Point was no exception.  After admiring the beautiful Inn, we sat down for an unbelievable meal.  During a heartwarming conversation with the owner, he talked us into a homemade chocolate ganache cake, that I am tempted to say might be worth the two-hour trip from Walpole to have again.  

Bonnaroo Review

For those who don't know, Bonnaroo is a four-day music festival held every June on 700 acres of Tennessee farmland. The multi-stage concert extravaganza started in 2002 and has grown bigger and better each year. Last week, nearly 80,000 people attended, breaking previous records.

Tickets costs $240, which is a great price considering all of the acts and activities there are to see and do throughout the four days. Most attendees camp in various pods surrounding Centeroo, where all the stages are. Being a poor college student, and at the suggestion of Paige, who attended last year, Tuan, my little bro Michael B. and I, all applied to be volunteers. We'd get free tickets and early admission in exchange for working three five-hour shifts.

I had the time of my life and saw some of the best live performances I'll ever see. All in all, I went to about 20 partial or full sets, many of which were some of my favorite bands. In the interest of brevity, I'm going to break this down into sections to save myself from getting too tangential and cloying. But here's the Bonnaroo '09 lowdown through the eyes of a first-timer.

Favorite Sets: Phoenix, Okkervil River, Grizzly Bear, The Decemberists, Rodrigo y Gabriela

Most fun: MGMT went on at 2:15 a.m. We'd volunteered from 12-5 in the heat of the day, seen 4-5 other shows in the afternoon, and were pretty beat. The energy at the show was insane, and the 90-minute dance party was something I'll never forget. I left drenched in sweat, most of which wasn't even mine. Trust me, it was awesome.


Honorable Mention: Al Green. Seeing this legend perform at Bonnaroo's main stage with thousands of adoring fans singing along to his biggest hits (Let's Stay Together, How Can You Mend a Broken Heart) is one of my fondest memories. During "Let's Stay Together" a guy about 10 yards away got down on one knee and proposed to his girlfriend. She said yes, and the crowd erupted in cheers with strangers taking pictures left and right. Al Green's soulful crooning felt just right in the hot June air. No one could wipe the smiles off their faces.

Best Surprises: We caught the end of the Grace Potter and the Nocturnals set. They put on a great show with the entire band playing different parts of the drum kit at once at one point. I'd heard them on the radio a few times, but their soul-infused classic rock sound was so much more impressive live. Here's a band who loves to perform, has a great stage presence, and made me appreciate how great it is to come across bands for the first time in concert.

Phoenix- I'd heard only a little of this band, and had to really make myself show up to their 11:30 set after an exhausting day. Thank heavens I did because it was one of my favorite shows of the whole weekend. They sounded incredible, and with everyone dancing and singing along, I kept thinking of how much I'd have missed if i was asleep in our tent.

What to know about volunteering: I'd think very carefully before you do. Overall the experience wasn't an entirely negative one. I was fortunate enough to get good shifts, and didn't miss a single show I really wanted to see.However, standing on my feet in the broiling sun, with little opportunity for breaks or shelter really affected the rest of my days. For a lot of the time, I was exhausted. It didn't stop me from seeing any shows; I came 1200 miles to see these bands, and I wouldn't miss them just because I was sunburned, my feet were swollen, and I felt like I might fall down.

But do be warned that if you plan to volunteer, bring plenty of water, get plenty of rest at night, and come knowing that your schedule is non-negotiable, and you could miss plenty of acts you really want to see. Also be prepared that the volunteer management is pretty poorly run. When you have 1600 volunteers, double the usual number, delays are to be expected, but we did have to wait a few hours to check in (some unlucky ones got sent to Wal-Mart to camp for the night), and orientation took a couple hours longer than it should have. I wouldn't volunteer again unless I HAD TO GET TO BONNAROO and didn't have the funds to do it without a free ticket.

What to expect if you go: Expect to be hot and uncomfortable sometimes, but not all the time. Prepare for the heat. Make sure to pack several different pairs of comfortable shoes. You will be walking or on your feet 18 hours a day. Bring enough food to feed yourself at camp for four days. Baby wipes are also helpful accessories. You will be dirty.

Expect to meet the kindest, most friendly group of people you'll ever see in one place. Strangers will high-five, hug, and smile at you. We were thanked a few different times by strangers for our efforts in volunteering to help promote sustainability. Expect to have the time of your life. Bring people you love because it makes the experience perfect. Expect to feel euphoric at every great show. Relax and let the rhythm of the music pulse through you like a heartbeat.

In the comments: have you been to Bonnaroo or anything like it? Tell me about it!

Songs that make your heart sing: Bonnaroo edition

Hey everyone, I'll have a Bonnaroo rundown coming up later today or tomorrow, but for now I want to tide you over with an edition of Songs that Make Your Heart Sing, featuring a bunch of my favorite songs I saw at the festival. Usually the STMYHS feature is reserved for songs that are exclusively lyrically happy and upbeat but I'll make an exception because seeing these performed live over the weekend was incredible. Live versions are embedded when available in good quality!

"Lisztomania" by Phoenix:


The Charging Sky by the universally admired Jenny Lewis!:


"Impossible Germany" by Wilco:


"Southern Point" by Grizzly Bear:


"Our Life Is Not a Movie but Maybe" by Okkervil River:


"Crane Wife 3" by The Decemberists:

Hi, is this gas station clothing optional?

It is impossible for me to talk enough about how much I love Habitat for Humanity. I took my first week-long Collegiate Challenge trip my sophomore year to Eastman, Georgia and had the time of my life. The people I've met on Habitat trips, whether from the SU volunteer group, or the members of the local community and H4h affiliate, are always the most delightful. A week bonding with new people, doing something good, meeting local homeowners, and working up a sweat is my idea of a perfect vacation. It is oddly freeing to let your mind wander away from textbooks and deadlines and focus on a particular, unfamiliar task at hand. I always chuckle finding skills I never knew I had (roofing!) and the things no one should ever allow me to do again (using a nail gun--my inner Terminator took over when I mistook it for an automatic weapon and fired four nails into one hole).

Last week I spent my spring break in Palm Beach, Florida working on a 27-home build. So much happened, I can't possibly recount it all (though you can read some of my play-by-plays on Twitter). We know I love a good list, so I'll recount some of the top highlights and lowlights for you here.

HIGHLIGHTS
- I took my first H4h trip all by myself. Quite the leap of faith, but I made some great friends and was happy to throw myself out of my comfort zone. But this trip was extra special because it was my senior year, and I went with one of my best lady friends, Paige. We grew even closer (5.a.m. heart-to-hearts through torrential rain in North Carolina), but also let each other be alone long enough to harass new people into being our friends. I had a great time with you, boo!


- You may find this impossible to believe, but the car rides are some of my favorite parts. By the end of them, you can recite the complete dating history, favorite childhood pets, and social security numbers of all of your fellow carmates. Long car rides breed intense intimacy. However, they also breed a little bit of insanity. Somewhere between New York and Florida, I thought it would be HILARIOUS to deem everything clothing optional. Libraries? Clothing optional. Starbucks? Only if it's topless. Habitat work sites? Soooo clothing optional. This was one of the week's catchphrases, and I immediately gained a reputation as being the group's biggest creeper. Which is okay. I would typically be the last person to suggest group nudity, but you know? Sometimes it could be fun. I got some people to disrobe, and fun was had by all.

-Related highlight: Tuesday, after a lobster dinner, we all hit Palm Beach for a night on the town. At the beginning of the night, on a whim, I asked a bartender if the bar was clothing optional. He said "Absolutely, it's encouraged," and the new dress code was announced over the microphone three times. Cha-ching. People went buck wild; dancing on bars ensued, booty contests galore, strange cougars macked on our SU boys. Paige and I just stared in disbelief. These people came to party.

-New construction skills! Our work site was extra special because several houses were in different stages of completion, so we were assigned a variety of tasks. We framed the walls of an entire house, fastened tar paper on its roof, shingled another, gave one nearly completed house three coats of interior paint, and laid sod and planted trees. So many new skills to add to my resume.

- Beach. Ocean temps were in the 70s. The weather all week was heavenly, dry and sunny in the lower 80s. We went to the beach almost every day after work, and played board games, Bananagrams, and ultimate frisbee. Small buzzkill: whenever I play a sport, I assume the mindset of a 300-pound toothless rugby player, so I got some ferocious sandburn scrapes from diving (okay, and a little falling). All the beach time made this trip feel much more like a real vacation than my past trips.


-Cuse games. We watched all four games that week, including the incredible, heart-attack-inducing UConn game. We were absolutely beat after long days of building and beaching, but sipping a mojito in an outdoor bar and watching the Orange make us proud was the perfect end to the day.

(Edited to add)- Becoming a local celebrity. Monday night, on our way home form a Marlins/Tigers spring training game, I got pulled over for the first time ever. Quite the blow to my ego, but earlier in the day, we had been featured on the local news while we were working at the re-store. The officer recognized us from the broadcast and let me go with a warning!

LOWLIGHTS

No church dinners! One of the reasons my GA trip was so meaningful was because of our interaction with the community there. One night the ladies at the local church cooked a huge meal for us. We learned about them, their town, and the Habitat affiliate. We spent time with the homeowners of the house we worked on, and heard their stories. I'll never forget how sincerely grateful they were to us, and the disbelief in their eyes as they watched strangers put their house together, just because we wanted to. We had similar experiences in Louisiana when we met people displaced by Katrina, and ate dinner every night with volunteers at the church where we stayed. Unfortunately we didn't meet any homeowners this time, and I missed the focus on getting to know the community we came to serve.

Lack of participating in state park activities! We stayed in Jonathan Dickinson state park (read a creepy story from the park's history here), and they have hiking and biking trails, horseback riding, and loads of wildlife (our group saw an armadillo...ew). Alligators are frequently seen in the river, where you can canoe and kayak. Paige and I wanted to go, even if we were sortofkindof terrified, especially after we were told that a little boy was eaten a few years earlier. We ran out of time and never got to canoe, and I never got to see an alligator. The siren song of the Jupiter beaches just drew us back day after day, and I loved every minute of it.

I could go on forever, but I'm sure you're all sick of hearing me talk nonstop about Habitat. But for any of my legions of readers who have time left in college, take a trip with Habitat. These trips are my favorite things I've done at SU, and they'll be yours too. Promise.

O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of graaaiiinnn

Our impending graduation has caused me to think an awful lot about my future lately. I might use the phrases 'existential crisis', 'anxiety attack', or perhaps 'crippling self-doubt' to describe my state of mind on any given day. One of the decisions I've been mulling over is whether to pursue the whole journalism thing, or head more toward the non-profit "save the world" side of things. For a variety of reasons, at this point, I see myself doing more with my policy studies degree than my magazine journalism one. A few days ago, Maureen Dowd's column affirmed my horror at the current state of job opportunities with the media.

You should read it, but I'll summarize for the word-weary or functionally illiterate. Basically, Pasadena Now, a lifestyle and news site in California, outsourced ALL OF ITS REPORTERS TO INDIA. I thought maybe it was a dinky site, and the outsourcing only meant that Indians would be surfing the Web, compiling event listings for the peeps in Pasadena. NOPE. It's a pretty legit site, and now, all of the stories are written by Indians, using Web searches and telephone reporting. Pardon me? I thought the whole point of city/regional sites, papers, and magazines was to give readers an insider's guide to where they live, dispensed by people who live there. But apparently you can provide that perspective from any corner of the globe?

I don't stand a chance.

Think I'm being pessimistic? Maybe. But two weeks ago I read this article, which says children of Indian parents, who moved their families to the States for more opportunities, are now going back to India. Because that's where the jobs are. To give you an idea, a quote from the article: "Exact data on émigrés working in India or spending more time here are scarce. But this is one indicator: India unveiled an Overseas Citizen of India card in 2006, offering foreign citizens of Indian origin visa-free entry for life and making it easier to work in the country. By this July, more than 280,000 émigrés had signed up, according to The Economic Times..."

Okay.

So what does this mean for me? India here I come. Although, maybe now isn't really the best time. Oooh, what about China? It's the future!! No, there's that whole censorship thing. I don't know how kindly they would take to my outspoken diatribes.

Maybe there's another solution. I have always been fond of harkening back to the days of the Depression and riding the rails. There's a lot of country out there to see people, and it's about time we took a look. I might look rather fetching with oil smudges on my face, and rocking a little Newsies outfit. And it really is about time I went farther west than New Orleans. Who's with me?

Showering, manners, and other advice for commuters

Yesterday, The Boston Globe ran a story about the the MBTA announcing a courtesy campaign for riders of the trains and subways in and around Boston. They hope that posting signs with cheery slogans like "Don't be a lout, let them out," or "Don't Drone on the Phone" will keep people from being assholes on public transit.

I spent much of the afternoon yesterday reading the comments that Bostonians left on the article-- ranging from uplifting stories about people offering seats to those who needed them more, to incredible ones about someone's dog defecating in a subway car, the owner refusing to pick it up. I should say that I find most commuters to be quite reasonable, but the trains have become more crowded lately, and some problems have arisen. Last night, on the train home, there were two passengers sitting in a three-person seat. A third guy came along and asked to sit down, and the guy in the middle, stood up, huffed and puffed, gathered his things and muttered "asshole," loud enough for everyone to hear. I said to the guy who wanted a seat, "How dare you, thinking you could fit three people into a three-seater?" He smiled, but I could tell he was shaken. In an effort to improve relations for everyone involved, here's a top 10.

Top 10 Tips for T Transit- Put a Little Love In Your Heart

10. Everyone take a shower. I've spent more than one nasty subway trip with my nose stuffed into some guy's rancorous armpit. Do us a favor and work up a good lather before you think about subjecting me to your natural musk.
9. Babies have every right to ride the subway! But parents, if your precious cherub has a stroller in which I could comfortably recline my 5'8" frame, please collapse it before you board.
8. Please move aside so I can grab onto the poll (insert crass joke here). The T drivers are notorious for slamming on their breaks and sending passengers flying, and I am notorious for having less balance than Janet Jackson. Unless you want me to end up on top of your baby, or sending one of my bony elbows into your jaw, please don't wrap yourself around the pole like you're jonesing for a dollar bill.
7. If someone is old, pregant, disabled, or just looks like they need the seat more than you, get up. On more than one occasion I have seen a pregnant woman almost topple over while the subway sways, and old people stand politely for 7-8 stops while an entitled BU student sits and blares his iPod loud enough for everyone to hear.
6. If you cough, sneeze, or hack on me, I reserve the right to do the same to you, or at least punch you in the kidneys.
5. Move into the damn car. Lately people have been standing immediately inside the doors and refusing to move further into the train. You are not going to miss your stop if you stand more than six inches away from the door. On more than one occasion, I've stepped off the train to let people off, only to be cut off by those people getting on, and left on the platform waiting for the next train.
4. Note to the T drivers, it is not appropriate for you to say you "don't know," when a tourist asks you how to get some place. You should know. Or at the very least, go to the subway map and help them find out. You are paid to know. It is really your only function.
3. Take your backpack off. If you slam me in the abdomen one more time with your text-book laden parcel, I'll be forced to do the same to you. But with a knife.
2. Perfume. This is a big issue for me. I am allergic to probably 80 percent of women's perfumes. If they don't succeed in making my face blotchy, nose runny and eyes coke-addict red, they at least make me sniffly and uncomfortable. I know I can't tell you not to wear any perfume but maybe, given the fact we're going to be together in a small train car for a 50-minute commute, you could limit yourself to three spritzes or fewer, and bring some along in your tote for later.
1. Put your cell phone away. Last week on the train home, I heard a man on the phone with his bank or credit card company, who charged him after he had canceled an account. I was privy to his 30-minute rantings to a poor associate, as well as when he threatened a lawsuit and demanded all of the tapes of his conversations and copies of his records from a manager. I must admit I was interested by the conversation, but I think the napping people around me were not impressed. Save financial issues, messy breakups, and everything else for later when you can rant and rave in private. Or else I might blog about the gritty details.

Something I don't remember from AP history

I just finished reading The Heretic's Daughter, a first effort by Kathleen Kent. It turned out to be, by far, the best historical novel I've read since Sarah Plain and Tall. And I hold that book in HIGH ESTEEM, people. Kent's book takes place during The Salem Witch Trials, a subject many of us are familiar with, and one which has the potential to grow stale quickly when revisited in fiction. But Kent makes the trails an entirely personal affair, telling the story through the imagined words of Sarah Carrier, daughter of Martha Carrier, who was hanged for being a witch. It's a searingly intimate portrayal of one of the most incredibly times in U.S. history.

But this is not a book review. Instead! I have to pass onto you a piece of information I gleaned during a tour of the Witch History Museum in Salem this weekend, which was only enriched by reading Kent's book and having all of that witchy scandal still saturating my brain.

Cotton Mather, famed Puritan minister, was partly responsible for starting and perpetuating the mass hysteria and utter craziness that culminated in the deaths of nineteen innocent people. He was, by all accounts, a full-time, first-class freak show. In fact, he routinely dug up the bodies of dead, deformed babies, convinced they were the work of Satan, and displayed them in his lab as proof of such. (If you think I'm being unfair, you can read some of Mather's side, here).

Anyway, interestingly enough, Cotton Mather's pappy, Increase Mather (Increase? Not a typo!), was the first American-born President of Harvard University! His tenure was somewhat marred by controversy, but Cotton enrolled without issue when he was 12, and graduated with an M.A. at 18. He eventually become a fellow at Harvard, and according to tour guides at the Witch History Museum, despite his greatest wishes, was never considered for President because of his loathsome reputation once the Trials were deemed ridiculous and unfair.

Bitter and scorned, Mather's next actions bring a whole new aspect of delight to the greatest Ivy League rivalry in the U.S.

Mather saw potential in a school in Connecticut, one which he hoped, unlike the increasingly liberal lost cause Harvard (*cough*theydidn'twantyou*cough*), could become a haven for the Puritan religion. He contacted wealthy businessman Elihu Yale, and convinced him to make a substantial donation, and to change an existing college's name to Yale University (it had previously been known as the College at Saybrook and various other names, until it moved to New Haven).

So. There you have it. Harvard wouldn't take crazy Cotton Mather, so he went and essentially founded Yale as we know it today. Next time you get stuck in a conversation about The Ivy League, and don't want to bring up grade inflation again, whip out these tidbits. You are welcome.

This would have been a great story for Wishbone.

Is this my life?

My love for Tyra Banks comes from a very confusing place deep inside my soul. It is an impure love, tinged with dislike and mockery, peppered with genuine admiration and appreciation. It is a love that most cannot begin to fathom.

What's that? Get a grip? Okay, but in the words of one of my traveling companions, Ms. Paige, let's be real. I am a Tyra fan, but not a true Tyra fan. I came to love her out of mocking her, and that is also how I came to arrive at her show. Ashley and I realized that we could apply for Tyra tickets on her Web site. As a joke, thinking we would never actually go, we applied.

A few weeks later, my boy Mike from Tyra called to tell us we had tickets. And so it began, a weeks-long planning extravaganza. We were going to Tyra-- Paige, Katie, Ashley and Me, and oh! it would be glorious. I told everyone I knew, and even the occasional stranger. Weeks in advance, Ibegan wracking my brain for an outfit that was Tyra-worthy. (The Tyra show has a strict dress code that makes one wonder how anyone gets in. Some people who attended our taping clearly did not read the guidelines. Most were subsequently placed in the back rows, where the outfits deemed inappropriate or garish by the Tyra staff, could not be seen by the discriminating eyes of the camera... or Tyra).

After several hours of traveling patiently with my lady friends, we arrived at Tyra's studio in Chelsea. Tyra's studio is immediately next to Martha Stewart's. What a unique pairing those two would make. My mind wandered, imagining the limitless possibilities of a Tyra/Martha friendship.... or showdown? I hope Martha invites Tyra on her show. And I hope she interviews her with the same gumption that she did with Lindsay Lohan, here.

After we stood on a ramp for about an hour, we were shuffled into a waiting room where Tyra propaganda spewed from several 13-inch televisions. But I found it hard to focus on the screens because of all the incredible opportunities to people watch. What an extraordinary cross-section of people that Tyra attracts. There were a multitude of Jersey girls who ranged greatly in their allegiance to traditional Jersey stereotypes. Middle-aged women wander aimlessly and look confused about where they are and how they got there. There is the occasional male companion, who you just know got dragged along by a particularly unrelenting mate. There was a girl dressed all in white who pestered a Tyra staff member for at least fifteen minutes about where she would be seated and whether the staff was concerned that she would detract attention from Tyra (bitch, please).

Fast forward to the good stuff. We are shuffled to the studio in a gargantuan freight elevator, which we learned was used to transport an elephant to Howard Stern six years earlier. Note to Tyra: Invite more Circus animals.

We were seated in prime Tyra-viewing territory. The pink and purple lights cascade over the audience. Smoke from dry ice is flowing out onto the aisle next to us. The audience was instructed to get on their feet, clap like they're bringing back every dead fairy non-believers ever killed, and to scream like wild banshees. So that is exactly what we did.

Tyra emerged, an even more breathtaking spectacle in person. Okay, I said it, a breathtaking spectacle. Ashley was not fully on board with my use of the word ''breathaking" but I am not ashamed that I was quite swept up the appearance Ms. Banks.

The show continued, with Tyra spending much of it perched on the stair immediately in front of our row. We stared in awe and excitement as Tyra employed expert Dr. Braverman to assess the lifestyles of various women on stage and pinpoint the exact age of their death.

Sound morbid? A little farfetched? It is, but show topic was ''When will I die?" and really, you can't expect too much from the Tyra Show. After being presented with a few key facts, the audience would cold-heartedly scream out the name of whichever woman they thought would die first. It felt odd and wrong to predict death dates for relatively healthy, vibrant people, but with Tyra looking on approvingly, any shame I felt quickly evaporated. I was so overcome by the spell of the Tyra Show, there is no telling what else I would have done. Equally spellbound, Ashley even got up and answer a question about why she thought one woman was doomed to a particularly early demise. I certainly hope this makes it into the final cut, however disgruntled that may make her. It'll be a story for the grandkids (which we seem to be accumulating at an ever more rapid pace).

For the last couple of segments, two 100+-year-old were wheeled out to reveal the secrets to a long and healthy life. Both of the old women seemed quite taken by Tyra, one stroking her hair and looking with earnest wonder at the cameras and lights, saying ''I have been all over the world and have never seen anything like this."

Even a woman that has survived two world wars and the holocaust can still be awestruck by the Tyra spectacle. Imagine the wonder that would take place if she took me up on the circus suggestion.

The other woman made her an afghan blanket, which made Tyra tear up, as it was made using same stitch that Grandma Tyra had taught her many moons ago. Ms. Banks proceeded to drape this blanket over her lap, where it remained for the rest of the show. I expect that Tyra will keep this blanket in a special place and wax poetic about it on a ''best of" clips show in the future.

Though we left without so much as a wave or a thank you from Tyra, or even a free goodie under our seats, I couldn't have felt more satisfied. The experience at The Tyra Show was a truly unique one, and made even better by the fact that I got to share it with three other girls who find Tyra as simulatenously wonderful, hilarious and ridiculous as I do.

Riding home in sleepy satisfaction, we people-watched some more on the train. The main attraction: a May-December couple playing vigorous tonsil hockey next to two disbelieving high school girls. In the car we played frustrating games of 20 questions, our brains too swollen with left-over adrenaline from Tyra to come up with simple answers. We arrived home at 12:40am, exhausted but in the best way possible. The 5am wake up call was entirely worth it as we snuggled into our beds. Any day filled to the brim with good friends, Tyra Banks and the many joys of train travel (Katie), can't be much less than perfect.