Last night Andrea and I went to a schmoozy event for Sandra Lee cookbooks at Le Cirque, this fancy pants restaurant on the East Side. Of course we were underdressed and the youngest people there, but we kept to ourselves and chatted it up. Since the event was for a bunch of cookbooks, I arrived with an appetite, expecting excellent food. The satay sticks and crackers with avocado were delicious, but I managed maybe four mouthfuls of food the entire night. I definitely didn't stay thirsty, though - the open bar, and my new good friend Avery the bartender from Milwaukie, Oregon, kept me supplied with Merlot and Godiva liquer-vodka concoctions.

While talking with Avery toward the end of the night, a suit in his 40s started talking to Andrea. Because Avery and I were talking about Oregon ("Oh my gosh the Country Fair," "Portland is the microbrew capital of the world," etc), Suit said that his brother - Billy Crudup - played Pre in "Without Limits."

I've recently come to realize that I have very little idea of what my facial expressions say, and this condition worsens as I drink. Apparently my face said "I'll eat my Nikes before I believe you're Billy Crudup's brother" because Suit whipped out his wallet and threw his license on the table - yep, last name Crudup. (I don't remember his first name.) I was sure that he just happened to have that last name and used the ruse to talk to young ladies at the bar, so I went back to talking about Widmer with Avery.

Today Andrea did some sleuthing and apparently Billy Crudup has an older brother by the name of Tommy who lives in New York. And Billy's photos look remarkably like the Suit. And Suit's email address is something like tcrudup@blahblahblah. Andrea emailed him today in the hopes he replies and signs with his first name (like people usually do) so we can see if he truly is Tommy Crudup.

Looks like I might end up eating my words, with a side of Nikes.

Saturday night, Eric and I headed to Webster Hall in the East Village to see Michael Franti and Spearhead. (http://www.spearheadvibrations.com) We have been listening to his newest CD, Yell Fire, almost nonstop since Mom sent it to him in August for his birthday, so we were pretty stoked. The venue was awesome - we had to climb about 5 flights of steep, narrow stairs to get to a McDonald Theater-y area with two levels and three bars. The opening band, State Radio, was good, even.

But nothing compared to Spearhead! The crowd - about 2,000 people - jumped, danced and sang along the entire time. They played about a 2 hour set, including most of my favorite songs.

But the atmosphere was what really got me. Yell Fire is quite political - but in a very positive way. (Could Spearhead be anything but positive?) Two veterans of the Iraq war got onstage and talked briefly, saying that the best way to support all the troops was to bring them home as soon as possible. The room practically vibrated with enthusiasm and excitement about last week's victories for the Democratic party. Michael's lyrics seemed to make everyone believe that we can all create change. It's hard to describe, but I felt a solidarity - an empathy, mutual understanding, camaraderie, something - with everyone in the hall.

Afterward they finished their show, Michael came out to meet whoever stuck around. He gave people hugs from across the crowd control fence, but then all 6-foot-6 of him hopped over the fence to meet an incredibly short man. I honestly think Michael's dreds were longer than he was tall. Then I got to meet him - he gave me a hug and said he liked my Queen Kong shirt. (Yay Thailand shopping!) Eric and I were so excited about the whole night. We left with a buzz not from the $6 Coors Lights but from the concert's almost tangible energy.

At the merchandise table (Eric bought a shirt), they were giving out blank postcards to send to President Bush in protest of the genocide in Darfur. We can also all sign the online petition at http://savedarfur.org. It was just another example of the feeling of momentum and potential that the night generated.

As Michael says, power to the peaceful.

This morning was beautiful again, just like yesterday but a bit windier. On my walk to the subway, a woman was sweeping - or trying to sweep - all the fallen leaves from in front of an apartment building. The wind whipped up all the leaves, plus a few scraps of paper and a plastic bag, but the woman continued to sweep furiously, trying to corral everything into a dustpan.

A few blocks later, I walked past a woman and she exclaimed, "You're gonna get a speedin ticket goin that fast!" I laughed and she continued: "You must be in a hurry! Such a pretty girl. I love you! You look like Princess Di. I saw Princess Di when she came to Harlem before she died. Princess Di..." And that's all I heard b/c I was walking too fast - I had to catch the subway, after all.

My neighborhood is fabulous, especially in the morning.

I'm feeling much better today. I was a complete mess yesterday, on the verge of tears the whole time. Natalie and Shira brought me Reese's cups. "You don't have to tell us what's wrong," they said, "but eat these. They'll make you feel better." Their sweet thought helped even more than the chocolate.

Today's weather definitely helped my mood. It was about 65 and sunny. I walked through Bryant Park to go to the library, and tons of people were out skating on the ice rink there. I got tons of CDs (Dizzy Gillespie, Vivaldi), DVDs (Whale Rider, Field of Dreams), an audio book (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and two travel books on Northern Italy (T minus 8 days til I leave!!!). I love the library!

What I don't love is sitting inside all day, basking in the glow of my computer. Days like today make it even harder to not run outside and play. This whole being an adult business isn't all it's cracked up to be. Except for the living with the boyfriend part. That bit couldn't be better.

Last night around 2 Erin called me sobbing. She told me that our friend Amelia had died. When we were all living in the dorms (Erin and Amelia lived across the street from me in Hamilton), Amelia had trouble being tired all the time and bruising easily. After some scary tests and a misdiagnosis for mono, she was diagnosed with leukemia.

She spent the next four years undergoing different treatments, including stem cell transplants. Sometimes the treatments seemed to work - Erin said that just last month she was doing well and they thought the chemotherapy was helping. She spent those years in and out of the hospital, sometimes living at Sacred Heart or in Portland for weeks. She tried to continue her anthropology classes but sometimes had to focus completely on treatment.

Amelia and I didn't hang out that often. I'd run into her at the Rec Center or on 13th or at the EMU and we'd chat - about tons of things, not just her illness. She never let the cancer consume her life.

I still remember the first time I saw her without hair. She was wearing a hat and took it off the second I saw her, showing me her beautiful bald head. She seemed vulnerable and stronger than ever at the same time. She kept her hair short after that - I don't know if it never got a chance to grow back between treatments of if she preferred it that way. I loved her soft, mousy-brown hair.

I can't remember a time I saw Amelia depressed or overwhelmed. I'm sure she had those moments - probably many. But she had a way of putting everyone around her at ease, making them feel better about her situation - as if she wanted to comfort us. I will always remember her best at the On The Rocks Friday concerts in the amphitheater. She knew every song by heart and sat in the front rows with a huge grin on her face.

I can't believe that I've lost a friend. I'm not even 23, and people my age aren't supposed to die. I can't even imagine what this loss is like for her closest friends, her boyfriend and her family. I now have a slightly - slightly slightly - better idea of what my mom has had to do so many times since being diagnosed with cancer a decade ago. I still can't imagine what she went through having to say goodbye to the many women who supported her during her battle, and whom she supported during theirs.

It's not fair.

But like Amelia, I refuse to become lost in my anger, to seek someone or something to blame. I feel so incredibly grateful that I knew her and that I am lucky enough that she influenced me. Even the pain and fear Amelia must have felt couldn't conquer her loving spirit and bubbly personality. I don't know what I believe happens to us after death, but I somehow can't shake the feeling that her energy - her determination, her compassion, her love of life - remain here even though her body is gone. What I do know, though, is that we all lost something yesterday. The world won't ever be the same.

I'll miss you, Amelia.

Eric and I spent the weekend in Michigan for a whirlwind family visit - to Eric's friends, brother and sister-in-law, 3-week-old nephew Keegan, parents, Aunt Mary, cousin Ashley and grandparents (plus Lucky and Bandit - two black cats - and Hunter, Meghan's chocolate lab). All the trip was missing was a partridge in a pear tree.

Keegan is the cutest little peanut on the planet right now, somehow even cuter than Petra's (art director at Self) newborn girl, Momo. He's just over 6 pounds and his facial expressions are so complex and varied that I'm pretty sure he's destined to act on Broadway. If those don't wow future casting directors, his voice surely will. When he was not happy with his bath, he let us all know with a warbling scream that sounded like a goat sitting on an off-balance washing machine. Anything that kid does is adorable.

I feel so comfortable around and accepted by Eric's family. I love how Meghan completely opened up to me, how Chad pushes me around even though I'm inches taller than him, how Grandma gives me super-long hugs and confides that Eric and Chad are her favorites grandkids. The weekend definitely made me miss my own family even more than before.

The weekend also served as sort of a reality check. I've been living in Manhattan for about 4 months now and have left the city twice - during my second weekend here to NJ for a barbeque, and two weekends ago to Harriman St. Park for a day trip in the forest. Being in suburbia and the country reminded me that yes, other places do exist - places where you can take a huge breath of cold, clean air, places that are quiet. That realization made me miss small-town Eugene with its rivers and hiking trails and trees and sleepy streets.

But this morning I woke up and took a walk and rode the subway to work, just like normal. Times Square didn't seem any more overstimulating than usual, and I didn't even get impatient when my subway train broke down. Cul-de-sacs and tree-lined streets are lovely, but they can't get me the universe's best dumplings for $2.00 or tile murals on subway walls or world-class opera for free or the diversity of this ever-changing metropolis.

For the time being, at least, New York is my home.

Yesterday at work I was chatting with Natalie, who had gotten a manicure/pedicure the previous day. They did her nails and toenails at the same time, which was apparently not relaxing and took some maneuvering to prevent her trashy magazine from sliding off her lap into the foot tub. I mentioned that I've never gotten a mani or pedi and everyone in the photo department was shocked. I explained that a fear of getting someone else's flesh-eating fungus kept me away, but also that I don't really like polish on my nails. I've painted my nails and toenails maybe 5 times in the last 5 years or so.

"Are you granola?" Natalie asked. (She's one of my favorite people in the office by far, by the way.)

I'd never been asked that before, having grown up with people who wear hemp chokers and eat carob brownies. So I eloquently said, "Um, I don't know."

"Well where did you grow up?"

Only the biggest hippie reserve on the planet: "Eugene, Oregon." (Side note: When I was flipping through old Self issues, I came across an article about loving your naked body, and they included quotes from readers about what they'd do if they loved their naked bodies. One was from a Eugenean who talked about how women walk around topless in the city. Represent!)

Here Rebecca, the photo intern, joined in. "Do you own a pair of Tevas?" As if Tevas are the deciding factor of granola-ness.

"Of course I do. I practically grew up on the river."

"You're definitely granola," they concurred. Guilty as charged.