I don't know what we're protesting, but it sure is fun!

A few weekends ago, I was lucky enough to be in Boston for the annual Honk parade and protest. My family and I stood watching the parade for over an hourand toured the festival grounds near the Harvard campus, and I STILL have no idea what the protest was about. If you can decipher from the photos, please feel free to let me know.

The Grand Marshalls were NPR's Click and Clack, the hosts of "Car Talk." Interesting choice, considering most of the parade seemed to be about bikes.

I get frustrated when my kitchen counters are too low, but I don't go parading around about it.
I've totally missed the boat on this one.

Why? For what reason? That's what I want to know, too!
This is where I started to get really confused.

Okay, this makes more sense. Bicycles. Yes. Bicycles are good.

I know there are a lot of war protesters, but this guy seems to be a little late. This is fun. And sparkly!Okay, I think we're getting somewhere.

No matter your political affiliation, this is just clever.

And this is just disturbing.

So, Wyatt, what do you think of your first cross-dressing experience? Yeah, I'm confused too.

More fun with the Leftist Marching Band. What great outfits!

As you can tell, it was a fabulous day. Despite the confusion. I'm looking forward to my next protest. And I think I'm going to invite those really tall chefs!

An Open Letter to My Chest

Dear Twins,

I know winter is fast approaching, and you'll soon be hibernating in thick sweaters and turtlenecks, so I just wanted to run a few thoughts past you both.
First off, thank you for a fantastic summer. I promise a new swimsuit next summer as long as you both promise not to fight for space or anything while you're hibernating.
I'd also like to apologize for using you . I hope you can forgive me, because sometimes you're my only chance to get what I want. Someday, you'll understand.
I know you've been hearing a lot about breast cancer this month. It might be scary, but think of all of the people who are trying to find a cure. Maybe, before you ever become treasonous, there might be a cure. And try to remember that one of the reasons so many of the people we love are diagnosed with breast cancer because doctors are getting so much better at finding it.
Everyone from Victoria to Hugh Hefner tells us that you two define femininity like water defines an ocean. And yeah, when you look good, I feel good, too. But I hope you understand that femininity is not defined by what fills our shirts, but by what fills our hearts. So if you have to leave me at some point, I will understand. But just in case, I'll wear that black dress a little more often, take pictures at the beach and pretend like you're never going to migrate south.
So, before you go into hiding, I'll make you a deal.
I'll make sure to eat better and keep my weight down, always support you properly, and make sure to check on you regularly. If I do all of that, will you please let me know if there's anything wrong and maybe try to stay north of the equator? I think it's a fair deal.
Thanks for listening, girls. I hope you have a terrific, comfortable winter. I'll see you around Valentines Day.
Love,
Mel

Closing Chapter

Note: This blog is not in chronological order. Sorry for the delay.

At Right: Me in one of Ryan Hunter-Reay's cars at Watkins Glen on the 4th of July.

I’ll admit it. I wept like a baby. I’m sure I got more snot on t-shirts and polos of my hugging victims than Slimer achieved in the entire Ghostbuster movie pantheon.

But it was the last one. The last race and I was leaving my friends, my job and what I had come to find as my comfort zone.

If I’ve learned one thing about myself, it is that if I flourish somewhere, you will have to pull me kicking and screaming away from it. Or, in this case, slobbering like a weepy St. Bernard.

And I felt like a valuable person while working at the race track – I understood my role, I generally knew what was going on and I was contributing. All those little things that add up to being successful.

I also met people who understood what it meant to work ridiculous hours for minuscule pay, spending weeks and weeks away from loved ones, and still be happy with their job. I define myself by my work, whether good or bad, and I think I saw a lot of that in my co-workers.

I feel like I’m this close to not having to describe myself as a “freelance journalist.” Which is another reason why the race season ended too soon.

So, I’ll add another line to the resume, send some e-mails, make more phone calls and, when the time comes that I need to move on, I’ll always have the 2008 IRL season.
And I can say, “I worked for ESPN.”