As we're driving down the interstate, a Nirvana song comes on the radio.

"The kids entering high school now weren't even born when Kurt Cobain died," Rob says.

"Really?"

"Well, he died in 1994, right?"

"I think it was my freshman year. So, yeah."

"Fourteen years ago. Nearly half your lifetime."

"That's also when I met you, yo."

"Yup, nearly half your lifetime ago."

I think about who we were then. We're returning home from watching Juno, and so it's perhaps easier than usual to muster a memory of our teenage selves. We were a lot like them - good kids involved in band and sports and sharing a real relationship. We weren't part of the snooty popular crowd and had no desire to be. Somehow we even managed to avoid the typical teenage angst. My recollection of our high school years is of open mic night at the coffeehouse, hikes on warm spring days, and a sense of possibility in the air that was almost palpable. We were naive in so many ways, but we also knew ourselves well and recognized something in each other. I remember we used to long for the day when we'd be grown up and sharing a life together - when we could drive home, together, after a movie.

I look at us now, sitting in this car. Rob's hands are clasping the steering wheel and mine are clutching my suede gloves. Where we are now is what once felt so far away. And suddenly I see that we are undeniably adults. All the evidence is there - the marriage, the mortgage, the two-car garage. But when did it happen? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was writing RIP Kurt on my spiral green notebook, right next to the heart encircling Rob's name?

I gaze out the car window at the unending stretch of road. There are tiny travelers far ahead of us, marked by red, and ones behind us who are penlights of white. And I realize it's been happening all along, while we've been moving. I guess I thought there would be a sign or something, a crossing of state lines, a concrete destination that I would recognize upon arrival.

We pass a tractor trailer and as I watch the continuous roll of its wheels I'm surprised to find my eyes welling up with tears. I search myself for sadness, but there is none. I am just profoundly affected by this moment of realization, of the tangible truth in it. There are mileposts along the way, some more memorable than others, but growing up, and being, and living, is happening all along the way, constant and so gradual that it almost goes unnoticed.

This recipe came about one evening when Rob was in the mood for soup and I wanted to get rid of a bunch of stuff we had in the fridge. He googled some combination of the items in our fridge with "soup" tacked onto the end, and came across a recipe that sounded decent. He adapted it, adding other stuff we had, and the result was delicious.

Driving home from somewhere not long before, we'd been flipping through the stations and came upon John Tesh talking about how to create family traditions. He claimed that just giving something an official name would make it feel to your kids like a tradition, even if you'd never done it before. He said, for example, that you could make some random casserole for the first time but calling it "Aunt Sally's Famous Tuna Casserole" would make it seem special to your kids. You all know I think John Tesh is a crock of shit, but this amused me and so when Rob made this soup the first time, I proclaimed it Rob's Famous Tortellini and Artichoke Soup. Maybe Tesh was onto something, though, because this recipe is quickly becoming a tradition as it is now on regular rotation at our house, changing slightly each time depending on what we have on hand.

Also, Rob cooks like his mom, so all of these measurements are bad estimates at best.

olive oil
1/2 chopped onion
2 tbsp. chopped garlic
4 oz ground Italian sausage
1 can broth (chicken, beef, or vegetable)
1 can diced tomatoes
1 can white beans (garbanzo, great northern, or navy)
3 artichoke hearts, chopped
2 tsp. Italian seasoning
pepper to taste
8 oz. cheese-filled tortellini, uncooked

First sauté Italian sausage, onion, and garlic in olive oil. Then add all ingredients to saucepan and boil until tortellini is cooked.

(For the crockpot: Sauté Italian sausage like above, then add all ingredients but tortellini to the crockpot and cook on Low for at least several hours. For last hour, add tortellini and cook on High.)

Makes 4 servings

Everyone is buzzing about the death of Heath Ledger, and the media coverage is completely rankling me. Every time there's a new detail released, it gets splashed around in headlines that, the very next day, are proven wrong. "Heath Ledger found facedown and naked on his bedroom floor!" (Oh wait, he was actually in bed.) "Sleeping pills scattered around Heath's apartment!" (Oh wait, they weren't scattered, actually. They were on his nightstand and in his medicine cabinet.) "Rolled-up 20-dollar bill found in Heath's apartment with traces of white powder!" (Oh wait, the bill was clean. No illegal drugs were found.)

Entertainment reporters (if you can call them that) are the worst, but even legitimate news organizations get into it. I hate how the media spreads all sorts of rumors before any actual truth comes out. Since his death, news reports have been suggesting (sometimes outright, sometimes with strong hints) that he overdosed - maybe intentionally, maybe accidentally. But we don't even know yet if drugs were involved in his death! Sure, he owned sleeping pills. He also suffered from insomnia, which he was very open about. Why do we immediately assume he died from an overdose? Initial reports were that he had pneumonia, too. Not sure if that's true, either, but why do we leap for the idea that he overdosed and ignore the possibility that he might have had a health emergency?

A better question is why are we making wild speculation at all?! Oh right, because scandal sells. How honorable. This isn't news - it's rumor. And by spreading it, we disrespect the person who died, not to mention his family and friends who have to endure all these claims before anything is confirmed.

I realize that given his age, Ledger's death is mysterious. And it may turn out that the official findings show he did die of an OD. Frankly, it's none of our business, but I hope the cause, whatever it may be, is announced soon - so he will no longer be a tabloid target and can actually rest in peace.

My brother and I are talking on the phone, and I am laughing. He has called to ask me a Jeopardy! question, to see if I know the answer. (I don't.) "That's all I needed," he says, but neither of us say goodbye and half an hour later we are still chatting, moving easily from topic to topic. We're different in a lot of ways, in our interests and beliefs and approach. And yet we are made of the same stuff; we share the same genes and the same history. And so we are similar in fundamental ways. I'm reminded of this in the way the rhythm of his speech is like mine, and in the way our conversation jumps ahead, skipping unnecessary sentences because we're already on the same page, thinking the same thing. If we both live to be old, we will have known each other longer than anyone else in our lives.

Little did I realize, when I used to squeeze my little brother's wrist until he cried, that he would someday become one of my closest friends.

my brother being back from a 2-week trip to Australia - I missed him

Sunday evening while Rob and I were watching the Giants game, there was a commercial for the show that would be coming on next: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. As we watched, Rob wondered, "Why do the overly dramatic shows always follow football games? I guess because they know people will be sitting around after the game, and they'll get sucked in."

"Yeah, I guess," I replied. "Some people will watch anything." He murmured in agreement, and we sat in silent judgment of America and its indiscriminate taste in television.

The game ended, and I hopped up to do a few things before bed. Rob stayed in the living room and flew his remote control helicopter. The tv was still on, although neither of us was watching it. From the kitchen, I could hear the show beginning, and it sounded just as ridiculous as the commercial had suggested. Very high drama, very low believability. Not to mention the robots. I distinctly remember rolling my eyes at it.

So imagine my surprise when I walked into the living room to find Rob sitting at the edge of the sofa, still clutching his helicopter controller, and staring intently at the tv. I watched the show for a moment, just to confirm that it was total crap. It was. But Rob continued to watch for the entire hour, utterly compelled by what he was seeing on the screen.

Monday evening during dinner, Rob somehow brings the show into the conversation. "Dude," I say, chuckling. "That show is total shit. I have no idea why you were watching it."

"Do you want me to tell you about it?" he asks, a bit too eagerly.

"Not really," I say. Then, when he looks disappointed, I relent. "Okay, fine."

"Okay, so there's this woman, Sarah Connor. And the show begins with her burning down a lab. And when she is interrogated about it, she says that she had to do it because there are robots from the future trying to kill her son."

"Robots from the future?" I interject incredulously. "And at this point you decided to keep watching?"

"Um, yeah." He laughs, before continuing with the plot for several minutes. Soon he gets to the scene in the classroom in which the substitute teacher is actually a robot dude, and shoots at Sarah Connor's teenage son, John. "John escapes, but most of the kids in the class get shot. Including this one girl who had befriended him earlier. But then! The robot catches up with John in the parking lot, and he has his gun aimed right at John, but then at the last second somebody saves him by ramming a truck into the robot dude! And turns out it's the girl who befriended him! She was shot in the chest back in the classroom, but somehow here she is! Because...she's a robot, too. Only she's here to help protect him."

"Wow. And at this point, you STILL kept watching?!"

"Yes. But - and I'm a little ashamed to admit this - it might partly have been because the two women are pretty hot."

"Which women?"

"Sarah Connor, and the girl at the school."

"That girl is, like, 16," I tease. "You realize you're nearly twice her age."

"Thank you for that."

"In fact, it's probably illegal for you to think she's hot."

"Whatever. I'm sure the actress is actually 25 or something."

And then he tells me all about when John and this girl travel to the future. (Travel to the future?! I mean seriously, people!) It seems they can't take anything with them, not even their clothes, and so they arrive at their destination completely naked. This just might be the worst excuse ever in the history of television to show some skin, but Rob relays it to me as if it isn't completely bizarre. There might even be a touch of awe in his voice.

"Is there not enough hotness in your life," I ask, "that you need to watch what is without a doubt terrible television in order to get a glimpse of a good-looking woman?"

"No, it's not that. I'm just saying the show is cast well," he says with a grin.

Yeah, nice save. But I feel betrayed - not as a wife, but as an English major. I thought he knew better, you know? I thought he could tell the difference between solid, worthwhile writing and the kind that is cheap and meaningless. I don't care how beautiful a woman is, there is no excuse for succumbing to a shitty storyline.

So I'm a Giants fan now. Right after I decided to start following football, JLD and HFD invited us over to watch a game. It was Redskins vs. Giants, and I chose to cheer for the Giants because 1) I select sports teams based on cities, and New York is my favorite and 2) I find the name 'Redskin' offensive, frankly, and 'Giant' is much cooler anyway because it's from folklore and stuff.

Then for Christmas my brother gave me a Giants jersey. He doesn't like that team, but he apparently finds the idea of me as a football fan hilarious (which it is) and wants to encourage it, if for no other reason than his own amusement. So I'm officially a Giant now. And the fact that they could end up at the Super Bowl has me sincerely excited about this sport, which is completely odd and unexpected, much like if John Kerry were to confess to watching NASCAR.