But according to architect/author Steve Mouzon, it's fun!

With his black tee shirt, black blazer, black-rimmed spectacles and sleek bald head, Steve Mouzon looked exactly as I imagined a “new urbanist” would as he approached the podium at TCL last Wednesday night.

But then he started talking.

Slightly stunned, I leaned toward my husband and whispered, “Oh my God. I think he’s southern…”

Sometimes, even I run out of things to say. My husband will beg to differ, but it’s true. Sometimes, I look around and just think, “eh,” and wish to high heaven I didn’t have a deadline dogging me.

This is one of those times. Oh, I have observations, alright. I always have observations. It’s just that I can’t seem to string them together in any coherent, meaningful fashion. As a writer, I see it as my job to make order from chaos. Harmony from discord. A casserole from cream-of-chicken soup, broccoli, and bread crumbs. Right now, the recipe’s just not coming together.

Obviously, I had to see the movie the minute it hit the screen. I’d been giddy with anticipation for weeks, acting much like my 4^th grade daughter in those heady days leading up to Miley Cyrus’ cinematic debut. In my own defense, I’d read the book on the recommendations of people I actually know – my mom, my friend, an old boyfriend from college – not Oprah’s. But still, I was unabashedly one of “those women” – the millions who, for whatever reason, had flocked like twittering birds around “Eat, Pray, Love,” turning Elizabeth Gilbert’s quirky little memoir into a bona fide cultural phenomenon. I hate being part of a cultural phenomenon. But I loved “Eat, Pray, Love.”

And now it was a movie. And I couldn’t wait. I saw it immediately, in my favorite, most delicious way. Alone.