Micki came recommended through my buddy Dane, "she'd be a great model, she was the one wearing knee socks at my birthday party," so one long exchange on MySpace later, there I was, getting lost in Hollywood because I relied on my iPhone to guide me, instead of just looking it up in my Thomas Guide.

But I got there, found her waiting for me on the porch.

Cue awkward scene of me putting out my hand to shake, and her shaming my formality with a hug.

And couldn't have been more fun. First time a new model was up for costume changes, and I thank her for her patience while learned to use my new camera in front of her.

Ah, but you don't want to hear about me, you want to know, does she prefer record or CD, which radio station does she listen to, what does she do for a living. IS she single.

Record.
NPR.
Marketing.
No.

Oh sure, I thought Kind of Blue on the record player might be a ploy to intimate depth, but a quick look at her formidable record collection confirmed that she had excellent taste in music. I didn't have the heart to tell her that, because of a childhood Pavlovian association, listening to jazz, much as I like it, puts me right to sleep.

Anyone who likes NPR is okay in my book.

Yes, marketing, but she wants to make documentaries. AND be a teacher.

How can one still have such dreams? She's 22.

At 22 I was going to be a sculptor. But I didn't have a degree or have the ability to play both competitive dodgeball and volleyball. Jealous of her boyfriend yet? You should be.

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