One of the many great things about my dad is that he pretty much constantly takes pictures, which worked out magnificently on Sunday, because now this blog gets to have its first-ever photo essay.

So my parents were visiting Sarah and me in New York this weekend. On my way out the door Sunday morning, I happened to glance into the hallway, which is also the kitchen, and I saw my cell phone. I grabbed it. Good decision.

Wait, I need to pause my Printz story for one second to tell you that Sarah is currently watching The Bachelor while she reads the German philosopher Immanuel Kant, which I believe to be a combination unprecedented in all of human history.

Okay. So after a wonderful visit to the American Folk Art Museum, Sarah and my parents and I started walking down 6th Avenue toward Macy's, because Sarah and I needed to start our wedding registry. And then, on the corner of 36th Street and 6th Avenue, my phone rang:

That's me (and Sarah), right after the phone rang. The voice on the phone has just said something about the Michael L. Printz award, but I couldn't really hear, because New York is loud, and also because something was wrong with the connection. Hence, the finger-on-ear move. The confusion continued for a moment, and Sarah became increasingly curious as to why I was muttering such very nasty things about Verizon's purportedly excellent network:

But then finally Mr. Cart came back on the line and I could hear him clearly. And then:

That picture was taken just after Mr. Cart said, "You are the winner of the 2006 Michael L. Printz Award," and I said, "Holy crap! I won?! Are you sure?" And then Mr. Cart said that he was sure, and then I jumped up and down a lot:

That's me jumping. Then I realized everyone walking on 6th Avenue thought I was nuts, so I calmed down and thanked all the members of the Printz committee while my mom cried:

Dude, Mom is going to be so mad I put that picture of her crying on the Internet. So anyway, then it was time to hang up the phone, hug Sarah, and watch my mom cry some more:

And then, while I blinked, my dad took a picture of Sarah pointing at the object (cell phone) from which the good news had arrived:

I believe at the moment Sarah was saying, "Are you sure they said you WON?" And I was saying, "I mean, I really think so. I asked them several times." And then we went to the store and had a really, really, really wonderful time looking at wine glasses:

In short, it was an awesome, wonderful, super happy, very good Printz Award day, and I'm so, so grateful to the Printz committee.

I, uh, seem to have won it. Wow.

I've been thinking a lot about root canals lately, because when you are in a dentist's chair staring at that dental light and there's a dentist rooting around your mouth with a power tool, it's hard to think about sunshine or lollipops or the universality of hope or whatever.

After all the thinking about root canals, I've come to a couple conclusions about them:

1. They hurt.
2. They are very expensive.

Now generally, I'm opposed to things that are both painful and expensive. Like, concussions. Or preemptive invasions. But there's a silver lining to root canals: Sometimes, while you are getting one, you'll be reading through an issue of Publisher's Weekly, and you'll noticed that you won the Cuffy for Best Novel for Older Teens. Even if you didn't previously know what a Cuffy was (and you didn't), that's the sort of news that will make you smile. And as a result of that smile, you will drool, but your mouth will be so numb that you won't feel the drool until it gets halfway down your neck. And then you'll shudder, because neck drool is disgusting, and your shuddering will cause the dentist to misdrill for one terrible moment.

In short, it is a great honor, the Cuffy. A great and terrible honor.

p.s. Now that Katherines is finished, I cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die promise to blog more.