Vince and Owen

... make a brilliant pair. Wedding Crashers, despite its cheesy and predictable ending, was one of my favorite movies of the summer (actually, it's only one of two that I've seen, but that shouldn't count because it's really funny). And if you like the Vince Vaughn ramble, this is a must see. How does he do that?

I found the film especially hilarious sitting next to KC (that's her in the movie theater bathroom stall with its own sink -- which just makes the rest of us wait longer to pee after drinking very large beverages). She laughs hysterically at every kick in the crotch and borderline inappropriate joke even though she's one of the smartest and most sophisticated people I know. Maybe in my old age I've started to overlook the beauty of such raunchy art forms, but not KC. Her appreciation runs deep.

I Heart Montana

That place calls to me when I'm not there.

And it doesn't help when my sister sends pictures like this one.



Oh, man. That nearly breaks my heart.

But having missed this...



most definitely does.



P.S. I promised to mention that these two usually make quite an attractive pair (but between you and me, I plan to think of them like this anyway).

Doing My Part

I never know what to say when I get asked a question like this: "Would you like to help stop mercury contamination today?"

Hmm.

I know if I say, "Yes. I would. What can I do?" it will take 5-10 minutes of my time and $15-$30 of my money. Not that this isn't a good cause or that my time is more important than cleaning up our environment, but what the college student standing outside my co-op doesn't understand is that I have given a fair percentage of my income to every other volunteer with a worthy cause who stops me to ask if I'd like to help fix our broken, broken world. Who says no to that?

So instead of turning the canvasser down after learning the severity of the mercury problem and doubling my guilt, I say, "No thanks. Not today." As if she just asked on my pro-choice day instead of my cleaner environment day of the week. That doesn't really get me off the hook for not supporting a good cause, but it sure beats answering plain out, "No. I would not like to help stop mercury contamination." Because I would. But for today, the trash I picked up on the way home from the store will just have to be enough.

The Day After

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon and I am sitting in my pjs completing my usual morning coffee and internet routine. The signal that I steal from someone else’s wireless is never as strong at this time of day, but if I wave my laptop around the room a bit, it usually picks it up. This only mildly alters my AM ritual, which is good, because I can’t start the day without it.

I didn’t plan to have a late night that would require me to take a nap in the afternoon hours, but when it’s summer and you don’t have to work on your thesis the next day if you really don’t want to, why stop the fun simply because the sun is coming up?

The answer to that question is probably so that you don’t feel like ass, sitting around grossing yourself out with the sweaters on your teeth at an hour when most people are driving home from a day’s work. But the mind is funny a machine and if I don’t look at any clocks or pay attention to where the light is coming into the apartment, it feels like I have the whole day ahead of me.

Tough Crowd

I wasn't prepared for the blog critics.

Recently, someone suggested that my overuse of pictures is somehow cheating or slacking off.

Maybe. I like to think of it as a shift in style.

Within the same twenty-four hour period someone else suggested that I proof my entries more carefully for spelling and grammatical errors.

Ouch. That one hurt.

As much as I want to please my readers, here's what I have to say:

Tough.

a) I like the pictures, and 2) I am heman.

It's All Over

Finished the latest Harry Potter book last night and now I’m D-pressed. This post-reading melancholy happens every time, but this one is particularly difficult due to much shock and grief experienced in the last chapters. Here’s how I tend to deal with my post-HP-traumatic-stress:

a) Cry. I don’t mean to, but dammit, I’m a weeper.
b) Call everyone I know and leave a message telling them to hurry up with the book already and call me back.
c) Talk to Moviegirl who, thank god, finishes the books before I do. What is 30 peak minutes on the cell phone compared with the agony of not dissecting the book or predicting the next one with another HP enthusiast?
d) Divulge, with permission, the secrets of the book to best girlfriend, jm, who is not an HP reader, but is there for me when I need her and knows to react with the appropriate degree of flabbergastedness (which is not a word, I know).

In the end, it’s probably for the best that the whole experience is over. I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but reading HP books disrupts my sleep.

More than once this week I awoke in the middle of the night and was startled by the light coming from my charging cell phone. Each time I determined that the light was Lord Voldemort waiting to kill me. Shaking that off and reminding myself that I was still dreaming, I determined instead that it wasn’t the Dark Lord, but my own Patronus emerging from the phone/wand – because that makes more sense.

After I shake that off, I trudge to the bathroom and return to my bed only to lie awake for the next ten minutes contemplating the shape of my Patronus. I’d like it to be something elegant like a unicorn or phoenix, but figure it’s probably something clumsier like a monkey. How could anyone sleep before solving this problem?

As much as those dreams make it seem like a good thing to be done reading, I can’t help but feel that I’ve lost something or someone. And I hate that.

Ellie

I was prepared to write about her as the Holy Terror that my parents recently decided to raise, but when she looks at you like this...



it's easy to forget the jumping, chasing, shedding, sniffing, and shouting that have marked my weekend at home.

Instead, I'll remember that Ellie and I both like to watch the rain fall outside the screen door and that she always brings the tennis ball back to me, even when I don't want it any more.

My Republican Father

My sister, Cassie, doesn't drive the most reliable car. Some of the problems stem from the minor improvements that my dad has attempted to make over time. Now the power windows work backwards and the radio doesn't work at all, but those are small compared to the oil leak that might have it broken down on the side of the highway.

My parents worried so much about her driving it out to Montana for the summer that they made her take their own, dependable vehicle instead. This didn't seem like such a huge sacrifice for them to make until I saw my father driving her car today. He's a republican, you see. The only one in the family. I thought that our efforts to bring him to our side weren't working, but he is driving this car to work every day.







The guys at work give him a lot of shit for it too. Either the winds are shifting or he really loves his daughter.