I'm leaving early today, to meet husband and daughter at the movies. We're going to see "Return of the King" again, at last.
Bunny had never seen the first two installments until recently. She couldn't make it past the opening scene of "Fellowship", with the v. scary orcs and the pitched battle. But a few weeks ago she waded in again, and loved it. Loved it so much, she complained bitterly about the end of the first movie. "That's it? That's the end? But Frodo didn't get rid of the ring! An' what about Saruman? What about all the bad guys?!?" For two days, it was gripe gripe gripe about the cliffhanger ending. Nothing we laughingly said about it being only the first installment cheered her up.
As soon as possible, we started "Two Towers". At the end, though now quite sophisticated about this whole cliffhanger business, she still griped. ("Sam will kill him if he tries anything!") (OK no, she didn't say that. She actually said, "I don't think Gollum is as nice as he says he is! And who's this 'she' that's going to trap them?")
So. You can understand, it's not that we want to see it again. We have to go for her sake.
Update: In case you've forgotten, THAT. MOVIE. ROCKS. It is utterly fantastic, and if it doesn't win biiig at the Oscars, then there's no hope for spiritual redemption for the entire Academy. I mean, the sheer physical labor of putting that thing together should be worth two or three statues alone.
Bunny loved it, too. It's her new favorite movie series (supplanting the great Indiana Jones series, so you know she's serious). But I'm afraid 3 1/2 hours is a little long for a 7 year-old to be expected to sit. We missed Denethor's meltdown while stretching our legs in the lobby.
Me: Denethor really needs a nap, doesn't he?
Bunny: M-O-M! He's just crazy, that's all.
This list, at Tequila Mockingbird, made me laugh more and more the farther I read. Could totally relate, Julie. Though these days, I don't have the luxury of letting the normal levels of crap accumulate on the floor of my car - I routinely give rides to People I Must Not Disgust.
When I was fresh out of college, I had a boss who liked to mind my business with regard to my car and other off-limits areas. He had decided I was a bright enough employee, but what I needed was a mentor. I don't know what that word means to you, but apparently in his little Management Handbook, page 11, "mentor" meant "nosy interfering chowderhead".
One day, during an otherwise sensible business-related conversation, I got this helpful advice:
Mentor: Bean, I noticed your car in the parking lot today. Subaru, isn't it?
Bean: Yes! [My first car, how I lurved it so.]
Mentor: Good car. But then I noticed you have all this junk inside. Coke cans, food wrappers, cassette tapes, clothes ...
Bean: Well ... [I was torn between wanting to be embarrassed and mad. I was rather proud of the Coke can collection, in that when I flung the empties over my shoulder from the driver's seat, most had cleared the back seat and landed in the hatchback. But did he notice my great aim? Huh? No, he did not. Plus, I fully intended to drive to a recycling center soon. Picture me efficiently scooping all the empties from the hatchback into the bin! Ten seconds, in and out, tops! Mentor obviously lacked vision and tact.]
Mentor: [stern but kindly, see page 12] Remember, Bean, one's car is a reflection of one's personality. A messy car gives a bad impression about one's management skills. You don't want to give a bad impression, do you?
Bean: No sir! [Resolved to park farther away from the building in the future.]
The results of my daily quiz:
And these people should know: they are the self-professed No Pants experts.
My question - and I think I've posed it on many a blog this week - is: if a woman puts on a pair of boxers, don't they become, sorta like, pants?
These and other philosophical couture questions may have to be settled on May 7. I sure hope my boss understands.
[via many cheerful souls; most recently Random Thinks]
Did you see this from TypePad?
Because the sluggishness of the last 24 hours is not up to our standard of service for TypePad, we'll be crediting all TypePad accounts with 3 free days of service. If you're a trial user, your trial will be extended by 3 days; if you're a paying subscriber, your billing date will be extended by 3 days. This credit will take place depending on your status (trial versus paying) as of March 5, 2004.
It was the least TypePad could do, to make up for my pain and suffering at not being able to blog much yesterday.
According to Deb Callahan, president of the League of Conservation Voters, which has endorsed Kerry, "We see in John Kerry someone who could be the strongest president on the environment in American history -- this is hardly someone we're settling for! And where has Nader been for the last three years? We've been in the trenches, fighting every day to resist every [wrong] move of the Bush administration. But I haven't seen him up on Capitol Hill doing the hard day-to-day work. Clearly his [presidential bid] is more to make a point than to make a change." [italics added]
Pretty silly of me - When Muffy woke me up to go outside this morning, I looked at the clock and saw it was almost time for the alarm to go off anyway. It wasn't until I started the coffee and fed both dogs that I realized it was 4:30 a.m., not 5:30. Those two numbers look so much alike with no glasses. Well, heck, since the dogs, the coffee and I are all up, we might as well check the blog, right? Because that's what an obsession - er, hobby is for: spending quality time.
Last night was one of my nights alone with Bunny, as BB had choir practice. Right out of the chute - I burn dinner. Ridiculous. Had plopped leftover spaghetti into a pan on the stove, then left it to find a couple more last-minute tax items. Left it. What a rookie move. Came back to the kitchen a few minutes too late, to that peculiarly sweet odor of scorched tomato sauce. Bunny looked up from her homework. (Note to self: teach her how to stir things on the stove soon.) She said, "That doesn't smell like spaghetti, Mom. What's for dinner?" "McDonald's," quoth I.
The next ridiculous thing happened a few minutes later. Grabbed the car key, purse, coats, tax prep folders, locked the door and walked out - without the house key. And I knew what I'd done immediately. All I could do was stand on the porch and laugh. Bunny immediately offered to climb in the outer pet door and see if the inner garage door was locked. It was. And the spare key had been removed from its hiding place a month ago. Whose bright idea was that, anyway? Don't ask.
Well, we could still travel and eat out, so we did. Afterwards we visited the accountant. She listened to our tale of woe, and said she hoped none of this was a portent of bad news on our taxes. - It was!
Afterward, we decided to swing by the house and check for open doors or windows, just in case. BB wasn't due home until 10, and I have only a vague acquaintence with the part of the city where choir practice is held. I guess we could have driven there, and circled the blocks in the area, calling for him, but I think that only works with pets. If then. Pets in the movies, that's who this technique works with.
So Bunny ran around one way, I walked around the front, wondering if there might be a spare key buried in the garden, like in that book. Yes. Long ago, a grieving Lord Craven ordered his house shut up forever, and the key buried in the flower bed. But years later, a beautiful woman in a raincoat discovered ... The doorknob rattled. Bunny opened the door and looked out. "Trouble with your key, ma'am?"
Yaaay, one thing went right at last. Never mind the nagging guilt from letting my daughter walk into the unlocked house alone. What's done is done. Find that wine bottle in the fridge already.
Holy wingnuts! Over 11,000 blogs are registered at Globe of Blogs. Call me naïve, but I had no earthly idea there were so many blogs in the world.
No "beancounter" on there - yet. Difficult to get the registration form to work ...
I'm habitually fifteen minutes late into the office every morning. Every morning, like clockwork, fifteen minutes late. Unfortunately, the idea of correcting this by getting up fifteen minutes earlier, and thus moving the whole scheduled routine ahead by fifteen minutes, hasn't occurred to me yet.
On the way to work, some socialist in an 18-wheeler decided it was bourgeois to continue to occupy his state-mandated truck lane, so he tried to share lanes with many other drivers. The rest of us failed to rally to his radical new ideology.
Still, the commute wasn't nearly harrowing enough, somehow. I sure wish I'd had some porn to view.
OK, OK, no more porn-while-driving jokes.
Now this guy can only go up from here on the dignity ladder! First he's, um, majorly distracted while driving, then he gives a false name to the police when he's arrested ... then he headlines in the News of the Weird worldwide. I bet this experience will revolutionize his life!
Is it me, or is this site looking a little ... austere?
Strictly speaking, the answer is: both. Heh.
Other people are tinkering with their templates. Hate to feel left out. Not a lot of options here in the "Basic" mode, though.
Okay, you have to stop what you're doing and take the Yankee or Dixie quiz you've been hearing about. My score was 47% (Yankee), which they describe as "barely into the Yankee category". I was brought up in the Midwest, but it seems to me there was a southern branch in my family tree. Don't know if that means the test is accurate.