Letters to Holly

Monday, June 25

Go, Team Venture

I rented two films for the weekend, Nacho Libre and Children of Men. Nacho is a kids film, through and through, complete with random fart sound effects. Mildly disappointed with this one. I decided later that Children of Men looks like something Your Sis might like; I put off watching it until she got back.

I mowed on Saturday, cleaned up, and hit downtown. I perused the library periodicals, paid the water bill, tried unsuccessfully to order a coffee behind a pack of elderly tourists (suddenly we're swarming with them), strolled an art gallery featuring works by my first painting teacher, and bought lawnmower sparkplugs and peppercorns. When I got home, I vacuumed the house, cleaned the stove (gas ranges get very messy, much to my surprise), did the laundry, and composted the old leftovers. I'm so fucking domestic.

I rewarded myself by watching the Season One DVD of Venture Brothers, a cartoon that got so much right at the very beginning. It didn't have to find its footing. I have no idea how well this cartoon would work for people who didn't watch Johnny Quest cartoons though. I drew a bit to flesh out the revamped cat comic and went to bed during a terrific thunderstorm.

A wrong-number call woke me up tragically early Sunday morning, and I decided to try to run. And I failed miserably. I ran the opposite direction on the campus, thinking the change of view would enliven the now-routine run. I had initial trouble with the stopwatch function on the iPod, I had to pee almost immediately, and I never found my stride. I was aching within two laps and couldn't complete the third. I bombed out. I suspect now that I was sunburned and dehydrated. It's humiliating, honestly.

I slunk home, cleaned up, and went back out for groceries. As I approached the Starbucks booth, the barista started to recite my usual order. But I had already decided to make a change and shocked her with my order of the double chocolate chip frappuccino. Never had it before and now I may never drink anything else. It tastes like chocolate cake batter. I almost bought Your Sis a welcome-back cake but thought better of it. She's eaten travel food for a week; she may want healthier fare.

She did arrive around 4:30, and she immediately showered so we could go out to eat. OK, there was a small nap in between, but then we hit the pub. And she decided she wanted a cake (argh!), and we picked up a red-velvet half cake from the grocery store as we watched TiFauxed House and Jeopardy.

Picture of the Day
Harrison Ford on the set of the upcoming Indiana Jones film. My reflexive notion is that they waited too long. I remember selling the last film's VHS when I worked at Wal-Mart during my senior year of high-school. Remember the line "it's ain't the years, it's the mileage?" Sometimes it's the years. Indy looks small. Thin, reedy. This is the shrinking of all mature men. This is not what I want to see from my pulp hero. Should they have found another Indy? No. I would rather they made a big-fat CGI film and let Ford voice his character.

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