Say what you will, I loved Serendipity.

It's true. I did. But this wasn't me.

In other movie-related news... I wonder exactly how much of the Princess Bride I can recite from memory, having watched it nineteen times on video plus every time I run across it on TV?

Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

A heartbreaking work of staggering reality.

Julianne Moore has played her share of housewives in turmoil. But her performance in this film was remarkably engaging. It was based on the memoirs of one of the ten children, which made it even more believable (because, well, it was true).

Woody Harrelson put in a stellar performance as the alcoholic father, and the best part about this movie is that it was the first Woody film I've seen in a long time where I could watch him onscreen without thinking "tree-hugging oxygen-bar-sniffing pot-smoking vegan." Excellent role choice, sir.

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Did you know that Woody is on the board of the directors for the Ex'pression Center For New Media in Emeryville? So says IMDB.

Dishing.

I lost my arms and legs and all I got was this lousy iPod.

100% stolen from BWE: "He’ll need at least that many if he wants to fulfill his dream to start his very own cult."

One thing about living in California I never could stomach, all the damn Coreys.

I strongly disagree.

I really don't understand how people can try to get you to sign a petition or answer a phone survey without being able to explain the purpose of the petition/survey. I just got a call from someone wanting me to answer some environmental questions, and I spent a good 10 minutes trying to understand the purpose of the survey, who it was for, what greater good the responses would serve. She couldn't answer, so I hung up.

Occasionally I get phone calls asking me to give my opinion on certain songs played on the radio. I'm happy to sit through those - especially when it means I can say "don't ever play that again" about Creed or Nickelback songs. Or "we need K-GAY more than once a year."

The Sperm and the Dysfunction.

That what this film should've been called.* I cannot express how tired I am of the recent outpouring of films depicting minors and their engagements with sex on various levels. This film also featured a twelve year old drinking routinely, with no reprimanding from the parental units. Bonus!!

I guess this is to be expected in this day and age.

I guess this irritates me because I am just getting old.

I don't know which of those two statements is more depressing.

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* Although I have to admit that Laura Linney gave a stellar performance.

Meet your lobbyists.

I saw Thank You for Smoking right around the time of my America: The Calendar "Meet Your Lobbyists" daily entry.

(Money given in 2000: $112,188,449 but only on a contingency basis.)

It was pretty good, to a point.

(Represents: Themselves... and very well, we might add.)

And then it got a little trite. But then it got better again.

(Recipients of their largesse: Let's see, who amongst our nation's lawmakers might have interest in the law...)

I wish I could lobby. I couldn't debate my way out of a paper bag. Well, maybe a wet paper bag.

May I maintain my youthful look and appearance for years to come.

Anderson Cooper's iTunes playlist bugged me... I mean, Smashing Pumpkins? The Clash? New Order? Come ON.

And then I read this. And it all made sense.

Pre-Friday why's.

In no particular order...

1. Why do the cutest shoes always hurt your feet SO BAD??
2. Why does being sick curb your appetite?
3. Why do I insist on sitting through every Quentin Tarantino endeavor?
   
4. Why do people commit to things they can't possibly do?
5. Why can I walk just fine, a mere 5 days after running 23 miles?!
   

Payin' it forward.

To make up for my truly ridiculous day today, I went to my unpaid job meeting even though I was feeling kinda lousy (because of allergies, not because of my day per se). And despite the fact that I had way too much to contribute to a marketing conversation, I felt good when I left.

Afterward I went to the grocery store and when I got in line, the guy who got in line behind me only had two items so I insisted he go in front of me. The next person behind me forgot her Safeway card and they were all out of "loaners," so I lent her mine. And I brought my own canvas bag, so I didn't have to feel guilty walking out with nine thousand plastic bags, all double bagged, and no I don't need help out thanks.

I better do something evil tomorrow, lest I jinx myself with all this good-deed-doing.

The only two things that overalls and a bandana around your hair really call for.

1. Going to see A Prairie Home Companion - which was actually a cute little film. Before you mock - my college roomie was from Minniesooooota and therefore a HUGEMONGOUS Garrison Keilor fan, and I got to know his stuff (good and bad) - and also my dad practically raised me on bluegrass. Top off with overalls and a bandana around my hair, and I was quite at home... although probably the youngest in the theater by about 30 years.

2. Calling home afterward and hearing about all the cousins who are pregnant (and the fathers are either in jail, or "of another race and comes from a cult," or not willing to marry just yet). My extended family is like a bad after-school special. And that's why I love them.

In 10 words or less...

Bee Season: the highlight was seeing the Kwik Way - read the book.

Rent: more theatrical than the play, but just not the same.

Elizabethtown: yeah, RIGHT.

Friday five.

Five (or so) things that make me happy today, in no particular order:

• that going to Google, typing in "miserable failure" and hitting "I'm feeling lucky" still takes you here*
• organic peanut butter when it's first opened and stirred - all runny and the perfect consistency for pouring over ice cream
  
• a cat who is eating regularly again (oh and also penicillin... penicillin makes me happy)
  
• being encouraged to eat all the complex carbs I can possibly eat prior to Sunday's run
• buying a ticket for LA to help a friend paint her newly purchased townhouse (and coincidentally getting a much needed break - I'll take painting over work any day)
  

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* Seriously, you would think they'd have found a way to make that stop. The fact that they clearly haven't bothered to try, just makes me happy in and of itself.

FUO!

No, it's not what you think. (OK, I don't really know what you could possibly be thinking, but it's not THAT.)

It's a Fever of Unidentified Origin. Yunno, I've been watching X-Files reruns lately, and frankly I think today's vet saw the same episode I did. That is to say, he made that shit up. Which just further proves the point that I should be a veterinarian. (Can't I just substitute a semester of making shit up for biochem? Damn that biochem!)

One sleepless night of poking and prodding to make sure she was still alive, two milliliters of antibiotics and two fluid injections later, Her Majesty's FUO has subsided and she is eating again. My plot to get her to eat again involved bringing a handful of food wherever she was laying looking miserable at the time, and putting it right under her nose. She bought into it. So much so, that for a little while I thought that might be my life from there on out. But she finally remembered the food bowl, which holds much more of a bounty than my little hands can carry. Whew.

Anyway, today's vet didn't seem to think it was anything to worry about, so I'm to continue antibiotics for six more days (at 6am and 6pm - yes, that's 6am - woohoo) and all should be fine.

All this was very good news because it meant I got to see a very good play tonight, written by Alan Ball (who scripted American Beauty and Six Feet Under among other things). So you know it was funny and fucked up all at the same time. My favorite kind of story.

And in other news....

WHY. WON'T. SHE. JUST. DIE.

Girlfriend in a coma.

Well, not really. But when I got home from work today, the usually whiny-waiting-by-the-door-FEED-ME-NOW Her Majesty was sitting in her kitty bed by the balcony. She didn't get up when I walked over, and she looked awfully lethargic. She tried to stand up, which lasted about 10 seconds before she eased herself back down to laying, and I had flashbacks of my old cat Spanky who went into a coma and died from a kidney infection. So of course I rushed her to the emergency vet. (I would've done so even without the flashbacks, of course.)

Turns out she is suffering from the equivalent of a human's 103.5 degree fever, with no other symptoms, and the emergency vet couldn't offer a reasonable explanation for it. So they gave her some fluids, and she's on antibiotics, and I'm to monitor her temperature (FUN!) for the next day or so and escalate to the regular/emergency vet as needed.

She's now sleeping, or trying to sleep between me poking and petting her to make sure she's still alive.

I wish that she could talk. Or at least that she could understand me. 'Cause I would hate anything to happen to her.

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The weirdest part about the evening is that I walked out with two X-rays of my cat's internal organs. I have to surrender them to her regular vet should she become worse, but for now they're kinda interesting.

Mock me if you must.

Tonight is the series finale of Everwood. Yeah, it's cheesy. Yeah, real life doesn't really work like this. Yeah, even more so since that Party of Five guy came on board. But I will miss it. And not just because I have an unprecedented crush on Treat Williams (which originates from his Hair days). That's a big reason, but not the only reason. OK, Ephram is kinda hot too. Young, but hot.

Sad but true. This is my life.

Got it, Al... now can you please explain global warming to my cat?

It has been BLOODY HOT in my apartment the last few days. BLOODY HOT. So I've been avoiding it as much as possible. Adding to that is my new Sunday afternoon tradition of going to a movie (two weeks in a row makes it a tradition right?). Since I run on Sunday mornings, usually by about noon I've had enough of Mr. Sun and I like to hide out in dark, cool places.

Her Majesty, as you know, does not have that luxury. And so she loafs. And stretches out on the bathroom or kitchen tile to stay cool. And whines. A LOT.

Today, because I've apparently just been too happy lately, I decided to see An Inconvenient Truth. To my surprise, I left the theater in a good mood. The film itself was interesting, there were lots of pretty graphs (and we all know how much to trust pretty graphs! - kidding, he seems to have been doing his research these last 25 years), lots of pictures of melting ice caps, some humor and just enough of a peek into Gore's life in an attempt to convince us of his conviction (but not enough so that it was personal). It worked for me.

I did leave wondering what else I personally could be doing... I mean, I recycle everything I can possibly recycle (except food scraps, unfortunately my neighborhood isn't there yet). I take the bus to work, I drive my fuel-efficient car no more than 10-15 miles a week on average, I support worthy environmental organizations, I have living breathing plants on my balcony. Right now I can't do much about energy-efficient appliances, other than use the energy-efficient washer/dryer in my building (which I do) versus going to the cheap laundromat up the street.

And then it hit me - I could be working for an environmental organization that supports animals! It could possibly give me the animal interaction I seem to crave without the biochemistry requirement. And I would be contributing to the future. Hmm. There really might be something there...

Thanks Al! Sorry you "lost"!

Friday five: time suckage

While you were wondering how to pass the time on Friday, I was wasting mine on these items, in no particular order:

• But it looks like www.psychotic_celebrities_everyone_hates.com is still available. Whew!
• Jared? Clay?
  
• Unrelated, but not really, Jared? Clay?
• OK seriously, who's the REAL douche bag here, I ask you?
• How much time will pass before it's absolutely impossible to create a brand-spanking-new melody, and more importantly, why does Tom Petty care?
  

Eh.

Friends with Money: Olivia (or possibly Jane*) = me in nine years.

Junebug: Not sure what all the fuss was about.

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* (who screams at people who try to cut in line ahead of her)