Movie Times

Middlebrow and I have been on a movie watching jag lately, thanks to Netflix. Here's what we have seen, with brief reviews.

Last night we saw The Prestige. First I just want to say that Christian Bale is my new favorite actor. I've loved him in the last few things I've watched. This movie was fantastic. I loved it. I liked everything about it: the fractured chronology, the dialogue, the premise, the actors, the magic. Everything! It was clever, but also touching. I also love Michael Caine in his understated way. And Hugh Jackman. Highly recommended.

On Thursday we watched V for Vendetta. I think this movie was promoted terribly. The most engaging part of the movie to me was the mystery elements and the Stephen Rea character. Of course Natalie Portman was good, but the movie was very intelligent, the dialogue was good. I think when I saw the trailer, I thought it would be super violent and I didn't get a good sense of the story. But I really loved this movie, and was impressed by the writing.

The Break-Up: I'm not sure what to say about this. I love both Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. And I love that Vincent D played Vince's brother. The cast was great. I have to say, though, that the ending was unsatisfying. I know it's all open-ended and what not, but when I watch a romantic comedy, I want a happy ending. But that's the problem. It wasn't really a romantic comedy. There were funny parts, sure, but most of it was rather dark. My favorite surprise cast member: Judy Davis. My favorite DVD extra: the alternate ending (which isn't that different) which features a touching version of "Rainbow Connection."

We also watched Junebug recently. Though, as MB said, it was totally without arc, it was entertaining. It's hard to say who was my favorite, because everyone was so good. I have to say the character of the husband was incredibly irritating, and it bugged me that the wife never stood up to his absenteeism. But the characters were interesting. I especially liked the folk artist guy, who was odd and creepy.

We finally watched Amelie, which of course we loved. I found it inspiring, in terms of its plot and, again, just how it was written, the interesting details and how the stories came together. It was funny and sweet and charming.

We saw Final Cut, which I have to admit, I was reluctant to watch. But it was quite good. There were some unsatisfying loose ends, but overall, it was good. The premise, that an editor edits your life down to a movie that makes you seem like a good person, was interesting, and Robin Williams was quite good in it.

Overall, I have to say that Netflix has helped us to catch up on our movie viewing. And we haven't really seen any movies we didn't like on some level. Though MB may not ever forgive me for Cache.

Most of My Brain

One day this week (I can't remember what day, the reasons for which I will explain), I was driving home from school blasting the radio, singing along when I realized the reason why I can't remember my relatives birthdays, any of the Presidents besides Washington, Lincoln, Kennedy, and Clinton, and how to do simple algebra is because most of my brain is occupied with remembering the lyrics to 80s pop songs.

For example
"I hear the secrets that you keep, when you're talking in your sleep."

"My Sherona. My, my, my, my Sherona. My, my, my, my, my. Whoo!"

"Wake me up before you go-go, 'cuz I'm not plannin' on goin' solo. Wake me up before you go-go. Take me dancin' tonight. I wanna hit that high!"

"You're too shy-shy, hush hush I know why. Too shy-shy. Hush Hush."

"In the shower, I'm afraid to wash my hair. Cuz I might open my eyes and find someone standing there."

"Imagination never lets us take blame."

"Black cars look better in the shade."

"'Cuz there is something about you, baby, so right. Wouldn't be here without you, oh oh, tonight."

Did I mention I saw Rick Springfield on an infomercial selling an 80s compilation CD?
I thought: "I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot."

Also, this doesn't qualify as pop exactly, but I found myself singing it in the car today.
"Out of luck, out of love. Got a photograph, picture of."

And can anyone tell me when Depeche Mode became Classic Rock?

A free 80s mix tape to anyone who can name the sources of the lyrics above.
I will probably forget (soon) your names in order to make room for more song lyrics. I apologize in advance.

The Lame Class

Today I gave my class a long (20 minute) presentation on their next paper, outlining in excruciating detail what, precisely, I expected in the paper. Then I gave them time in class to pair up and discuss, in order to come up with thesis statements. My first class was great. Fantastic. While I was talking they were all paying attention (and trust me, it was boring), they made eye contact, and after class one student, not the best student, not an ass kisser, came up and thanked me (thanked me!!) for going over the paper, and he also thanked me for responding to his post on WebCT this weekend. "It was very helpful," he said.
Class Two: Males in the class were visibly dozing while I talked. I gave them time to pair up. Most of the class (except four) left after about ten minutes. They are now known as "The Lame Class."
My question is: How should I exact my revenge? I have some ideas, but I want to know what you think.

Where Has the Old TV Gone?

My recent love affair with TV (not new, but renewed) has caused me to reflect on past loves. Here are some that I am waiting to come out on DVD so I can fall in love again.

The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd: Am I the only one who remembers, and loved, this show? I love Blair Brown, the star. And David Strathairn as Moss, the bookstore owner. I became addicted to it just after I graduated from college and was living in Seattle. I'm waiting, but unless someone else gets on the bandwagon, I'm not sure this will ever come out on DVD.

Thirtysomething: I know I'm not the only one who watched this, but it is still unavailable on DVD. Especially now that Timothy Busfield is back on Studio 60 (another show which, blame Middlebrow, I am now addicted to. It's actually good!), maybe they will put it out on DVD. The funny thing to me now is that I watched this show when I was twentysomething. Why did I like this show? I loved it! But it was about totally foreign experiences, child rearing and working. What did I know? Maybe I hoped my life would be as exciting and climactic as their lives. Is it? No. Not nearly as exciting. That's why I want the show on DVD.

Others? Are there shows you miss and wait (quietly, deperately) for them to be issued on DVD?
I wanna know!

Good News for Women Writers!

Kiran Desai just won the Booker Prize!

After my last post about "best novels" I found this news heartening. And, of the six nominees, three were women. Is it that the UK is more forward thinking than the ole U S of A, or what? Anyway, the name of her book is The Inheritance of Loss, which sounds good.

Other good news for women is the Gift of Freedom Award. $50,000, sisters! This year the award is for a fiction writer. Let's get out there and apply.

Maybe it's the cold medicine (let's hear it for DayQuil), but I'm feeling more optimistic.

Russell Banks

Last night I went to the Dewey Lecture at the Downtown Library. Russell Banks talked about canon formation, using the occasion of the New York Times poll of "the most significant novel of the last 25 years." His choice was Ironweed by William Kennedy, because, he said, it's the book he most wishes he had written.
I think that's a good standard for making a list of novels. He talked a lot about the folly of making end of the year lists and best novels of the century and such things. But he did come up with a list of five things that good novels must tell us:

1. Who we are
2. Where we came from
3. The names and powers of our gods
4. Who our enemies are
5. How to protect ourselves from enemies

He said the Great American Novel is a mythical creature, like a hippogrif. He said it is a book that is still being written. I think it is almost an impossible task, at this point in our national history. Can one novel encompass everything? Isn't it rather presumptuous to believe that one novel can speak to the many aspects of what it means to be American?

I don't know, but I think I would have to have voted like Banks, choosing a novel I just liked or wished I had written, rather than trying to decide which was "most significant." For the most part I find "important" novels boring. Middlesex and The Corrections come to mind as novels that try to be important and The Great American Novel at the outset. I liked Middlesex, but I preferred the narrator's story to the larger immigrant story. I couldn't read The Corrections. I read about ten pages and thought if I had to read one more description of magazines piled around the house, I was going to scream.

Just thinking about it now, I'd have to say that the novels that come to mind as my favorites are not American, but British or Canadian. And if I had to pick just one novel? Just one American novel? Aargh! I can't do it!

But just for the record, of the novels nominated in the NYTimes poll, I loved Underworld, but I wonder if it will age well. It seems so much of our time. I do love Beloved, but I loved it less the second and third times I read it. I haven't read any Roth since Goodbye, Columbus. I just can't stand that much discussion of masturbation. Banks said last night that John Irving voted for himself.

Actually, thinking about it just now, I have to wonder why Sherman Alexie didn't get any nods. If there is one aspect of American culture that needs illumination, I think it is Native American culture. I loved Reservation Blues and The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven.

Middlebrow suggested to me that maybe it's a problem of genre: my favorite American writers are short story writers. Ron Carlson, for example, is one of the best. Jesus's Son by Denis Johnson and The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien both received some votes in the poll. The other book I might have voted for is All The Pretty Horses, though again, it pales upon revisitation. Notice another problem with all these titles? Yep. All men. The other book I thought of was Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson, which Middlebrow mentions is really a novella.

Which leads me to the question, is the Great American Novel a masculine conceit? Do women's novels, because they tend to (gross overgeneralization) focus on more intimate portraits, automatically fail to be a Great American Novel? I think maybe so. I think our conception of the Great American Novel excludes many fine novels by women, just by virtue of the definition of the GAN.

So maybe I would make a protest vote: Break it Down by Lydia Davis. It's a book I wish I had written. It's short stories.

So what about you? Cast your vote and be counted!

Signs of Fall

I recently blogged about one sign of fall: New TV. But what are the other signs of fall that I welcome every year?
Here are a few.

1. Soup. It's finally cool enough to make soup in my kitchen without dying. And it's cool enough to appreciate the warming effects. On the menu for this weekend: some chili perhaps?
2. Sweaters. One of my favorite rituals as a child was finding the great barrels (cardboard, probably from U-Haul) that we stowed our winter wear in. As a child, it was like shopping, because what had belonged to my sister the year before was now mine. I remember specifically when I unearthed an "Organic" (remember that brand?) corduroy skirt that had belonged to my oldest sister that finally fit me. It was soft and brown. I loved that skirt! Now I only get to unpack the stuff from last winter that was mine and is mine still. But it is somewhat like shopping, because after six months, I've forgotten what's in there. My love of sweaters also explains why I will never live in Phoenix.
3. Leaves. This year (maybe it's this way every year) it seemed like the trees on my street changed over night. One day green, yellow or red the next. I love leaves and have since I went to school in Oregon. There were so many beautiful colors in the fall. It's the same here. I love the intense yellows appearing all over. I collect the leaves with Son and press them in the Dictionary or the Riverside Shakespeare. I vow we will make some beautiful art project with these leaves. So far? A dictionary full of leaves.
4. Pumpkins. I love pumpkin seeds and pumpkin pie. I love seeing a huge pile of pumpkins outside every grocery store. My love of pumpkins goes beyond Halloween. I especially love to visit Pumpkin Patches and pick my own. Sadly, this tradition seems to be disappearing. Son's school was recently deciding if the class should take a field trip to the Pumpkin Patch. I was one of the parents who raised her hand to say, yes, I want to go and I want Son to go. I love the crisp air and the tractors and the hayrides. I also love the hot cider.
5. Fall Break. We never had one when I was in school. Or if we did, it was called "Potato Harvest." Even if I don't leave town, or I only get 50 miles away, it's a break.
6. Baked Potatoes for dinner. See #5.
7. Even though I don't watch football or follow football, I do have a certain nostalgic love for the outdoor sporting event. The crisp air, the sweaters. Do they still have bonfires? Probably not. They seemed unsafe, even when I was in high school. But they were fun.

What are your favorite signs of fall?

I Love TV!

I've been thinking a lot about popular culture lately, and with the dawn of the new TV season, I have paused to think about what TV shows I really love. Really.

The New Adventures of Old Christine: While people love to insult the title, this show is actually funny. For example, last night Christine was talking about how when they are not dating women channel their energy into other things. "Like what?" her brother asks. "Drinking." (It's funny because it's true.)

Grey's Anatomy: Yes. I'm one of the hoards of people who can't get enough. Forget that the basic premise, that McDreamy would leave his gorgeous wife Addison (Kate Walsh) for the pouty Meredith (Ellen Pompeo), is completely unbelievable. I watch because of Cristina (Sandra Oh). And for McDreamy, who are we kidding, even though I find him morally challenged. And I like the rest of the cast too. It knows it's a soap opera with some medicine thrown in. I respect that.

Kidnapped: Somehow Middlebrow got me addicted to this even though the set up, kidnapped kid!!, would normally make me turn the dial. But really it's Jeremy Sisto I love. I get to love him now without being creeped out, as I was on Six Feet Under. Plus it's a mystery.

Without a Trace: I know I've said (more than once) that I would never watch this show again. I just can't watch the ones about kids. But I love Anthony!! It's genetic, I must love him. Plus that blonde girl doesn't bug me as much as she used to. And that other guy is okay too. But Anthony. . . (sigh)

Numbers: Math made sexy. Female FBI agents in completely impractical outfits (I like to mention this to MB when we watch it). Did I mention the math? This show reminds me that while math is a different language, it's basically narrative. Or the show makes it seem that way, for which I am appreciative.

Law & Order: The original. I still love it, even though the cast keeps changing. But I like the split between mystery and law drama. And they can still wrap it up in an hour. Nice work!

The Office: Love it! It's gotten away from the British original, but it's still hilarious. Steve Carrell. I loved the Gaydar on the last episode. Gaydar!

Scrubs: In reruns every night on KJZZ. Twice in a row. Nothing takes away the sting of grading like comedy and Fudge Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (MB brought these into the house. I must kill him!). And beer.

Also I watch Mystery every Sunday as long as the Inspector Lynley mysteries are on. We love our British Crime Drama. And comedy.

But what happened to Love Monkey? Middlebrow and I were the only ones who watched it. But it was good. Tom Cavanagh!! He's Canadian!! C'mon!

In Chicago, My Hair is a Whole Different Person

It’s the humidity. No. It’s the heat.
Either way, suddenly, my hair
has a mind of its own. The usually neat
tidy strands, fill with water. No hair care
product can keep it in check. It’s wild,
footloose, a coif with no inhibitions,
hair on the loose, like an impudent child
suddenly allowed out. It’s a bitch, one
damn thing after the next, each tangle
with a complaint or idea of her own.
Each heads out at a different angle
determined to look wind blown,
sexy. It doesn’t work. I look like that
psycho killer housewife. I need a hat.

Weekend Wedding Redux

My favorite thing about the public transportation: The fact that it goes right by the upper windows of apartment buildings.

My old new favorite person: Dave, the poet. Doesn't he look arty? He took me to a cool pub where we had beer and dinner. He's thinking poetic thoughts.

New favorite activity: Throwing back a cold Old Style in a hip dive bar.

New favorite T-shirt: This pink one. I bought it the day before I left for the weekend. The flight attendant complimented me on the color. It cost $12.99.

My new bedtime: 3:30. Yes, a.m. These are the crazy people I was drinking and playing the name game with in their hotel room on Friday night. They are friends of the groom. What are their names? I can't remember. (But my best guess is: girl, Adam, Lance, Jamal)

My new new favorite person: Lance (in the middle, above). He's a friend of the bride from Stanford. I blame him for the fact that I'm still tired, two days later.

My new favorite word: Ridiculously. As in, the wedding was ridiculously fun and emotional, everyone is ridiculously successful and ridiculously attractive. The toasts were all ridiculously eloquent, including Lance's. I stayed out ridiculously late one night, and only kind of late the next. I had to get up ridiculously early to make my plane.

My favorite pre-wedding chit-chat topic: The ridiculously liberal Salt Lake Mayor, Rocky Anderson. Also: kindergarten, day care, and how ridiculously easy it is to live where I live.

My one regret: I didn't give a toast. The others were just too good. I should have written one before I went. I was the only grad school/creative writing representative.

Final evaluation: A++

I had a ridiculously good time.

Edward Hopper Watches Me Undress: Yet Another Sonnet

Someone’s always watching. Think about it.
Might as well be Edward Hopper. At least he
would try to see me in a positive light, he
might turn his head and try to determine if
there is a best side, and what color my skin
actually is: apricot? butter? morning sun?
Maybe he would shout encouragement, one
word, well-timed, would help with when,
exactly, to discard the shirt, or what I should do,
like if I should twirl the bra, or just drop
it, still cupping my absent breasts, on top
of my t-shirt, jeans, socks, empty shoes.
Forget it. He would paint only what he can see,
hair, eyes, skin tone. Not actually me.

The Poem a Day Project

At the request of my sister, ErinAlice (see blog roll to the right), I am posting my most recent poem. I will find a way to post the rest of the poems, either here or elsewhere. I'll admit right now I'm behind. But only by two poems. So I can catch up. Really, I can.

How to Write a Raymond Carver Story

First, there must be alcohol.
Add some people who like to drink.
The action is mostly internal. Think
about love or death. A man calls
his lover from a payphone or a
stranger in the middle of the night.
The story is about sex, or a fight
over sex. Or they need more of
something they lack: sleep or money
or gin. They were in love, once,
but now it’s gone bad. He humps
a maid, or a stranger. He says, honey,
it’s not over, not yet. It’s not so bad
we have to quit. In any case, the end is sad.

Intelligent Design Vs. Evolution, According to Son

This morning son was singing a new song. I'm not sure how he came up with the lyrics.

Son: God's coming down from outer space. God's coming down from outer space.

and later

Son: We were made from apes. Humans were made from apes. We are apes.


(Just now Son and Friend are playing, either with lego men or his knights. Here is that conversation:)

Son: Let's get mochas. We'll have two mochas, please. That costs thirty dollars. Pretend I got you a bagel too.

Geez. I'm not sure where he gets all this stuff. Certainly not from me.

We need a Dog

This is Britt, the winning Sheepdog from the Soldier Hollow Classic. This dog looks a bit like the dog I had growing up. Son wants a dog so bad "he's going to explode." Middlebrow and I pretty much feel the same way. After Christmas, then a dog. That's the promise we've made. We'd really like a Border Collie or a shepherd, the only problem is, they need jobs, like herding or else they make jobs, like chewing up every pair of shoes in the house. Most likely we will rescue some mixed mutt from the pound. And we will love him or her!!

September: One Poem a Day & New Novel

HighTouchMegaStore and I have entered into a verbal contract to write one poem a day for the month of September. I forgot that yesterday was the first, so I had to write two this morning. The second one, a sonnet entitled "My Sisters Transform into Small Birds," was much better than the first. I invited Otterbutt to join, and she may. I look forward to receiving poems every day via email.

I have also, perhaps somewhat foolishly?, undertaken a new novel, which I unknowingly started this summer when I wrote a story called "Still Life." My dreams of grandeur have already been dashed, however, as I received my email rejection from The New Yorker last week. It's already easier than the unfinished novel in that it's simply chronological, I have a full cast of characters and I just write from another point-of-view when I get bored or stumped. It's also fun because it's set in Idaho and one guy works on a farm, so I get to throw in some farm jokes, personal experiences, etc. I actually already used a line that one of my dad's friends said to Middlebrow when we were helping them load the hay from the field next to my dad's house. And I've also included that the farmer drinks beer at 10 a.m. when he drives his pickup around. And I get to write from the boring husband's pov too. That should be fun. He's a medievalist, but I'm not going to do any research. Maybe I'll just base him on someone I know.

My plan is to use those spare moments to write poems. I wrote a four-page story about a pig ("The Manner in Which the Pig was Obtained") just because the urge hit me. I've been doing a lot of writing in my head as I lay in bed and try to sleep. But now I'm going to try to get out of bed and write a few things down. Or write a few things down before I go to bed.

Monday we are off to the Sheepdog Competition at Soldier Hollow. We went last year and had a great time. Lamb burgers and sheepshearing. What fun!!

So Far, So Mean

The first day of school went off without incident. Except. My plan for the semester (for my life, really) was to wear the Power Outfit and scare my students into respecting me. Or my clothes, at least. But I didn't do any shopping before the semester started, so I had to go for the casual teacher outfit.
Also, I try to be the right combination of nice and scary on the first day, so that the students who will inevitably end up to be a pain drop and the nice students stay. I wasn't even mean in my first two classes.
But then, as I was talking about the importance of participation, I saw a student in the back of the class doing something with a small handheld electronic device. So I said, "Or, for example, if you are sitting at the back of the room, playing with an electronic device instead of paying attention, I'll remember that." Nothing. He didn't even look up. I paused for dramatic effect. The class was quiet. Then, he finally looked up, and I asked him to put it away. "If you don't want to be here," I said, "don't come. But there are people who want to be in this class. I can't make you a better writer unless you want to be one."
The students sat in a stunned silence. Then I went on with my boring monologue concerning the syllabus.
I rushed right home to see if he dropped. So far, he hasn't.

The Twins

Tonight I attended "The Best of the Breast" show at the Rose Wagner. It was a series of monologues and some haiku performed by women. Each of the monologues was written by a different woman. My friend Sylvia wrote one, and the woman who performed was excellent. All in all, the monologues were engaging and entertaining. Some were sad or disturbing, but in general, they exposed some little discussed aspects of breast ownership.
One of my favorites was called "The Twins." It was about a woman who learned about breasts from an older female neighbor who referred to her own as The Twins. She even named them and described their opposite personalities. Sometimes she said, "I can't talk now. Terese (one of the breasts, the naughty one) kept us up all night. She learned how to make pasties out of drink umbrellas and we were up until 3."
I've decided that this is how I will deal with all potentially confrontational situations. It's not that I don't want to do whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing, but The Twins. Well, they don't like action adventure movies. They don't want to go for a run. They don't want to eat spinach, etc.
I think I'm going to like the perkiness of The Twins.

Little Miss Sunshine

Last night, Middlebrow and I saw "Little Miss Sunshine." Besides being smartly written, it was both sad and hilarious. At one point, I won't say when, I was laughing so hard I was crying. In fact, I'll go out on a limb and say it was the best movie I've seen this year. Why? As I was saying to MB on the way home, it's not rocket science. The movie had

• interesting characters
• tense situations
• conflict
• an amazing cast

But here's the part, I guess, that is harder to achieve: the writing. The dialogue was great, sharp, but didn't draw attention to its own cleverness. It is difficult to get all the elements working together, moving in the same direction, but this film achieved that.

Here are my nominations: Steve Carrel, best supporting actor; Alan Arkin, best supporting actor; Michael Arndt, best original screenplay; Abigal Breslin, best actress.

PMK in the OC

Son will be starting Kindergarten soon. He's attending a school called The Open Classroom, or in common parlance, The OC. He will be in PM Kindergarten (PMK). Middlebrow almost cracked up at the New Families meeting everytime the nice woman running the meeting said, "In the OC" or "If you're not familiar with the OC." No one else, besides him and me, seemed to find it funny or in the least strange. Being the bad kids that we are, and trying to establish from the get go that we will be The Slackers, we began talking about the OC as if we were stars in the Fox show.
"Like, I hope all this co-oping won't interfere with my tanning."
"Um, Jessica? Jessica? Jessica?"
"Like, I don't think it's like, appropriate?, if like parents, like, yell, except when, you know, your kid is like, a total jerk. Then it's totally fine."
"Umm, is this meeting almost over? Cuz I so have to IM someone. Like now."

As the years wear on, I can see this joke becoming unfunny. But for now, it's like, totally hilarious. Especially if you take into account the general demographic of the OC, which is pretty much people like Middlebrow and me: middle-class, sandal-wearing, pseudo-hippies who drive Subarus and Priuses and Volvos (except us, of course) and wear Keen shoes and Columbia sportswear (okay, that includes me), eat rice and talk about our commitment to public education. I'm totally in the OC, dude.

Camping Trip: 2006

Here is Son at the entrance to the campground where we stayed. It had all the requisite aspects necessary for the complete camping experience: stinky vault toilets (where a small animal had, no doubt, met its end. what else could account for the stench?), loud, screaming pre-teen girls who rode their scooters up the road every five minutes trying to gain the attention of the boys camped across the way, camp host with golf cart, large parties of scouts/church groups, enough RVs to pay for the war in Iraq (in gas, I mean).
Perhaps you can't tell from this photo, but our poor little Saturn is stuffed to the gills with necessary camping equipment like the thinnest of sleeping pads (woefully inadequate!) and the puffiest of sleeping bags (still not warm enough!) and snacks.
Did I mention the best camping invention since bagged ice? Yes, I could only be talking about pre-made (!!) margaritas in a bottle that you can buy at the liqour store. Did you hear me? Pre-made!! What do you need after a short drive in a cramped car, followed by a cursory perusal of every campsite in a five-mile radius? That's right, a pre-made margarita on ice. Thank you very much!
Okay. Here's the real reason we go camping. Blue, blue, blue sparkly lakes, hikes with Son, excuses to eat marshmellows, huddling together in the tent to keep warm, sitting around the fire drinking hot drinks, telling Son about the camping trips of our youth, trying to remember all the words to "Take Me Home, Country Roads."


Son proved himself to be an amazing hiker. He hiked without complaining, and led us on the uphill climb back to the car at a pace that would leave Floyd Landis breathless (Floyd without the dope, I mean). He also said he wanted to be a Ranger when he grew up, and he began his training by building several cairns (one pictured here) to help hikers when the trail "got confusing." Which way is it to Brooklyn? Yeah, it's thataway.

All in all, a wonderful trip. We did not freeze to death the first night (though we could have), and Middlebrow and Son discovered a few lakes that they have vowed to go back and fish in. And I achieved my goal: I relaxed and was fun. I had fun. I laughed. I forgot about the S word for a few days. I drank pre-made margaritas, ate Smores and sang songs. What else does a girl need?