As it is currently the Jewish holiday of Asian-Food-and-Movies, my brothers, the eldest's better half, a step-brother and a family friend all went to the movies (preceded by Thai food.) What, you ask, did we watch? National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets.

I should preface this by mentioning that I have seen National Treasure 1: There is a Treasure Map on the Back of the Declaration of Independence (spoiler alert!) and I adored it. Yeah, it was bad, but it was also GREAT. A fabulous pop movie, it had clever direction, relatively acceptable script, and a tight, if implausible, plot. Also, it was about AMERICAN HISTORY. What more could your average American movie-goer ask for?

When apparently Jerry Bruckheimer and John Turtletaub thought that the average American movie-goer was asking for a bloated film with an implausible AND discombobulated screenplay, because thats what National Treasure 2: Disaster Bugaloo was made of. Its not that I don't like outrageously impossible situations, because I do. And the problem wasn't the patently false action scenes, because hello, Die Hard 4? Best movie of the year by my vote. But this movie... it didn't DO anything! Nothing happened! No plotlines were resolved!

Seriously, here's what happens: Nicholas Cage's treasure-hunting character (named Ben Gates) is astonished and horrified to find out that his ancestor might have been a conspirator of John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln-killer. Gates and his trusty sidekick and German GF pay a visit to the French Statue of Liberty, kidnap the president, and discover an ancient Aztec city of gold (in South Dakota! Because of course there were Aztecs there), which somehow is supposed to absolve his great-great-great-great-grandfather. Like, "sure, maybe he did help kill one of America's favorite presidents, but maybe he didn't! That great huge pile of GOLD you uncovered is leading me to say not." Whatever.

Sorry, its just that I like my bad movies to be awesome, and this one just sucked. I'm actually really angry about that.

A speech for my mother, on the occasion of her wedding

I was trying to write a toast for my mom's wedding, which was this last Sunday. Everything I wrote was coming out sounding like an essay for a class called My Mother Gets Married 251, but then my brother suggested I try writing it in blogger. Wonder of wonders, it worked, so I figured I might as well post it. Enjoy!

So the thing is, she was always supposed to marry George Clooney. I had it all planned out - he'd sweep her off her feet, treat her in the manner to which she would be happy to become accustomed, and take us all to his villa on Lake Cuomo. And then, of course, he'd introduce me to some young Hollywood heartthrob and I'd start attending movie premieres and have spreads in YM Magazine and suddenly this is all about me but you get the point. And yes, he's a little too young for her, but she's young at heart! And he's not Jewish, but its not like they'd be raising kids together, and he's in the movie business which is essentially the same thing. And yeah, it probably wasn't too realistic, but I really wanted to date JTT and I didn't see any other way of making it happen.

Besides, its no more ludicrous than some of her early wedding shenanigans. My mom doesn't want you to know this, but this is actually third wedding she's agonized over: her second took place during a sandstorm but her first was between her two troll dolls, Bam Bam and Colonel Corny, at her Rohnert Park ranch house when she was a kid. It was a lavish affair and she was in total control with Connie and her best friend Geraldine as assistants . She even composed the musical accompaniment. And, unlike this one, it made it into the newspaper.

My point is, there are all these images floating around of what my mom's wedding was supposed to be like. I wanted it to be all hollywood glamor, paparazzi, and me dating Devon Sawa, and she saw herself as a squat, plastic, potbellied doll. At the end of the day, though, this is the wedding that matters. The wedding that Lenny and my mom planned together, toiled over, sweated over and made happen so beautifully, is what matters.

And what is more important even then this wedding (although these last few days my mother would have told you that NOTHING is more important than this wedding) is what Lenny and my mom have managed to do with their families. In the same way that my mom has been the glue that holds our family together and, in some ways, the glue that has helped build this community, she and Lenny are now the bindings agents of this new family, one that I for one am very excited to be a part of.

Back in the Saddle Again

I should be working on my prospectus for my honors thesis. It is 500 words long and basically just has to include my thesis statement and a survey of the literature on the topic. Of course, given that my thesis statement changes on a daily basis and a "survey of the literature"would require that there be actual "literature" on my topic, I'm finding this rather difficult. Therefore: blog post!

Apparently I think in video montages, because when I try to reflect on my past semester I get a series of images of myself baking, procrastinating, working late into the night because of my procrastination, making foolish online purchases, adventuring to Tennessee, baking, and generally acting a fool. Some highlights follow:

Between the four of us, the residents of Tower 1312 and 1313 have two balconies, which we have put to appropriate use over the course of the semester. Above, C and I gossip about how cute her asymmetrical haircut is.

Below, I spray paint the patio table that E's mom bought C and I, while A supervises and generally looks bored.

In a past life (high school) A just might have been a cheerleader. Below, she shows C and I the intricacies of a move that I believe has the word "doughnut" in it, though I can't be sure. I wasn't great, but I blame that more on the misplaced chair in front of me than any failing on my part. Anyway, this is all taking place in A and E's apartment, which you can tell because of the lack of fresca cans and haphazardly stacked books strewn about the place.

Over fall break C and I continued our tradition (two years now! that counts as a tradition, right?) of roadtripping the south and took off in the Mom Van for Nashville, Tenn. Apparently, it had been calling C's name. When we got there, of course, the city promptly shut up, but more on that later. Here I am on the most touristy street in Nashville, dancing with the King:

In the picture below I'm making a thumbs-down and a pouty face, but that was over the $16 admission price into the Country Music Hall of Fame and not over the museum itself, which was actually pretty awesome. I've been developing an appreciation for old country music - living next door to E can do that to a girl, and the American Studies major in me likes the way the music works to enshrine the myths and stories Americans tell themselves about their country. Plus the museum was full of outrageous fringed dresses, sparkly cowboy boots, and a convertible covered in silver dollars. What's not to like? Besides the outrageous admission price, of course.

We had planned to spend 24 hours in Nashville, cramming in all the sites, but we were actually only there for 10 or 12 hours. This is because a)Nashville was sort of boringly overwhelming (does that make sense?) and b) we kept on getting distracted by things we wanted to do while we were on the road, like visit the Civil War battlefield that you see below, or four Goodwills, or QTs, or Cracker Barrel.


Of course, the trip was ultimately all about lovin' on America, which y'all know I did in abandon:


We even ran into Abraham Lincoln at a bar! What he was doing in Nashville is nobody's guess, but I'll take what I can get when it comes to the Great Emancipator. We were sitting a few tables over and C kept yelling, "Abe! Abe! Come over here! I'm showing my friend the south, you need to come over here!" Lincoln ignored her, which just pissed her off. As I write this, C is telling me that at the time, getting Abraham Lincoln's attention seemed like the most important, vital thing she could be doing. Obviously, she was right.


Later in October A turned 22 and threw a joint birthday party with a friend. It was wine-and-cheese liberal themed, but we were pretty much the only people who dressed up at all. Also, I made bleeding-heart liberal cupcakes, but they were disgusting - I used tablespoons instead of teaspoons for the sugar, utterly destroying their flavor. They were real cool looking though, with jam in the middle to simulate the blood and frosting made to look like the ventricles of the heart. Unfortunately, no pictures were taken. Anyway, here we are:


From left to right, C, E, me and A.

Other than fall break trips and birthday parties, I've been trying to get my work done, hang out with friends, get out of my apartment occasionally, and do other, mundane college-y things. And thats where my life is at now. You can see now that I haven't been writing in the blog because my life hasn't been extraordinarily interesting - I'm basically going to classes, doing work, avoiding work, hanging out with friends, hanging out with friends in order to avoid doing work, and so forth. Y'all can blame this little nugget on Agi - she badgered over Thanskgiving, so I've delivered. I've procrastinated long enough, though... back to the prospectus!