Weekend!

Weekend's pretty fruity this week. We found the best margaritas in Oshkosh and the Fox Valley, and now, we're bringing them to you.

Voila.


Speaking of Weekend, we've got Sawdust Days. Lucky (or unlucky?) for us, we live right. On. Top of it. On my way home from work, I saw the Ferris wheel and the tents and the porta-potties. Ooh, boy. I'm actually looking forward to eating a funnel cake. I haven't eaten one of those in like, eight years. And I'm sure Dave'll go to take more of his carnival worker photos. He took a bunch at the county fair where we lived in Michigan, like this guy.

Movie time ... YES!

I get into movie kicks, and I can't stop. Last weekend, it was "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not," an Audrey Tautou movie (love her in "Amelie,"). I'd heard mixed reactions about "He Loves Me," but I loved it. I wouldn't want to own the thing. But it did have me mesmerized for the whole movie (or maybe that was because I had to sit close to read the subtitles).

Tautou plays this art student who's in love with a doctor -- and he's married. The first half of the movie, we see her side of the story, through her sweet gestures all the way to the disconcerting end. For the second half, we see the doctor's side. I won't give it away, but the ending's one you'll say "oh, no" to. And still be able to sleep at night. Best kind of thriller.

And, I found the trailer for the new Zach Braff movie, which comes out Sept. 15, and I am so there (you know, months later, getting it on DVD, etc.).

I can't say if I love it, because I've only watched the same short trailer everyone else has, which can be found here. However, I will soon be able to say I know how it ends, as it's a remake of "L'Ultimo Bacio," an Italian film that I've got a hold on at the library. Gotta love the library. I'll let you know if I hate it. Because I am just like Roger Ebert, and the world values my opinion.

Ha.

One month to 'Scoop'

I love Scarlett Johansson; if there were any actress I could be, it'd be her. She seems so intelligent and well-spoken. Maybe it's because she is. Maybe it's because her peers are getting "totally wasted man" and land themselves on tabloid covers for breaking up with or getting back with Hollywood "bad boys." Whatever.

And I'm sure starring in Woody Allen's films doesn't hurt a career any, especially his recent work. First "Match Point," (awesome, go rent it now), and soon, "Scoop" (July 28). I am P.U.M.P.E.D. So pumped, in fact, that I'm not going to wait 'til it's in the used DVD bin at Media Exchange like I did for "Match Point."

I'm going to actually go rent this one. Maybe even from the movie store instead of the library. Hey, I can be cool and cheap at the same time.

But Johansson and Allen have a cool, quick-reading interview in New York, which you can read here.

Best part: has Scarlett made Woody a believer?

“I can only quote myself from the movie 'Manhattan',” he says. “Scarlett is God’s answer to Job. God would say, ‘I’ve created a terrifying and horrible universe, but I can also make one of these, so stop complaining.’ ”

(Photo: New York magazine)

My name is Erin and I like to do drarings.

What can you do with 100 pixels?

I can draw Nick Cokas' neck. And I don't think I know who Nick Cokas is.

That's right. Swarm Sketch lets you "draw" 100 pixels on a screen, and then vote to darken or lighten others' lines.

It's good for about 10 minutes, tops, of actual fun, but for the first three minutes of those 10 ... Boy.

It was created as an honors project, apparently, by some guy in Australia. But according to the stats, the United States makes up the majority of e-artists. (And judging by Nick Cokas, we really stink.)

(photo: Someone has talent. explorevirginiacolleges.com)

Want to sleep on my couch? Well, you can't, because we don't have one.

Here's a happy thought: we're all so alone.

According to Duke University Professor Lynn Smith-Lovin, we're all lonely, many of us have zero close friends, and work and marrying late may be to blame.

Frankly, it's kind of scary, and a bit sad. Therefore, I am not going to work tomorrow. I have some interpersonal relationships to work on.

I would have thought that IM, text messaging and e-mails would make people more connected; I talk to my friends more often. But no. No, apparently my "what's up" messages don't count.

Smith-Lovin (I'm so sure part of her last name is "Lovin") says that doesn't count as friendship. Nope. "It's one thing to know someone and exchange e-mails with them. It's another thing to say, 'Will you give me a ride out of town with all of my possessions and pets? And can I stay with you for a couple or three months?" Smith-Lovin said. Great. Now I'm depressed. WAY TO GO, SMITH-LOVIN(').

I guess I don't really ever ask anyone to let me sleep on their couch anymore. And I don't have a couch. Maybe that's my problem.

I just want to find a place to live and NEVER MOVE AGAIN (for a few years or something)

It's becoming increasingly harder to stay inside, as it's no longer 97 degrees, and it's not humid, either. But, instead of frolicking like children outside, Dave and I drove around all night, looking for places to live.

See, we conveniently planned the wedding exactly 15 days before our lease runs up. Uh, problem. I'm a control freak, and therefore I must know where we're going to live. I'm also indecisive. Own? Rent? What? (Hyperventilation) I just want to have a neat place to come home to every day. (Hyperventilation)

A place with air conditioning. A place with its own washer and dryer. Maybe a garage, one that's not leaning to one side. I also like street lights. Lights. Don't like being scared. OK. There. POOF. Where's my home? Point me in the right direction and I'll go.

And we know it's early, but we're anxious about getting it all sorted out before too long. After all, something tells me we're not going to want to be moving in lieu of getting married or going on our honeymoon.

I can hear it now: "Mommy, where did you go on your honeymoon?" "We went to the kitchen, honey, and wrapped dishes in newspapers, and then we went to the garage, and dumped that box over there, the contents of which are still a mystery."

Another twist to the tale is that we'll be getting all new items when we get married. Do we pack everything, or do we wait and see which we get new, and go from there? I have a feeling I'll be standing in my new kitchen worrying about where my three toasters go.

I suppose I can deal with the toaster problem later. It's this whole living thing that's getting me stressed out. And it's not even time to stress yet. Oh, man. And moving is something I'm way too tired of. This will be move No. 12 in my life. Never mind that it's only the sixth or seventh I've had to do as an adult. Never mind the rest weren't really long moves. Anyone who's moved will tell you it doesn't matter how far you move. It's that annoying packing, lifting, unpacking, washing, organizing routine that gets ya every time.

(Photo: From relocationessentials.com)

You can sheep when ewe're dead

The weekend was packed with library-going (uneventful), grocery-shopping, driving around, movie-watching (too depressing to write about, "The Pianist"), and regular shopping, and a birth (I'm kind of an aunt now -- how exciting!).

And then there was:

1. Wine and cheese-apalooza.
Because the whole "-apalooza" thing isn't overdone enough ... Some friends came over Friday night, and we tried to act all mature with our wine and cheese party. On the table: Brie, gouda, colby jack and ... string cheese. Ha, ha. Yum. The wine offerings weren't much more diverse. For a first-time go, it was totally successful. And late. I haven't stayed up 'til 5 since college. We all felt cool again, even if we did have those tell-tale purple mustaches.
(Photo: http://www.wilshirerestaurant.com/img/wine.jpg)

2. Finally checked out the lake.
We live literally a stone's throw from Lake Winnebago. Really. I can sit in my living room, and if someone holds my feet, I can lean outside and throw a stone to the park. And we've been there, like, twice.

Yesterday, we finally shut the computer off and went outside, and walked around, sat by the lake, and then realized we're just not used to all that nature. We were attacked by those strange, never-seen-before-in-my-life-and-hate-with-a-passion lake flies. What the heck are those things??? They swarm, they get in your hair, they congregate on your car ... But the park is nice. Just keep your mouth shut.


3. I went down the big-kid slide.
Once. Of the three slides at the new water park, two get my seal of approval. Meaning the third has a big drop that makes you want to die mid-air rather than hit the cold water. But it was fun. Go. Now.

4. I was part of a fund-raiser that didn't involve bowling, math or riding a bike.
This is a big step in my life. Yeah, a real fund-raiser, for Christine Ann Domestic Abuse Services Center. Sixty-some men cooked up delicious food and we got to taste them all. And we got smart, too. We picked out our favorite cooks, and sent our friends back to get seconds. I had five servings of the scalloped corn; I'm pretty sure my friend ate 43 scoops of strawberry sorbet. OK, maybe it was like, four.

5. Congrats to Xiku

Chimp tries to kick the habit. "Xiku the chain-smoking chimpanzee has almost kicked his deadly habit thanks to the efforts of zoo keepers in China, but it has taken a beer or two to help get him through detox." Well, that's a relief. If Xiku can do it, so can you.

Country USA takes over

It's Thursday! Finally.

And with Thursday comes (everyone now) Weekend. Our reporter Sarah Owen interviewed Montgomery Gentry (wild!) and Neal McCoy (family guy). We were going to have it flash "EXCLUSIVE" on the front page of Weekend, but apparently that's next to impossible to pull off with just ink.

Maybe next year.

I'm pretty sure this guy's going to get fries thrown at him wherever he goes for a long time

Some communities and cities have restrictions on liquor licenses, strip clubs, buildings over X-stories high and above-ground pools. But I don't really see this taking off: Limiting fast-food joints. In New York City.

OK, so maybe half of New Yorkers are overweight (according to the story, man, I'm not calling New York obese). But all I know is, when I get a craving for a roast beef sandwich that's not really what I think it is, drowning in cheese that comes in a gallon can, I am willing to walk to extra block or three to get it. Much like people who like bars go to bar districts; and people who like their pools where they can see 'em across the yard move to the country, outside zoning laws, people are gonna eat their fries and greasy burgers and fake Mexican food. Of course if they had to walk farther to get it ... EXERCISE.

"SUPERSIZE IT, we're walking home!" OK, at least that's what I'd think.

(Photo: From the coolest site in the world, toothpastefordinner.com.)

ENOUGH. We're now going to look for a house. No more living in a stupid apartment.

Another day, another fire alarm. This time it wasn't at 3 a.m. like usual. Nope. 6. Yes. 6 a.m. As in "Erin wakes up at 7:30 a.m., and therefore is in that blissful homestretch of sleep ..."

Insert the alarm.

Good news is I am confident I won't ever sleep through it should it ever be a real fire. Which it wasn't. Again. We made it out our door, to the stairs, when the alarm went off. Instead of going back to sleep, I thought I'd take a shower, but then it went off again, so I in my jeans and pajamas and Dave in his flip-flops carry our most valuable possessions (though a few less than the last time, because we're getting lazier). Then it goes off again, and we can hear our building manager yell "Go back to bed, it's just the (redacted) equipment room."

So this time I really just took a shower and went to work. It was about 7:30 a.m. when I got there, and it was nice. All quiet, no phones ringing, no one there. No e-mails. Not "nice" as in "I'm going to come in at 7:30 every day!" But it wasn't so bad. Well, except I wanted to die because I was so tired, but that's because ...

We stayed up pretty late (on a school night!) watching "The Hours." Not one of those movies that lifts the spirit. More like crushes it (or walks it into the river with stones in its pockets, as in Virginia Wolf's case).

What I was doing last week

Check out Living Well.

It's got a cute pet photography story, and an awesome recipe for cake that'll keep your dentist in business.

I'd comment further, but seeing as the stupid fire alarm was going off this morning, I don't have the energy. UGH.

Happy anniversary to us, kind of, maybe ...

I've had anniversaries before. I've been to golden anniversary parties. I danced the polka (really) at my grandparents' 50th.

I've also witnessed not-so-happy anniversary parties:

("Fifty years ago today, I made a big mistake," says some old man, while everyone laughs nervously, quietly, looking at the floor, shuffling from one foot to the other ... "Oh, look, grass. Dandelions," they think. "Oh, I'm just kidding," the man says, to more non-laughing laughing).

I've witnessed embarrassing "we don't celebrate anniversaries" speeches:

(Total stranger, trying to make conversation: "How long have you and Rob been together?"
Woman: "Oh, well, we don't really count. We just sort of started hanging out, like with other friends, a few years ago, and then we started just hanging out just the two of us. But we don't really keep track of that stuff. We just hang out ..."
Stranger: "That's nice." Cough.
Witnesses: Fidgeting, thinking "Just make up a number, you'll never see this man again in your life, ever. He doesn't really care. Just PICK A NUMBER -- TWO, SEVEN, WHO CARES.")

I mean the anniversary you have when you're just dating someone. The ones that say "Wow, we've been dating two years. Neat. Let's go to Fazolis." Those are the kinds of anniversaries we have. But now ... Now it's different. It's only a matter of time (about 106 days, but I'm not really counting) before we get a new anniversary. I'm assuming July 2 (cough, cough, if Dave's reading) just becomes meaningless after Oct. 14, but does that mean we don't get to celebrate (read: go to Fazolis and get a card or something) this year?

Or does it mean we get TWO anniversaries this year? YES.

Oh, wait, is this the part I am supposed to say "Aw, it doesn't matter. Just so long as I get to be with Dave." Now, see, look what you made me do. You know I'm not sentimentally mushy. Now I feel queasy.

Kidding.

And gifts -- gifts! -- who came up with the traditional anniversary gifts? Who? I want answers. I Googled it, but found conflicting reports. But, seriously, paper, cotton, leather, iron? I know you don't just get a bushel full of cotton (does cotton come in bushels?), but still. Why?

I think they need new ones. First anniversary, cookies. Second, free movie rentals. Third, tanks of gas. Fourth, cable TV. Fifth, free day off work. I mean, stuff I'd actually know what to do with.

(Photo: Lasagna, the official food of anniversaries.)

(Fun fact: When you do a search on Google images for "fazolis," you get my photo in the second page of results. See? And check out that guy beside me. Oh, man.)