Ladies and gentlemen, it is a momentous occasion. My clothes are in the laundry machine washer. It's about time. I'm down to wearing my two year old Old Navy pajama pants that have seen their better days and my Frankenstein tshirt. Don't get me wrong, I love my Frankenstein tshirt, but let's just say it's one of those shirts that ends up in every snapshot I'm in. Not cool.
Haydn was right. Frida is all about some boobs. It was a pretty good movie though, but why am I not surprised? Cinema International has never let me down. But come to think of it, it has. It's been so good to us this year with Talk To Her, 8 Women, and Bowling For Columbine. But I have to say, Rosa Luxembourg was torture. Maybe it was because I was forcing myself to watch it for JT's extra credit. *GASP* Tonight it all came full circle. For the sake of those involved I'm going to put it very simply and very ambiguously: Lloyd and Cinema International. Full circle.
As worthless as it is, I'm putting my faith in weatherforyou.com tonight. It's says there are thunderstorms in the forecast for tonight. That's exciting. Maybe it'll cool this place down. Our stupid air kicked off again, and it's a million degrees in here. We have our windows open, but it's doing no good. And my poor little yellow fan, as loyal as it has been to me for several summers rigged upside down with a shoestring on my bunk at camp, is churning at full-force--to no avail. It's less that two feet away from me, and I can't feel a thing. Maybe Holly and I need to invest in a Shaun Mayes fan, which is ridiculous. It's late October. But that little remote sure would be cool...
PS - On I Love 87, they're getting ready to talk about lycra. That reminds me of the ghetto name I got one year at camp. I thought I'd share it: Molycra Jamocha Fajita Aphrodite Streptococcus Weems McKay, but you can me Phro. P-H-R-O. That's short for Aphrodite.