beginning of the end

Olivia has left for school and my world is not quite the same.

o.w.i.e.

So, we just got back from a girls' night out at the movies---all Yale girls laughing and sobbing over the (fictitious) Austen love story in Becoming Jane. And, yeah, it was great. Good time had by all---and when we got home, we enjoyed another round of laughs and absurdity tearing apart the plot line and then, later, declaring our (undying) love for the Jonas Brothers. Happy, right? But you know what really topped it all? What really made the cherry on top?

A message from our girls eight thousand miles away, our Eternal Partners in Crime. With pictures.

Only you could make a great day greater. Only you could make us stay up later. Only you could get us taking Photo Booth pictures with stuffed frogs at quarter to midnight.

What more can we say?

Frog on.

keep the faith

I have tried. So hard. To put this off. So far off, in fact, that it just never happens. I gave in to the blog header---the premiere deserved as much---but this, this should never have come about:

The time for a HSM2 review has come.

All guests had arrived, the red and white jelly bellies passed around, the TV tuned to Disney and the countdown begun. As both former and current students of East High (yes, THE East High) filled the room, it's no understatement to say that we were seriously jazzed---and rightfully so. I mean, this is HSM! This is your name in lights! Your time to shine! I was gearing up for elated laughter and The Post to End All Blogs. Sadly (though perharps luckily for you), I can sum it up in all of two words: entirely adequate.

Don't get me wrong---I am a serious fan of this singing sensation---but Troy, really? Did you really have to solo-dance about the golf course in all black and with so much emotion? Did you honestly need a near-Sharpay experience to see that Gabriella was, truly, the music in you? And you might have been better off without the necklace exhange ("T for Troy?"). Still, that's not to say it's all your fault. It's a musical, yes, but the smiles could have been taken down a watt or two

Here's the thing: HSM, for all its kitsch, was somewhat believable in its transitions from script to songburst. The second time around, not so much. I know, I know, it's Disney. But I think, when it comes to HSM3, we should stick to the school. There's only so much you can do with a few sprinklers and a sterling silver T.

the wild, wild west

the lot

Sometimes the best of ideas are born in the dead of night; this was no exception.

From forgetting the cabin keys to one-dollar treasures at Ken's Kash, this evening jaunt to The Lot was one adventure after the other. Besides the usual s'mores and expected hilarity, Richard kept us entertained and thoroughly spooked with his haunted tales and Jonny played the true hero with the purchase of a Wild West toy kit which proved both inspiring and embarrassingly addictive. We remember with sadness the passing of the one-armed cowboy, who remains MIA somewhere amongst the aspens, and the loss of so very many brave, plastic figurines who fought to the end.

So here's to The Lot: Thnks fr th mmrs.

*edit*---for a more full-bodied account (and entirely better writing), check out my sister site, Mostly Martha. And, honestly? I'm still wondering about the suspicious deer-hunter-at-large.

self-satisfaction

Okay, so I love this clock. Really, really love this clock. I feel like I personally gave it life, or something, it's ridiculous. And, well, that's a bond that can't be broken. I hope this little guy's with me for a long, long time.

Right. Responsibility. Off to work.

anyway.

Sorry for the small interruption; when a sister calls laughing, there's not much else I can do but join in, all other cares forgotten. What began as an insomniatic spell of nighttime wandering soon became a whirlwind tour of our deepest thoughts rooted in tales of public humiliation (think A-1 Driving School here), far-away soul sisters (hats off to Rani's Theory of the Sheep), and deepest sympathies for Laura Ingalls Wilder and her "Long Winter" (my basement room was sub-zero last night). So you can see how I could be considerably sidetracked. By the time I got around to sleep my head was pounding and stomach aching from the hard as laughing and my dreams were harried up in worries of impending bookshelves and A New Apartment. But where was I? Oh yes, guilt. Guilt drives me.

Which is why, in lieu of a real, flesh-and-bones post, this will be an exercise in S.I.A.S., or Summary In A Sentence, one of my favorite tools of brevity and one which I am indebted to Ms. E.L. Konigsburg forever*. Here's the plan: each individual adventure will have a starting tag to ground you and then a following sentence in which to sum up said adventure. Ready?

The Ritz-Carlton at Monarch Bay: "Oh, if only I had a photography boy of my own!" Olivia wailed, turning to point-and-click at the sunset behind us---and, as if in answer from the gods, there he was: all tall, dark and handsome of him, offering to take a picture of the both of us that ended in an email exchange on the beach.**

The Zen Master: In which my dad decides that he is the Ultimate Creator of all Wave Jumps and introduces not only the Bowling Pin and the Yao Ming, but a more peaceful approach to the roaring surf---much to the delight of all his adoring children.

Best of Britain: Nothing can better brighten a day than to stumble upon this boutique along Avenida Del Mar and find it manned not only by a delightfully wrinkled little lady with a lovely London lilt, but to find that she is called, truly, Pauline Duck.

Beach Read: Austenland is now compulsory reading for any and all reading this post.

Eclipse: I never thought I'd admit to reading this series, much less admit to it online, but if anyone else out there is feeling distressed and despondent after completing this last adventure of werewolf and vampire, join the club.

Yale Theatrical Society: We are most pleased to announce the latest additions to our Yale family, those who we have waited so very long for and who gave a most magnificent performance last night in their opening act, "Moving In"--- ladies and gentlemen, we give you. . . The Robinsons!

Wrinkle in Time: Yesterday, on a run to DI with my sister and ten dollars in hand, I found the most dilapidated, well-worn, beauty of a clock, and I brought it home and fixed it, wood frame, second hand, and all (most envigorating).

Jacob Black: I would not be averse to starting and maintaining a fan club (deep discussions, speculations, matching t-shirts, the works) so, if anyone's interested . . .


There you have it, SIAS, with a few liberties taken. Good thing I tend to write long, complicated sentences, yes? And now, with an hour of typing behind me, I'm off to be responsible.

......................................


* Silent to the Bone, a must-read for any Mixed-Up Files fans out there. Also, The View From Saturday. And A Proud Taste of Scarlet & Miniver. And--actually, just E.L. in general. No childhood is complete without her.

**Wow, I just stretched the SIAS rules into oblivion. It wasn't until I actually started that story until I realised that dear Jason of Long Island needed a bit more than a sentence.

guilt trip

Enjoying my daily dose of The Happy Haven took a rather dark turn this evening when I realised what, in comparison, a complete blogging failure I am. This summer's been a right drought when it comes to my small corner of the Wide Web, and I really have absolutely no excuse. Worse yet, I finally come to this realisation just as I find myself past typing and really too tired for much else but sleep. Still, it is guilt that drives me, and---

oh. my sister's awake. huh. that renders this post: to be continued.

(and yes, Olivia had everything to do with the MK&A tribute.)