I have the strange desire to scoop someone up. Anyone, really, someone smaller who smells nice would be best.

It bothers me
-that the next logical step after losing your virginity is a wedding. At the very least that makes American Pie2 a complete waste.
-that our leader is celebrating the death of two men and our news organizations are excited about tracking down their father.
-that cows had to die to make leather dividers for someone's presentation.
-that I ate two donuts at a meeting with the IRS.
-to spell doughnuts. Either way.

To be filed under "huh?"
*I tried to MASH and my connection went out. Now that's fate. Sorry Rob. Huh?
*Not two hours after my cubicle neighbor received flowers from her boyfriend she asked me to watch the movie we missed last week. Huh?
*BBQ SPAM is actually good cold and hot. Somehow the BBQ must soak up the disgusting SPAM pus. No verdict yet on SPAM&cheese. Huh?
*The licorice fish are coming. The licorice fish are coming. YES!

The Biscuit is good
The book has the details, but the movie captures the essence.

Somewhere along the line
it started to mean a little less. Is that good or is that bad?

On crushes
Thanks to Kristin for the much needed boost. I had a crush on her too. 'Course I had a crush on Justin as well. Is it a crush if it still lasts 2 years later?

And in other Justin news
Word on the street is that Justin Poirot, former FARCer, movie maker, and my neighbor for 2 years, is going to get married. Congrats to him.

It's like fight club
And not just because of the punches. It seems that the rule is don't mention the "date". All knowledge from the "date" is acceptable knowledge, but the actual "date" may not have even happened. Perhaps I dreamed the whole thing, like I dreamed my own suffocation last night- only more pleasant.

Film at 11
The boyfriend shoe dropped today and I feel like a super-schmuck. It's partly because I feel like maybe I should've seen it coming. I obviously thought last night was more of a date than it must have been. It's not such a big deal that it wasn't, really.

Still, I feel like a schmuck even more because of the way the elements of a "date" change me and my perceptions. I treated this girl differently because I thought I was on a date. I opened more doors, I picked up the check, I tried to impress her. I tried to make it more than it was because in my head it was a date. Why? Here's a sweet girl without many DC friends who wants to hang out and a part me isn't sure that's enough. The other part of me is kicking that part and saying, "Hey super-schmuck, friends rule. Why do you have to get so carried away?"
Yea. 2nd part. Yea.

The Postman doesn't ring
I had a date tonight. The first "first-as in I don't know you, you don't know me" date I've had in I'd say 6 years. Sweet girl, pretty smile. I'm a sucker for the smile. I work with her. We went out to dinner and were going to see "The Postman Always Rings Twice" out on the mall. The conversation was ok. She talked a lot about dogs and food. I listened. I chimed in where I could. I'm not a great conversationalist, but I listen. Everything was nice. Then a storm started brewing, but a migraine headache sent us packing first. So we left as the movie began. She said it wasn't the company and I believe her. Even if it wasn't true, I have to believe her.

Public Transportation throws a whole new wrinkle into dating. Where is the ending point? Is it returning the girl safely to her car? Is it at the logical seperation point? I behaved like a gentleman and offered to escort her to her car. It's a big city. It's late at night. She declined, not surprisingly. So then the date ends when the Metro arrives. No lingering in the doorway or the car. This doorway closes in 15 seconds and says "Doors Closing" and means it. That's a tough way to end a first date, or any date if I remember correctly.

I'm dealing with all of this when the final blow lands. THE GOOD NIGHT PUNCH. Just a soft little jab to the shoulder and a "see you tomorrow." The good night punch may be the hardest punch there is. Soft punch to the shoulder followed by the heart dropping to the toes. I couldn't end on a good night punch, even with "Doors Closing" seconds away. So I reached out and gave a hand squeeze. A vastly superior move to the good night punch, if I do say so myself. It salvaged the moment, but the effects of the good night punch linger on.

Ok. Ok. I'll ask.
In case you were wondering the high school girls are in Ocean City, MD. So is the finest in all pre-post modern architecture.
And so is the sea. Ah the sea. I never got the sea the way I got the mountains, but I still enjoy a nice visit to the beach now and again. Yesterday was now and again. Ah the sea.

BANJ-woe
I went to tune my banjo and I made it sound significantly worse.
My harmonica didn't help. So I played them together.

What do you do when the wizards are gone?
For a few days there I was lost in Harry Potter. I went to bed reading Potter, dreamed Potter and had breakfast with Potter.
There are other wizards. I attended a meeting with some bigwigs. The scene reminded me of the Sauron/Gandalf battle in Lord of the Rings. We were on the top floor of the building around this shiny wooden table, dark enough to be stone and though Mt. Doom wasn't on the horizon, the looks people around the table were giving each other were viscious. I was waiting for someone to pull a wand or shoot fire or something. It all ended amiably. Maybe next time.

It's a what?
Tonight I experienced Fondue. For the uninitiated that's a French word for pricey pieces of food that you should skewer and stick in hot bubbling goo. 4 courses and 3 hours after it started I was still stuffing my face with anything I could dip in chocolate. At one point I think I was poking at the table to pick up crumbs just so I'd have something else to scoop up the chocolate with. I've never been so stuffed in my life. And the best part was it all came pre-cut. This stuff is better than having the crust cut off of a Mom pb&j. It's also nine thousand times more expensive. NINE THOUSAND. I am unable to do anything else that costs money in the month of July. Unless I go to a matinee of Pirates of the Carribbean. I can surely take that from the August budget.

I'll be your pirate
I say, "AYE! July 9th is Curse of the Black Pearl Day!" The movie has laughs, swordfights, wacky Johnny Depp and lovely swashbuckling Kiera Knightley. It's lots better than you'd expect. Worth every penny of the 9 dollars I paid for it. I might even see it again. ' Course it does have my bonnie lass in it.

The Italian Biscuit
I saw The Italian Job today. It wasn't very Italian. If making Mini's and tanktops sexy was the Job, then Charlize Theron did it. Unfortunately for all the twists and turns this movie tried to give me, it all ended up on a pretty straight and narrow path. Save your money for 2 more days, 'cause Kiera's coming!

I also saw a preview for Seabiscuit. Read the book. Read the book. READ THE BOOK! I was thinking that Seabiscuit might make a great movie because the book is a real kick. It looks like Spiderman and Hollywood just might mess up an awesome tale. The book doesn't have music, but I've got a hunch it's got a lot the movie is missing. I'm trying not to judge too harshly, but let's say that my hopes are diminished. And for those of you who want to dust off the ol' library card, read the book.

Progress as promised
Better than a MoDot highway, I'm getting better picking my ol' banjo everyday. It's neat to get better at something.

My new toy...
is a banjo. YEE haw.

As promised,
Why I love the Folk-life Festival
Banjos, banjos, banjos! I've seen more banjo players at this festival than I've ever seen in my life. I hear that banjo players spend half of their time playing out of tune and the other half tuning. A fiddler told me that.

Playing civil war songs, a large African American liberal spouting off against Bush and ignorance, was dwarfed by his thin, sweet-voiced Native American partner WAILING on the harmonica. I mean WAILING.

If that juxtaposition wasn't enough, I saw the sexiest upright bass player I've ever seen, imagined even. Sorry Dave Hall and Jim Widner.
She was pleasantly plump, down-home as could be and dead sexy. Not only could she play the bass, but her voice was beautiful.

I did take a break to eat a Scottish delicacy, Fofar Bridie, I believe, and find my family tartan.

And today I found out that a violin and an accordion can make some of the most sorrowful sounds I've ever heard.

I might just go back tomorrow and see what else I can discover.