It's all about the beverages
Napoleon Dynamite is a beer movie. Maybe not a whole beer, just 3/4. Laugh while the chilled glass bottle rests on slouched, now-horizontal hips. Toss back a swig or two and consider the dork within.

Slurpee is the new February walking drink. Walk through the suburbs where the houses and the trees both seem taller. Walk past the homes that seem to house the hippies who haven't quite turned yuppie despite the Audi in the driveway. Slurp. Slurp. Try not to stare at the thin pale woman cleaning her Mercedes to the twanging country groove. When was the last time I heard country? Slurp. Slurp. Flags and multi-colored shudders, snow remains separate from the abandoned sleds and "War is not the answer." The houses are closer, maybe older, and yet somehow more stylish. The porches are open, welcoming, but empty. Slurp. Slurp. "Hi" she announces with the confidence that comes from being 4. "Hi" I return, my cheeriness tainted by not talking to strangers. That rule was for the children, not for the bearded man walking up the street. Tell that to the mother who notices me, but seems to sweep her child inside. Slurp. Slurp. Over a grate it smells like oatmeal on a camping trip, which smells far different from oatmeal at home. The sounds of children playing fade to cars and the purposeful wander of the urban student. A move-in special, first month free, no thanks I think I've got a home and Slurp. Slurp. Slurpee.