I don’t get to see many films, especially films in the movie theater. No time. No stomach for the prices. No patience for bad art. So
I’m not sure what possessed me two weeks ago when I informed my husband that we were going to see a film about which we knew nothing at our local cheapo second-run theater. It was an Italian art house-y film and all I knew was the title … sort of (“the title is similar to Life is Beautiful, except I don’t think it’s a WWII movie”). I also knew that I did NOT want to give another Friday night to what I was afraid was becoming a pattern — sitting at my computer and working on contact notes until I dozed off with my finger pads on the keyboard, only to be interrupted by the jarring bolt of noise created by the timer on the clothes dryer. No thank you! I was going to this $3 art house movie with or without him, and if the movie turned out to be a stinker at least I could nap without being interrupted by the dryer buzzer.
Nap I did not. Continue reading
Today was a beautiful day of full, heavy rain in Seattle. We spent it dodging tourist umbrellas at the Pike Place Market because we knew we needed to do something away from our work, the teens, and the house with the dangerous heaping piles of laundry that collected after the dryer went down earlier this week. Here are some of the fantastic moments today: Continue reading
We did something really crazy tonight, something that I have the feeling a lot of people our age don’t do any more. We walked into the basement of a complete stranger for a Mardi Gras-themed Blues jam house party, armed with two bottles of wine and a giant platter of olives and homemade hummus. How? Why? What? Huh?
So here’s the background story:
We are one of those crazy couples that tailgates in the north parking lot of Husky Stadium before every UW football game. In fact, I often go just for the tailgating and begrudgingly drag my drunk rear into the stadium for the games, though our seats have much improved with the stadium remodel and we no longer have to hike Mount Kilimanjaro to reach our seats. Our seats were so high, we would get wind blowing on us from the crack where the wall almost meets the roof; our seats were so high, our row was “vv” — or what I called “sloppy nosebleed W.” Now our seats are comfy and there’s a bar in our section. Whoops, I digress… Continue reading
What is the hardest part of blogging? Probably getting started and overcoming the fear, right? Fear that maybe one has nothing important to say. Fear that no one will read it. Or everyone will read it. I cannot promise that this blog will have any important content at all, to anyone other than me. But we’ll see.