the underwear drawer

weekend detritus

This is pure conjecture, not backed up by science of any kind, but I think that if you don't cry at least twice while watching "Toy Story 3," you should check for evidence that your soul hasn't died. Let me be clear that I do not customarily cry at movies (though I also have to divulge that the last time I cried at a movie was during the climactic sled scene in "Elf"...what?) but I cried three times last night while watching "Toy Story 3." Once during the goodbye scene with Andy and his mom (dur), again during the scene where Andy plays with his toys for the last time and Woody says, "So long, pardner," and once during the dumpster scene where Lotso Bear (SPOILER ALERT: he's bad!) yells at Big Baby that Daisy never loved them and the baby says "Mama?" while sticking out his lower lip. Granted, I think that moms with young kids are particularly susceptible to that last one (that's why I said that you had to cry only twice in my soul location criteria), but still, everyone has to at least tear up a little bit at the end, right?

On a possibly related note, Joe and I decided last night that Cal and Mack are not allowed to go to college.

So it got all cold here all of a sudden (actual empiric cold, not just I-live-in-the-South-now cold), which is kind of amazing in that it went in two weeks from this:




to this:




so this week cued the yearly scramble to locate cold-weather clothing for the kids, mostly by trying to decipher the scribbles on our rapidly disintegrating and yet inexplicably everpresent moving boxes. When we lived in New York we'd still go to the playground even on the coldest of winter days, but I have to admit I may be getting soft, I wanted to get back indoors after about an hour today.




(Above: Kenny from "South Park.")

Last week was a busy one at work, and we had a houseguest as well, my friend Veronica from high school. It seems weird to have friends that you've known for the past twenty years of your life (we met when we were twelve--Hunter goes from 7th to 12th grades and it's not very big, so by the time you graduate you and your classmates are basically irrevocably welded to each other for life) but it was nice to see her and talk about old times and new times. It's always good to have friends who knew you when you were an obnoxious greasy teenager but somehow still kind of like you anyway.




Anyway, have a good rest of your weekend, and don't forget to change your clocks. (Lousy farmers.)