After RAZ's withdrawl from Roxy's House of Ill Repute and Interns, I seem to be back to running a house of ill repute only. Scratch the intern. That means several things. The first is I now have to blog for myself instead of lazily referring to RAZ's blog to know what I've done all summer. I think I can handle that part. (Okay, barely. He's still going to have to hold my hand for a little while until I can master the html business.) The second is I'm back to lawn mowing duties, unless of course I can track down that "mowing the lawn is blowing my mind" kid in the Old Navy commercial. Oh, where oh where can that little lad be? I wish I could say now that I have the house back to myself, I've returned to some demented activities that one only does in private like drinking milk from the carton at 5 am wearing only mismatched socks but that really isn't something I would do anyway. Milk? Like yuck. This weekend, I found myself appreciating small things around me and my surroundings. I stopped to throw a runaway ball back to a family playing catch on their lawn, inhaled the sweet smell of roasting corn, welcomed a newcomer to the area and marvelled at how wise my Grams is. I spent a gorgeous afternoon in a friend's pool. First time in a pool or a bathing suit for that matter all summer. We talked about books, California, perennials. I feel completely restored. Okay, not restored like I just spent 10 days kicking it on the west coast but closer to fine than I have all week. On the horizon in the near future on my social calendar, Little Steven's Garage Rock Festival on Aug 14 at Randall's Island. Bad Girl Posse is poised to descend enmasse and dispense some serious ass shakin' and picture takin'. After that, Mooney Suzuki on the 20th at Maxwell's in Hoboken and Burning Brides in Philly. Poor planning resulted in being shut out of The Libertines at Bowery Ballroom this week. All together now, "bad, Roxy, bad." I watched the film Before Sunrise tonight in preparation for the sequel Before Sunset. It was better than I anticipated. It had the elements of angst and pretentiousness that I would normally associate with Ethan Hawke and that period in life. Yet, I found it was poignant, thought provoking and relevant to me at this point in my life. I'm looking forward to the next chapter. (It should be noted this is the second reference to Richard Linklater's work here at the Magpie. Although it is completely unintentional, I think he's officially the first shiny bauble I've tucked into the pocket of my blog.) One more thought. Recently, I saw the film The English Patient for the first time. I've been thinking about this one alot, too. Is it odd that I identify with the male characters in both of these films more than the women?