From an article on the upcoming Batman Begins:

On this particular day, Bale has been in the Batsuit for nine hours, and his brain is starting to boil. But he keeps up his good humor. After one take, Nolan instructs him to try a line again with more intensity, and Bale answers with a riff inspired by "This Is Spinal Tap": "How much more Batman can you get? The answer is: none. None more Batman."

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I've been to all 3 local libraries in the past weekend, and it has only confirmed my belief that public suburban libraries are sad, lonely places; but, as Rita has pointed on a biweekly basis, I am often sad and lonely, thus, I will continue to indulge my autumnalocity. And by the way, Spruill totally kicks Roswell and Alpharetta's ass, still.

Kristen and I cooked dinner for her parents on Saturday night-- pesto tortellini with salad-- which is our first attempt at teaching ourselved how to cook so our kitchens don't get lonely next school year. The food turned out almost flawless, due to grace and innate culinary jive. I'm really psyched about cooking next year. On that Maine kayaking trip before junior year, we had two guides, Jesse and Brian, who, when they were roommates at U of Maine, would spend their Friday nights cooking and baking muffins. So, Chicago people: Friday nights, Shoreland, room 705.

We also saw Saved! at a theater which was not Madstone, because Madstone closed down to make me the saddest little Days of Heaven fan ever (Richard Gere among wheat!). Anyhow, the movie was very much like watching a story about Milton FCA, but the film took a very can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em treatment, so it's not the acid-frothing satire on Christian Youth culture that the trailers promised. I'm kinda glad it wasn't. And I would be ill, but not surprised, if the new Milton christened itself as Super-Lucky American Eagle Milton Christian Rock High School next year.

Last night, I finally hung out with Clarke and Daniel and Adam and Sara and Jason and then Sarah and Ian, all of whom save one have blogs that have been sorely neglected in the past month, so don't even bother to go check because you'll just be disappointed; again. Well, maybe we're growing out of the blogs. Anyhow, Clarke's new house is hott and Perlman & Beverly almost died on the way and Fellini's was amazing (because 9 months of deep dish wears one out) and Georgie peed and A&E is unentertaining and Jason made tasteless rape jokes. And it seems like every time I go out with you guys it's the best possible run-on sentence. Everyone's working and interning in far-off places and moving and stage managing and making plans, and it's all so much change to take in at once that it's best to just eat ice cream and take a look at how little everything's changed.

I think that goes for just about everything back here so far. God, I love it. Chicago will be the bee's knees next year, but for now there's nothing I'd rather do than be in Alpharetta forever.

Now I'm just sitting and eating Kalamata olives and dates (I have recently grown a substantial archipelago of Mediterranean taste buds) and waiting for Kristen to get home from work so we can start our evening, which, the way I see it, is actually my first official night of summer (eliminating free days from finals week last week and the weekend). I hope we're running.

Finally: Starbucks interview tomorrow at 11:30. I will not get it. They asked my why I wanted to work at Starbucks on my application; I answered, "The chicks."

Finally, finally: Kelly, did you try and call me yesterday? Because I tried calling you back, but the number I'm calling is a wrong number.