On Saturday morning my mom and the twins had to go to a court-mandated class called “Families in Transition” for parents getting a divorce and their kids to talk about feelings and watch videos. I was partly sympathetic, partly smug, as my parents split back when divorces were quick and dirty and thankfully I didn’t have to attend any divorced kid class or fill out a divorced kid workbook. According to my mom it ranked somewhere between driving school and death by paper cut. The twins didn’t mind it that much—they were split off from the adults into a young kids group and probably got to play games and color about their feelings—but they’d been dreading it the night before, so I’d offered to take us all to a movie when they returned. Stuck between a rock and Kit Kittridge, An Americal Girl, we forced Nick and Natalie to go see PG-rated Journey to the Center of the Earth instead. They were both a little wary of the dinosaur chase, but when Natalie found out the movie was in 3D, she wisely remarked that “if things get too scary, you can always take off your glasses.” Amen, sister.

First, I will always love Brendan Fraser because he’s Canadian and Rick O’Connell, and no amount of bad career choices will ever change this fact. In his defense, I submit Gods & Monsters, The Quiet American, and Crash. His forehead could end the genocide in Darfur, and he looks a lot like Jon. If I wasn’t confident that Jon will get plenty of work on his own talented chops (acting, not facial hair) I’d say he could probably do a fair amount of convincing doubling for Brendan Fraser. Second, this movie will be a great amusement park ride.

Macaroni Grill afterwards, and then once the twins were put to bed, I drove to Bardstown Rd to see if Karina’s shift at her new job was done yet. She’s working at this chocolate shop(pe) place that does mostly truffles and candies, but also some smaller cakes and coffee drinks. She wasn’t quite finished, so I dried some dishes and wiped down tables for awhile, and we locked up and dashed through the pouring rain to the car at about 11:45. Quick stop at her place to change into drier clothes, then next door to check on the pets and plants of her neighbors that she’s house-sitting for. Karina’s allergic to cats, so sometimes when she’s housesitting, she asks me to come along essentially to be the cloth mother. She feeds them, but can’t give them too much loving without breaking out in hives. We finally met Ann at Ramsi’s around 1am. God bless Ramsi’s Cafe on the World. For reliably tasty food and cocktails, for its good-looking waitstaff, for the decor, and mostly for the full kitchen open til 2am. I miss the pre-expansion days when it was about 800 sq feet and not very well known, but I’m happy for its success nonetheless. StevenCalculator was our waiter and was at least a very good sport, if not genuinely amused by our antics, though I’m nowhere closer to a quickie in the storage closet with him and his TI-83 than I was last week.

StevenCalculator does nothing for Karina, and it’s a damn lucky thing too, because the girl has a gift. Karina’s about 3 drinks ahead of us, and as we’re loading into the car, she leans out the window and beckons, actually beckons, this pedestrian over to the window. “Do you know where Taylorsville Road is?” she asks him, knowing full well where Taylorsville Road is. He hesitatingly launches into the wrong directions, and Karina casually asks if he’s from here. By the end of their conversation, she’s found out his hometown ,where he went to college, what he had for dinner, and what he thinks about his family. All in about 2 minutes, drunk, from the passenger car window. A gift, I tell you.