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Monday · June 21 2004

I am enjoying the early summer. The weather hasn't reached full heat and the weekends are still clear of plans made in cooler months for “when it gets warmer.”

Friday, I Metra-ed up to Evanston to meet Stace for dinner and Napoleon Dynamite. Tori caught up with us before the movie and gave us a lift home. Napoleon Dynamite is destined to be a cult college film. I got a laugh out of Stacy all weekend every time I did my best “Idiot!” and roundhouse kicked the air. The trailer had most of the best jokes, but Napoleon's dance performance in the plot climax is an instant classic. We loved it.

The Music Box played matinees of The Magnificent Ambersons on Saturday and Sunday. We struck our cultured urbanite pose and dumped coffee in plastic cups, walked down Clark and caught the 11:30am show on Saturday. This is the 1942 Orson Welles version of Booth Tarkington's Pulitzer Prize winner, not this 2002 remake with a trite cover shot and Jennifer Tilly. I recommend the novel and the Welles version. I recommend nothing with Jennifer Tilly.

On the walk back, we stopped at several yard sales organized by the neighborhood between Montrose and Irving. Junk that other people want to get rid of is usually junk I don't need either even if they only want a quarter for their 12 year old box of Stay-Free maxipads. Some people understand the concept of the yard sale better than others: you're trying to rid your home of crap, not fund your kid's college education. Beanie babies for 50 cents and books for a dime: good. Beanie babies for 5 dollars and manuals to old computer games for 2 dollars: don't bother.

Next door to the friendly bustle of a multi-unit condo's collective sale, an old man was sitting in his barn/garage. His wife had stocked their table with ceramic salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls, irons and blenders from the 70s, and a few other appropriately priced, but far outdated kitchen utensils. He sat in a nylon folding chair with a black AM/FM tuned to the Cubs game just as my grandpa would have. He wasn't able to tell us the score, but he had a good feeling something was happening because the announcer seemed excited. We should have stuck around and listened to the rest of that game-winning 9th inning with him, but we moved on to the next street — out of earshot of his radio and the roar of the crowd.

© 2004 Jason Keglovitz