Filler

I spent most of this week insisting Phillip hurry up and read the rest of his Harry Potter book so we could talk about it. He's done now, but rereading certain sections because he's much more thoughtful and deliberate than me, the person who, the minute she put the book down, went speeding to her computer to check out the spoiler sites and message boards. Because !!!!! and also, !!!!!!!!. I couldn't believe that !!!!!! I don't want to say much about it because, you know, people who tell you the end of the story before you've read it are LAME, so HURRY UP because we totally need to talk about !!!!!!! and !!!!!!!!!

I was all set to give my copy to Sean last night, but he was all, "No, I can't take it yet, I'm reading a Grown Up novel and expanding my mind and I need to really dwell on the themes and ideas in, (cough) Mary Shelley's Frankenstein before I borrow this (cough) Harry Potter book."

Now, I read Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I read it in one of my lit classes in college (can you earn an English degree having taken only classes in Victorian lit, creative writing and early American novels? And avoiding the Romantic Poets like the plague? I AM LIVING PROOF.) In fact, I remember being really surprised at how much I liked it. I read it in one of the classes I took from one of my favorite professors, the one who let me make up for my inability to speak out loud in class by writing a paper about the big Bronte event put on by the Hugo House on Capitol Hill. (Complete with an all-day reading of Jane Eyre, a crazy woman in the attic and a Jeopardy-style game where you matched the character to his mental illness.) But anyway, let's think about this. Frankenstein vs. Harry Potter. Frankenstein may be big and ugly, but which one has a wand? Hmm? Which one survived a DEATH CURSE from YOU-KNOW-WHO?!?!?!

Right. I think we know who wins that one.

I need a nap.

This weekend we're taking my folks to see this. They're staying overnight so we have to do something about the futon we bought on craigslist a couple weeks ago. The frame is decent, but the mattress is crap. YES, we sat on it and Phillip even sprawled out on it, but we are both Nice people and didn't want to make a big fuss about testing the futon and making sure you could sleep on it without having to go to the chiropractor the next day. Also, we just wanted to pick it up and leave. So no wonder the girl who sold it to us looked like she was steeling herself when she told us the price. She was expecting some negotiating, some bargaining, some "You lie down on that pile of rocks and see if you think you're gonna get that much." She need not have worried, however, because it was the Wussy Cheungs who went to pick up her futon. Score!

I found out that certain companies will restuff the mattress for you. So we might do that. But for the weekend we'll borrow my old futon mattress from my sister. When I came up with this excellent solution, Phillip just kinda looked and me and said, "Yeah, I'll sleep on the floor." Whatever. I love my old futon.

This is boring. I need a nap. Did I say that already? See you Monday.