And so it is.

For all my griping about summer, there is definitely something to be said for summer nights: aimless drives, oldies on the radio, alcoholic beverages, lowered expectations and dampened initiative. Good times.

It's good to remind myself of that fact, because this past Sunday was cool and gray and gloomy—perfect autumn weather, marred only by a bit of rain—so naturally my stupid lizard-brain started shifting into my annual Autumn!Weird mode, at least a month prematurely. This has happened before, and it always hurts. I mean, I start wanting to cook slow-roasted anything and burn candles and listen to Kate Bush's Hounds of Love on infinite repeat and make poultices and go on mythic quests for, like, herbal tea and twigs to redecorate my hobbit-hole with, and then all of a sudden it's 85 degrees again and I'm sweating and miserable and wanting to kick Toby Keith fans in the groin. Bleagh.

All is not lost, however. In my bid to get caught up on movies that I haven't seen and should (entirely too long a list, that), I finally started watching Juno. Only part-way through, but I'm going to say this (and theloriest, hon, you may want to scroll past for a sec): Ellen Page was robbed blind at the Oscars. That is all.