As usual, I have nothing particularly illuminating to impart, but since I'm in love with the sound of my own cybervoice, I'll hold forth.

WHAT I'M DOING

We spent a good share of the weekend unpacking boxes. Although all the books for sale are on shelves (and have been for some time -- we've even been able to get the van in the garage for weeks now), we still have dozens of boxes of our own books that need to be unpacked. I fear they have been multiplying while in storage; I spent most of the day Sunday uncovering books that I had no memory of ever acquiring. Once I got over my bewildered state, I had fun deciding what went where. If any of you come to visit and stay in our guest room, you will have a fine selection of reading material at hand, including my entire collection of Helen Dore Boylston hardcovers (this includes all four Carol Page books), hardcovers by Frieda Friedman, all my Anne Emery books (I own them all except for the mysteries, which are boring), Louise Rennison's Georgia Nicolson oeuvre, some Stuart Woods and, to my everlasting shame, my Jackie Collins books. There was no way I was putting those in the living room. (There's still room on the big shelf in the guest room, and as soon as I uncover my Rosamond du Jardins, they're going up there too.)

The Lenora Mattingly Webers (including hardcovers of everything the woman wrote, except "Podgy and Sally, Co-eds," which I do not own and which I continue to seek hopefully at every book sale I attend) and Kip's collection of Dick Francis books have pride of place in the living room. The same shelf includes autographed stuff -- a couple of Webers, a Maud Hart Lovelace, many Francises (Franci?), MacDougalls, a Gwen Bristow, etc.

I haven't found my main Lovelace boxes yet, however. I hope *they're* multiplying.

I've also become part of Distributed Proofreaders, an online endeavor in which volunteers proofread scanned books that are destined for Project Gutenberg . Today I spent some time proofreading a book about Kali the elephant and part of "It's Like This, Cat" by Emily Cheney Neville. It makes me feel like I'm doing a (very infinitesimal) part to preserve literature.

WHAT I'M READING

I recently finished "The Floor of the Sky" by Pamela Carter Joern, which was rather bleak but ultimately uplifting; I enjoyed it. Yesterday I finished Jane Green's new book, "Second Chance," which was okay (I continue to prefer British chick lit to American, but Jane's been phoning them in recently). And I'm in the midst of Lorna Landvik's new book, "The View from Mount Joy," which comes out in September, I believe; so far I like it. I'm also reading "American Daughter Gone to War: On the Front Lines with an Army Nurse in Vietnam" by Winnie Smith (I developed a fondness for Vietnam books after discovering Ellen Emerson White's Vietnam books years ago) and the lovely "Sister of My Heart" by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, recommended to me by the lovely Bethany P. (Bethany is concerned about my recent diet of chick lit and
prescribed this book to cleanse my literary palate.)

WHAT MOVIES I'VE SEEN AND WILL BE SEEING

Kip and I saw "Knocked Up" on Father's Day weekend, and I found it crude and sophomoric. I laughed a few times, but I am tired of movies that attempt to appeal to the least common denominator (read: teenage boys) by ladling on the profanity and scatological humor. If you are offended by such things being flung at your head non-stop, I would recommend skipping this movie. Kip and I wish we'd gone with our original plan and seen "Waitress" instead.

Next Tuesday we will be seeing "Transformers" with Andrew, who has taken to announcing to anyone who crosses his path that the movie opens on Tuesday (actually it opens here on Monday, but we are otherwise occupied that evening; see below) and that he will be going to see it. In spite of myself, I am greatly anticipating this movie; I love the previews.

MY EX-HUSBAND IS AN ANNOYING WACKMOBILE

By the end of this year, my ex-husband and I will have been divorced for longer than we were married. Yet he persists in posting anonymous comments on my blog, apparently intending to remind me that we share a history. He's really rather sad, when it comes right down to it. (I should point out that not only am I very happily remarried, but he got remarried himself a few years ago. He needs to get over it.)

DAR

I used to belong; I too had ancestors on the Mayflower and some who fought for both sides in the Revolutionary War. My mother and my uncle are the genealogists in the family and I have no idea of the names of said ancestors, although my mother has several large, heavy books detailing the history of the Whitney family of Connecticut that explains all those branches. When my maternal grandmother died a few years ago I gave up my DAR membership. I think it seems kind of like a jingoistic and parochial organization.

When I was younger, I was enchanted by a story that my mother found in the Whitney family books about one of my ancestors, who apparently spent a night drinking grog (ale? mead?) in the barn and then awoke the next morning to see a group of witches flying overhead, calling, "Hoity-cock, hoity-cock, day breaks on!"

I'm so proud.

WHAT WE'RE DOING THIS WEEKEND AND BEYOND

Taste of Minnesota begins Friday on Harriet Island in downtown St. Paul and runs through July 4. We go multiple times every year, for the free concerts, good food and spectacular fireworks, and this year we're planning to see George Thorogood, the Village People, the Charlie Daniels Band and the Marshall Tucker Band. And members of Sly and the Family Stone. And members of some other bands who can't convince all the original members to perform at free outdoor festivals and tour on their own and whose names escape me at the moment. (Last summer we saw Al Jardine play with a bunch of young guys who can still hit the high notes on Beach Boys songs, as well as Peter Noone, who was adorable and funny and can still sing, and David Cassidy, who immediately alienated the crowd by yelling "Hello, Iowa!" before he began playing, never corrected himself, and then made a bigger ass of himself by telling self-aggrandizing stories about his Close Personal Friend John Lennon. Ugh.)

Anyway, that's why we won't be seeing "Transformers" on Monday. That's the night that Charlie's and Marshall's bands are playing. We haven't told Andrew that the movie is premiering here a day early. It's much easier to fool a 6-year-old than, say, a 12-year-old.

JONAS GRUMBY

That is the actual character name of the Skipper on "Gilligan's Island." For some reason known only to the cosmos, this has come up in conversations several times over the last week or so. I have given up trying to understand why.

But FYI, the Professor's real name was Roy Hinkley.

I wish I didn't know these things.