I'm presently addicted to The Boondock Saints.

One of my husbands co-workers recommended it. I was luke-warm on watching it. If not for Willem Dafoe being in the cast, I probably would have found a reason to not be in the room when the DVD finally made it into the player.

The first time we watched it, I flipped through magazines. Occassionally something would peak my curiousity and I'd pop my head up. By the end of the movie, I realized I'd probably missed a lot of good stuff, so I decided I needed to watch it and pay attention to the whole thing. OMG!

My husband thinks the two brothers are the reason for my facination. After, the fifth or sixth time watching it, I admit they've kind of grown on me. I'm still not sure I find them attractive. They've got the "I have poor hygiene, be thankful you can't smell me" look to them.

I'm strangely facinated by the Rocco character. I swear this is a real person, there is no way this guy's acting. He's way too manic. Plus, actor and character share the same name.

Then, there is Agent Smelleck played by Willem Dafoe. Dafoe is a comedic genius. Have I said this before? After seeing Life Aquatic, I began suspecting this. I'm convinced of it now. Near the end of the movie, Dafoe's Agent Smelleck goes "under cover." I swear it is one of the most disturbing and hilarious things I have ever watched.

Actually, the entire movie can be summed that way.

There is some grotesque violence in this movie that absolutely cracks me up:
-Murph beating Russian mobster to death with toliet tank cover...hilarious.
-Rocco accidentally setting off gun and killing his girlfriend's cat...hilarious.
-Rocco beating Italian mobster to death with cue ball...hilarious.

I don't own this movie yet, but it's going to happen.

Fondest Herb memories:

Snuggles. When Herb was a young lad, he would snuggle around my head at night. The husband always hated this because Herb invariably had his butt aimed at the husband's head. When Herb finally grew into his full-fledged twenty pound self, the bed snuggling came to an end. The husband just couldn't handle that much butt.

Lettuce. Herb loved to eat lettuce. Ergo his name, Herb, which is short for Herbivore. When he was a kitten, we discovered this by accident. For some reason the fridge door was ajar or open. Herb somehow zereod in on the lettuce sitting on the bottom shelf and he climbed on in to score some Butter Bread green leaf. He occassionaly went through phases where he'd hang out by the fridge in the hopes of snagging a leaf or two.

Catnip. Herb loved to eat catnip. He didn't just roll in it. He would eat it while salivating profusely, we're talking puddles of drool would form. Upon getting himself into a good catnip stupor, he'd frolic. A frolicking 20-pound feline is ludicrous beyond words.

Food. Herb loved to eat...and often. He expected a minimum of three squares a day. He was not shy about asking for seconds.

Hockey nights. Whitey always picked me up for home hockey games. Herb would pull himself out of his most comfortable snuggle spots to run and get love from Whitey. He'd yell at her in his little kitty voice to give him good lovin'. She always did.

Farts. Can you say "silent but deadly"? Herb could clear a room. You never heard them, sometimes you could see them, you always smelled them. As disgusting as it sounds, we always found it hilarious.

Unrealistic body image. Herb never knew he was a 20-pounder. In his little, kitty mind he thought he maxed out at about eight pounds. How do I know this? He liked to "hide" and attack. Yet he never realized he needed to conceal the last two-thirds of his body in order to mount a successful attack. He also liked to sit in empty shoe boxes. He either never noticed or never cared that sitting in them caused them to tear apart at the seams.

Neediness. Herb was rarely content to just crush a lap...I mean sit on a lap. He'd get himself into a good snuggle position. However, if you did not immediately start to pet him, he would begin to slap at your face with claws extended. If you started petting him and then stopped, he'd slap at your face with claws extended.

Addendum
Claiming. Landstander has reminded me that Herb enjoyed claiming property. You may ask, "How can a cat claim anything as it's own?" Simple. Say you set something down on a table, a book perhaps. Herb would lay down beside the book and then place one paw on top of it, as if to say, "This is mine now. It belongs to me."

So, my three-year old was with me yesterday morning when I found Herb's body. She was right by my side as I wrapped his body in trash bags and then stored him in the outdoor fridge for later burial. I had to continually explain to her that Herb was dead and what dead meant.

In between finding the body and finally getting her to daycare, I was prone to outbursts of crying. My little princess would offer some sympathetic crying. I don't think she fully grasped the situation. She knew I was upset. To her this meant she should also be upset. If I started to cry, she'd do what I can only describe as "mock sobbing."

Anyway, when I dropped her off daycare, the three-year-old caregiver wasn't in yet, so I had to leave her with the one-year-old caregiver. I was going to write a note to the three-year-old caregiver about finding our cat dead, but I decided all I needed to do was tell the one-year-old caregiver. I should have written a note.

At around 10:30 a.m. I get a call from the daycare assistance director. Here's how it went:

Me: Hello.
AD: Hi, this is "Sarah" from daycare. Sorry to bother you at work.
Me thinking: Crap, she's going to tell me I have to pick up little princess.
Me saying: No problem. Is something wrong.
AD: Actually, I feel kind of weird asking this, but is everything okay at home?
Me:Well, actually, we found one of our cats dead this morning. And little princess was with me when I found him.
AD: Oh, thank goodness. Not that your cat is dead. But she has been telling everyone that her Daddy is dead. That he's in heaven with the angels. I kept telling her teacher that she has to be wrong, you wouldn't have just dropped her off.

So there you have it. In less than a three-hour period, my "grief-stricken" child turned our cat's death into her father's death.

Herb died. I found him this morning by the porch door. Now I feel incredible guilt over my March 29 post. I'm crying now.