I stole Lost In Translation from the Movie Star and noted a couple of points of major, major interest to everyone reading this, meaning my Sister. She and I recently discussed that in media--movies and TV, let's say--people don't laugh enough. Of major concern to me is that women don't laugh very much when men say funny things. Elaine never laughed at Jerry. Annie Hall? Nothing. Very similar to Charlotte in Lost in Translation, actually, now that I think about it--androgynous WASP style and slightly derisive titters when their respective partners say funny, funny, funny things.

I worry about this because I want a funny man and I love to laugh. Big dumb laugh, all the time, at anything funny. Studies show that I, as a laugher, will live a long and more contented life, although if movies are any indication I will be alone forever, as I am looking to land a dry-witted genius and am just too effusive, middle class, and loudly dressed.

Effusive, middle class, and loudly dressed women marry kind-hearted plumbers and other such tradespeople, and are always berating them and involving them in schemes. Which is fine, too, as long as the schemes result in wacky shenanigans and I get to laugh.

Wacky shenanigans can include walking into a mosque during Friday prayers. A friend and I were on Devon and needed to eat. I wanted to go to the restaurant with the big red dome on the corner at Western, but when we opened the heavy doors there were shoes everywhere. We backed out but a cute Pakistani American with big hippity hop pants lunged after us, and despite my friend's initial instinct--see a giant pile of shoes and hear chanting equals walk away--I went in. And he said "Hey, check out the buffet!" but he was whispering because everywhere except for the small buffet area there were men in round white hats on rugs, praying.

Checking out the buffet would involving lifting the loud metal lids and walking around in my suddenly shockingly tight shirt and so we waited while he kept saying "It's fine." It took a long while for the good food to come out--initial buffet offerings were weak--and my friend realized that this was because all the cooks were praying. Our sweet host made her some awesome chicken and brought me fresh naan, so in the end: it's all good. In fact, we were both motivated to pray over our food, despite the fact, according again to this wise woman, that "We look weak because we don't stand up or kneel down or anything." Later we went to Royal Sweets and had some damn good Indian sweets, although I think the only reason we went in was so that she could ask about barfy. "You got almond barfy? What kind of barfy is that one?" While I was thinking that she can't keep saying 'barfy', I ate something that looked like dookie.