Sigh. Giggle. Sigh.

I would very much like to be Edith Zimmerman when I grow up. Why?

Is it because she does adorable crafts? No. I also do adorable crafts.

Is it because she is the editor and a popular blogger on a well-known web site? No, I’m far too lazy to admire that sort of consistent productivity.

The reason that Edith is my new hero is that she somehow managed to turn what could have been another boring celebrity profile, this time of Chris Evans, into something that completely transcends the celebrity profile genre. There’s humor, there’s pathos, there’s pecs. Allegedly.

Since we’re the same age and live concurrently, there’s no possible way for me to be reincarnated as Edith, but I’d like to live a day in her life, or at least somehow get the opportunity to give her first-hand information about what Chris Evan’s chest feels like.

What he said

I went to see Push last night, and it was just as terrible as the previews made it seem. You may wonder why, going in to this film suspecting that it stunk to high heaven, I would even bother. The short answer is friendship, and the long answer is, “Because I absolutely refused to see He’s Just Not That into You or Paul Blart: Mall Cop.” My friend R has truly horrific tastes in movies, and Push is where I drew the line. Please remind me next time to draw it a little lower.

Here’s what one review of this film said:
“I thought Hayden Christensen in last year’s Jumper would be as bland a mutant as the screen would ever give us, but that was before I saw Chris Evans in Push.”