Peaches, icecream, and turkey bacon for breakfast. It would have been the peach pie my dad baked before going to church this morning if I didn't know better -- my sister and Rainier (her boyfriend) are coming over for lunch today, and I had enough pie mishaps in childhood to know not to have the first piece when no one else is home.

Last night I was unexpectedly dismissed from work around six (although "dismissed," here, does not mean "thrown out" -- simply, "got off early"), and seeing as I was halfway to Carolyn's house already, I drove the rest of the distance to see what she was up to. In the age of cellphones, I was a little worried about not calling before showing up (I don't have a cellphone), afraid that her father would open the door and Carolyn would not be inside, and instead it would just be the two of us standing there, me and Mr. K, my awkwardness and stupidity exposed. Fortunately, as I pulled into the driveway, her mother was taking the dogs for a walk. "Just go around back," she said. "The door's open."

I found Carolyn in her room arranging a care package for her little brother, who is at summer camp in New York -- A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, some rubber-duck-like bath toys, stickers, and a belt she bought in the women's section at the gap. "I tried to pick things that he'd like, but things that the other boys in his cabin wouldn't make fun of him for," she said, always the caring older sister. Each year Carolyn's brother gets a little more fruity. Just the other day (before Dairy Queen), Mark and Carolyn and I were in her room, and in the middle of conversation I asked, "Wait...is your brother listening to Shania Twain?" He has the room above hers. We all turned our eyes to the ceiling as the guitar twangs of "Man, I Feel Like a Woman" rang out above us. It was only last year that we discovered his Livejournal, "pinkismasculine," which we all thought was adorable and hilariously funny.

I ended up going with Carolyn and her mother to the Alabama to see Sabrina, the original Audrey Hepburn/Humphrey Bogart version. The Alabama Theatre, in my opinion, is one of the crown jewels of Birmingham. It's an old Southern showhouse, recently rennovated, with red velvet seats, a mezzanine, a fancy ceiling, and an organ called "The Mighty Wurlitzer" that rises up out of the stage. They show old movies there every weekend (next up is Gone With the Wind, then Wizard of Oz, Young Frankenstein, Some Like it Hot, and Sunset Boulevard). Take virtual tours here. It's where, not too long ago, I saw Wilco in concert.

Before the movie started there was a Sylvester and Tweety cartoon, then some music from the organ including a singalong with lyrics powerpointed up on the big screen. It is hard not to imagine a time when all movies were like this -- when entertainment was slow and conversational (and sometimes corny) -- before anyone knew of something called "the MTV generation." I think it's marvelous. There is something so authentic about seeing a black and white emerge from behind the red curtains of a stage, about seeing Audrey Hepburn's face over the ledge of a balcony. If only they'd play Chaplin or Fellini. But I suppose they're trying to make money, not appeal to the artistic, nostalgic side of some of the crazier art students that live here.

The whole time we were there I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera. There is a Birmingham group on flickr that hasn't yet seen photos of the Alabama, and aside from that it is such a beautiful, lovely theatre. My sister borrowed my camera; she is an intern with a local film company and needed to use it for stills. If I can manage it with my work schedule, I want to go back and see Gone With the Wind, which apparently is quite the event. I want to see what sort of farbs come out in uniforms. Who knows -- maybe even Tony Horwitz will show up. You never know, in Alabama, whether it will just be a bunch of grandmothers who remember the good old technicolor days, or if some toothy rednecks will bring their kids to teach them about Yankees and the old South. If I can manage it, though, I'm sure I'll bring back all sorts of stories (and hopefully photos).

After the movie we ate at Taj India, one of my very favorite restaurants in town. I had the usual chicken korma with mango lassi and some naan. Indian food is such a rare treat, since only my dad and I really enjoy it, and frequently, on our own, my friends and I (on our limited summer-job budgets) sometimes can't afford to eat so well. The best thing about Indian food is the way it sits in the stomach -- warm. It is a kind of comfort food.

Carolyn and I went through a brief Indian phase, which we drug a lot of others into. It had very little to do with my potential trip to India and much more to do with our creative writing class at the time. It was called "Writing America," and we read everything from The Last American Man to Confederates in the Attic to Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. We'd decided to have a Bollywood party in celebration of the end of the semester, I think. I opened a rental account at a local Indian grocery store and we watched Main Hoon Na over take-out. She burned me a CD of Punjabi Hit Squad. Ever since then I have associated Indian food with school friends.

One of these days I'll make it to India. But I'm afraid I best be off to get out of my pajamas before Rainier and Erin arrive.