A Square Peg in roundly fun fashion.

Contrary to most reviews that I've thus far seen, I must weigh in on last night's premiere of "Sex and the City". My rating - a somewhat generous but honest B. The only thing more rare than a big movie from Hollywood that features women over 40 looking great and talking sweet is a big movie from Hollywood making frat guys look like tender-hearted, bookish individualists. Sure, this movie could have been made 4 years ago to equal and/or more lasting effect. Sure, the absurdity of the glamour heaped upon these characters is beyond comprehension. Sure, a cynical tone would be the standard response you might expect from me. But there was something in play that I didn't expect. Something like romance. If you want to escape this summer, it appears that big-time movies offer a few options. Aside from the witty gem that is "Iron Man" this movie is a great place to find silly solace for a few hours. People that weren't fans of the HBO series be warned - it's probably not for you. Awareness of the backstory is somewhat necessary. Regardless, I recommend y'all see it in the theatres if you're on the fence before the bloom comes off the rose.

Hope your own rules committee meetings deal primarily with who gets to bring guests to the pool today. Rock on.

Up next - Colin Powell tells us all that the vial of anthrax was from Dubya's private "forgotten" stock from those wild days

Santa Barbara is so gorgeous that I'm even slated to go play golf this afternoon. For those keeping score at home, this will be my first official outing on the links since just before my wedding. So I'm due for a killer round. Define that however you'd like. Regardless, I'm looking forward to describing my efforts soon for y'all.

While we're loving the vacation atmosphere and catching up with friends and family, DC is warming its cockles over the burning phraseologies lit by Scott McClellan's new book. Like every other pundit and unemployed Bushie, I've got an uninformed opinion to offer. Here goes - SO? Dubya's reputation is set in stone. A soggy self-cleansing weepy like McClellan's won't change a single damn thing. If this changes one single uninformed opinion of this Administration's tenure, I'll eat a Chicago Cubs hat. But, if as I expect, no one will benefit from this aside from McClellan in terms of book sales, Tucker Carlson and Karl Rove must eat a Milwaukee Brewers hat. On camera. Wearing a diaper. So the challenge is out there. Do with it what you will.

As we always love to do on vacation while ample babysitting options abound for Maya, Sarah and I have seen a few movies. Two quick reviews. "Indiana Jones and the Overwrought Pseudo-mystical Bank of Crap Metaphors" - a despicable D rating. Worst movie of the summer. It pains me to say that because I fondly remember seeing the first Indy movie in Ann Arbor with my aunt during a junior high summer and falling in love with the spectacle of this form of event movie. George Lucas is obviously insane. Again. Harrison Ford looks amazing. But if I was asked to pay to see a two-hour pilates class, I fear it might have been more compelling than this mess. Avoid it, if possible. Secondly, as we await opening night for "Sex and the City" (yes, I bought advance tickets for Sarah and me) we played catch-up by seeing "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". My rating - a fun B-minus. Definite rental quality. Better yet, hit the dollar theatres that it's surely bound for in the next month. Jason Segal is sweet, Mila Kundis is surprisingly good for anyone that struggled through the weekly torture that was "That 70s Show", the Judd Apatow cast of hilarious misfits is on its game as always. Silly fun should always be this silly.

Hope your own tee times don't require anything more than a shirt and shoes in the bag today. Rock on.