My father and I are in the midst of planning a trip to the “old country” — Croatia — this fall. One of the things I learned this week is that to have any success at making family connections once there, we’ll have to determine which “line” of Rukavinas we hale from. Apparently, like Arsenaults on PEI, there are so many Rukavina families in our home place that they have taken on nicknames over the years.

If Little Black Book was an independent movie, if it didn’t feature extreme Palm product placement, and if it didn’t feature Brittany Murphy in the lead role, you would probably go and see it.

As it is, you will go to the multiplex this weekend and see Collateral or The Bourne Supremacy. Because you know that even if they don’t feed your soul, at least there will be fast cars and name actors and you will be distracted and air conditioned for two hours.

I don’t mean to suggest that Little Black Book is a great movie. But it’s certainly a lot better than it deserves to be.

Mostly because of Holly Hunter, who is, as she almost always is, a better actor than anyone else in the film. She takes a part that would traditionally be played by Rose O’Donnell or Molly Shannon — the “wacky supportive girlfriend” — and takes it places that nobody else could.

The writing helps her get there — the script is at least 33% better than your average summer comedy. Not quite David Mamet snappy, but there are sentences and paragraphs and are brilliant and quick and dry.

And although there is a farting dog (which did make Catherine laugh, I admit), there are also wandering sheep.

The rest of the supporting cast is mixed.

Kathy Bates and Julianne Nicholson are excellent (although Bates is really just playing her usual role, this time inhabiting Jerry Springer).

Ron Livingston plays the Matthew McConaughey role unremarkably (he’s not really called on to do very much), Stephen Tobolowsky has his moments, and Kevin Sussman looks like he has promise (especially if he can avoid Cosmo Kramer pigeon-holing).

Oh, and there’s Brittany Murphy. My jury is out: through most of the movie she comes across as a sort of older Hillary Duff or Lindsay Lohan (or a junior Sandra Bullock). But she too has her moments, and it wouldn’t surprise me if there is a great movie or two lurking inside her. Someday.

I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that the constant presence of Carly Simon music in the movie, along with a plotline that involves Simon herself, was a draw for me. I am an unrepentant Carly Simon fan (see also Heartburn). If you aren’t then you may wish to avoid the film.

Little Black Book won’t feed your soul. But it is something of an unexpected surprise.

My friend Steve has been posting some great photos of China after the war on his site.

Those Greeks are doing some pretty fantastic things for the opening ceremonies of the Olympics: flying dancers, articulated flame holders, giant choirs, super fireworks. I’m not a huge fan of the Olympics, but this is about the most spectacular spectacle I’ve ever seen.

We are at that time in the summer on Prince Edward Island where the taste of the coming fall is in the air. If we are not careful, we will blink and it will be February. To aid in the effort to suck every last drop of marrow from the summer, I present the following:

This is a photo I took on February 19, 2004 from the front door of our house at 100 Prince St. in Charlottetown. It had just finished snowing. A lot. Notice the parking meter.

Time to go to the beach.

I have a friend — let’s call him Dmitri — who got addicted to the Wikipedia. It served, I think, as the ultimate procrastination tool. And he was in deep, to the point where he got involved in the internecine battles that necessarily accompany any endeavour that involves both freedom and authority. I think he’s gone cold turkey now. So if you’re reading this, “Dmirtri,” don’t click on the link below.

Others, however, may wish to explore the definition of Captcha, a concept I’ve encountered often of late, and the name of which I only found here on the Drupal website.

By my calculations, I have been using computer mice for about 14 years — roughly the same amount of time Catherine and I have been together, which makes sense because it was her mouse-equipped supercomputer that was the first one I used with a mouse.

Knowing that our friend G. was in need of a mouse, I made the trip up to the attic tonight to the mouse archive. I thought I might have a spare one. Here’s what I found:

I have, as you can see, accumulated a lot of mice over the years.

My favourite is the square Logitech — quite un-ergonomic, I think. On the other end of the spectrum there is the Countour Design on the far-right: countoured to my big hand. Otherwise, there are, from left to right, an IBM, an Acer, a Microsoft, a no-name, a Perfect Micro, and a Compaq.

Truth be told, I don’t know why I’ve accumulated all of these.

As I type, they’re bagged up and ready to head up to G.’s to see which one will work with his ye olde laptop.

Do you remember that scene in Billy Elliot where Billy is dancing, and he enters another plane, a plane of pure happiness? For me, that plane is attained by playing charades.

My primary problem in this regard is that charades cannot be played alone, and I have managed to surround myself with a group of family and friends who either don’t embrace playing charades, or who are decidedly charades-averse.

And so I never get to play.

As my family members will, I’m sure, attest, I tend towards the manic side of the charades spectrum during play, always taking the labyrinthian and circuitous path so as to amplify the challenge (and, if I’m to accept an accusation of attraction to the pure “look at me” quality of the game, more time on stage). I recall a charade for “Happy Days” that I managed to sproing out into 9 or 10 individual clues.

From Isaac, charades-averse himself, comes a link to this hilarious trailer on the ZeD site (warning: hilarity may only exist if you are charades-positive). Watching it, I’m evermore thirsting for a match.

But alas, no.

If perchance anyone in the readership is a member of an underground charades playing speakeasy, please let me know. I’m in.