In May, for our fifth anniversary, we're going to have our honeymoon at last. (Yes, we've been around the world, but have yet to have an official honeymoon.) We're booked to go to the Cook Islands, or more specifically, Rarotonga and Aitutaki.

I knew working at Lonely Planet would be dangerous.

Actually, this is probably the first trip ever that we budgeted and saved for (as opposed to "Hey, we have $500 in the bank, want to go to Chicago?"). We are going to splash out for a few nights at a nice resort in Aitutaki (the true cost of this trip may well be that we become spoiled for the inferior resorts -- you know, where the commoners stay).

We'll have one night in Auckland on the way, too, which will probably leave us wanting to visit more of NZ. The list of places to visit only ever grows...

I'm a fan of 007 movies so much so that I've boycotted them all for the last ten years or so. It's the snotty purist in me. They've evolved into everything I hate about Hollywood blockbusters. Big special effects, moronic plots, and emotionless superhero protagonists who sleepwalk from one scene to the next. Connery used to sweat, man.

The reviews for the new one, Casino Royale, lured me back, trepidatiously, to the theater. And you know what? It was good. I was a little worried after the slightly over-the-top opening chase scene, but they reeled it in, and actually made Bond an interesting character again. A huge step in the right direction.

I'd tell you to go see it, but if it's too big of a hit, then the same bozo producers who've been ruining the series will get called in for the next.

Happy New Year to all -- ours started nice, a small gathering with friends, and fireworks in four directions from their rooftop patio.

Beyond taking a hiatus from alcohol, my other resolution seems to be to try again to make it through Joseph Heller's "Something Happened". This'll be my third try. Not because the prose is difficult -- in fact, you won't find a book that's written more clearly. Just because it's such a downer. Reading it is the literary equivalent of a solo trek across the Arctic Circle (all stark beauty and zero warmth). This time along I've packed a sense of ironic detachment, which should see me through.

I had no detachment at all tonight, though, as we watched the final episode of Six Feet Under. So much so that I can't write about it yet...