"The Land of the Free, The Home of the Brave, is in the Round of Eight" - World Cup announcers.

We did it! I stayed up late after work and I watched it all! (check out the time stamp!) The United States has never advanced to the quarterfinals in the history of the World Cup. EVER! Just watch how many people go football crazy now. For the record, I went nuts before all of ya'll bandwagoners! By the end of this game Mexico started to get down right nasty. 10 yellow cards in the game, almost all of them in the second half. The Mexican captain, known to be a classy player, intentionally headbutted the U.S.' Kobe Jones in the throat in the 84th minute and got red carded. Granted, Mexico put up a firece attack and got rogered just a bit on what looked like a bad non-call by the officials on a handball inside the box that would have led to a penalty kick. Still, if the Mexican team honestly thinks it can make two goals on one penalty kick, I say bring everyone back and let them take it. Way to go team! Next up, Germany, legendary for its goalkeepers. I've set all out clocks to the locales that The U.S. might play if they continue to advance, and I am officially a football hooligan. I feel the urge to break things and trample people, but I will refrain.

I'll ask again though, seriously, who wants to trade shirts?

Ahhh summer time is here, and movies are everywhere. Check out the New Reviews.

I used to openly make fun of soccer. I played it as a child, but the fanaticism of the international fan has been lost on me for most of my life. Those people are out of control.

Or so I thought.

It's World Cup Time and I am addicted. Hooked. I simply can't get enough. I watch every match I can. I record the US games at 6:45 in the morning. I watched Brazil play in the middle of the night. Whatever strange little neuron makes people go crazy for running around chasing a white ball for an hour and a half and trying desperately to bash things with your head has fired in my brain. I am a Football fan. I know the lingo even.

Who wants to trade shirts?

(Also, we have a new winner, check her out)

My, what a great start to our weekend Summerbash! Last night, after much planning and preparation, the party for Kevin's 33rd year of walking around began. The festivites began slowly, as we were joined first by Dave, then later Allison and Shaun. Other guests arrived, including the margarita machine, Mark and Matt, and (very very much ) later Erica and Amanda. There was sing along (like I don't get enough of that) there was art making, there was fire. There was a lot of imbibing of the sweet nectar. There was frivolity, there was hilarity, there was fun. Now, I am gonna go make breakfast and wake everyone up. Later, there will be tubing. LOOK OUT! No really, look out, tubes can be dangerous.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Truer words were never spoken. Zuzia's back, and I missed her a lot more than I thought I did. She cut her hair while she was gone, she looks great, I am acting like a complete dork but don't care. It's really wonderful to see her.

Plus, she brought me some liquor. Partygoers will all get a sample of the finest Polish Vodka in the world.

Welcome back, Zuzia!

My friend Zuzia was born in Poland. She and her sister and parents moved to Chicago when she was about 2, and she has lived in America all her life, but she has a very strong connection to Poland and her remaining family there. She speaks fluent Polish and is visiting right now on a three week trip. I miss her a lot and want her to come back soon, but right now I want to share something she wrote to me with all of you. It's about a place in Poland she has always wanted to visit, and it's about a rather extraordinary man whom I have not met, but would like to. So, here's the first guest writer ever at Cloudwrangler, Zuzia Jarzebska.

"Auschwitz is really surreal.

My grandfather was a prisoner there in 1943. He was once given an assignment to paint a picture on a wall in one of the barracks. After the war (he actually escaped from the camp in 1944, but thats another story...) he went back to the barrack, found his picture and signed it with his name and the number he had tattooed on him. The picture is in barrack #8, which is closed because the museum doesn't use that building for anything. But my grandfather called ahead to the museum director (who he is buddies with) and arranged for them to open barrack #8 just for us. So today I saw a painting my grandfather painted as a prisoner 59 years ago. "

Ok, Ok, this is the last Star Wars related crap you're gonna get now that the Review is up.