Holy cow. I looked around today at my profile on this diaryland deal and found to my surprise that 221 people have my little mental drippings listed as one of their favorites, and 100 on my notify list. That is amazing to me. Glad you like it. Now I feel all happy and shit.

In the interest of the people who read this rag, I choose not to alienate any more of you than I already have by spouting my opinions about this war. I have already removed a few diaries from my favorites list because I think their opinions, although as valid as mine, are repugnant in light of what is happening to a bunch of people on both sides in the desert right now. The point is no longer whether you think this war is right, wrong, evil, good, or anything else. Stuff is on fire, people are dying, other people are being given a chance at a life that they never dreamed of, and bitching about it is not going to do anyone any good. No amount of whining is going to make it end any sooner. Pray to whomever you pray to that the folks on whichever side you pull for make it out safely and keep your agenda to yourself.

Oh, and I have some ideas where Michael Moore can keep his Oscar. That guy should really try to have a little class and realize how lucky he is that he lives somewhere that he has the right to get booed offstage for going all nonlinear about a bunch of imagined injustices. “When the Dixie Chicks and the Pope are against you, you’ve got to go!” he blubbers. Dude should have taken the time to write his thoughts out before making an ass of himself. “He succeeded in doing what even Houdini couldn’t do- nailing his coffin shut from the inside.” Said a friend of mine.

I did watch Bowling for Columbine after a bunch of people said it would make me wake up to what is wrong with society. It is a great show, if you need to blame everyone but yourself for your actions. Like a bible for those who want to avoid responsibility at all costs. I still think everyone should see it, though. How’s that for a weird view?

More informed view

As long as I am talking about movies, let me warn each and every one of you against seeing the only movie I have EVER walked out of before it was over. Dreamcatcher was the single biggest waste of celluloid since the Michael Jackson interview. The thing is, it will hold your interest for about 45 minutes before you start thinking “man. This really sucks. Could it be that Stephen King has finally run out of ideas?” It starts out with a bunch of guys who can read each other’s minds (because a retarded kid gave them the ability when they were younger) going to a cabin in the mountains, just like my psychic friends and I do every year. The characters seem to be funny and interesting, the story is keeping your attention, and then the aliens start exploding out of peoples’ buttholes, a red fungus covers the area, government quarantine, one man knows how to stop it, alien spacecraft, bodies being gutted, rogue alien plans to infect the entire world with his butt larvae…

Morgan Freeman is in it, proving that even the best actors are entitled to make huge mistakes. If you haven’t seen him in a while, be prepared for some INSANE eyebrows. Seriously. The guy looks like he has an Angora goat perched above each eye. That is what I remember most from the movie. That and some fart jokes.

Predictable garbage. Three thumbs down. I had another thumb sewn on just so I could make it point down.

I was in my apartment yesterday studying for this test on everything I am supposed to know about flying. I had the back door open, sitting in the finger pinching chair, reading about ADFs, isobars, and the coriolis illusion, and a wasp flew into my house. No biggie. He won’t bother me, and I won’t bother him. He’ll find the huge gaping open door soon enough and go home. Wasps apparently would rather buzz annoyingly at a closed window than go outside, as it turns out. His flapping was keeping me from figuring out how to calculate calibrated airspeed, so Mr. Wasp had to be escorted out. Of course, this turned into a strange and violent dance when I tried to gently brush him toward the door with a throw pillow, and he clung to the throw pillow without my knowledge. I didn’t realize he was still on there until I went to put the pillow back on the couch and saw his little wasp eyes looking at me. He was pissed. He sprinted for my hand so he could sting me and then attack my eyeballs while I writhed in pain. Wasps can run, my friends, but I am faster and clumsier than he is and deftly moved my hand away while backing into the finger-eating recliner and falling down. Just like in the movies. He flew right at me, and I saw him mouth the words “Now you die, bitch.” Swear to god he said that. I was out of peaceful options…

I punched him.

That’s right. I punched a wasp. In the face. I am a very brave man.

He flew up to the ceiling where my favorite airplane was hanging and crawled up into the wing rigging to catch his breath. He knew I wouldn’t try anything violent and risk breaking my 1903 Wright Flyer. Smart little bastid. He sat there and rubbed his face and antennae, while I used one eye to look for a weapon, keeping the other one locked on my adversary. One of us was either going to die or give the house to the other one. I found a magazine and saw his little wasp face turn white because he knew I was about to shock and awe his waspy ass. I stood on the couch and blew on him until he flew away from my plane, and chased him wildly across the room, still hoping he would fly out the door. Here’s where my Babe Ruth skills came in. As he came back across the room, I turned ninety degrees and swung the magazine, hitting him and releasing the magazine, sending both wasp and periodical hurling out the door and 20 feet to the ground. I think the wasp flew away, but the latest issue of “Quilting Monthly” was out in the parking lot, and it had the pattern for the blender cozy I wanted to crochet. I was out of breath from the effort, but I HAD WON.

We all need our victories. The Ladyfriend wasn’t there to witness the battle but assured me that I was probably very brave. I was. I didn’t scream very much at all.

I was less brave last night when we rented “The Ring”. I haven’t enjoyed a good scary movie since I was 13 and rented Nightmare on Elm Street 2- Freddy’s Revenge. I am not comparing the two, as I am not 13 anymore, and different stuff scares me now. Things like creepy little kids and wasps. The Ladyfriend and I watched it and were completely freaked out. Not so much “THINGSJUMPINGOUTATYOU!!! BOO!!!” scary, but just friggin’ creepy. It’s about this video that you watch, and after it is over your phone rings and you die seven days later.

Okay, that description makes it sound worse than Crapcatcher, but trust me.

At the end of the movie, you can watch the actual video that kills you, but we were too scared. You will be too. I quietly dialed her phone number as she was taking the movie out of the DVD player. It rang especially creepily. She looked at me and said “You suck. Cut it out.” I’m all trying to look like “omigod, that totally wasn’t me, don’t answer it”, but the look on my face was more like “I am a complete dorkwad trying to scare my girlfriend”.

It was a good weekend, and today is shaping up nicely, so stay tuned.

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