"Got no place to go, but there's a girl waiting for me down in Mexico..."

Hey kids. It's kind of a mellow day. Which is nice. Could be worse, right? But I've got a wicked case of the "mondays", I guess. Extreme apathy.

So how was everyone's weekends? I had a peachy time. Peachy. ("Superb, Joe. Superb... Superb.")

Went to see Return of the King again. Second time. Even better than the first time. The only drawback to this viewing was the presence of the couple two rows behind me. As the animation was playing which announced the commencement of the "Feature Presentation", I heard the following dialogue ensue:

Woman: Okay, so what is this about?

Man: What do you mean? Didn't you see the first two?

Woman: No.

Man: Okay, I guess I can try to explain.

...

And for the next forty-five minutes he tries to walk her through the story line while the movie is playing. In vocal levels louder than a whisper. I was...annoyed, to be sure.

Which brings me to what I believe is a pertinent question: why would anyone with a pigeon's worth of sense go to the third movie in a trilogy, without gaining any information about the previous storyline or any of the characters, especially for a movie trilogy so literary and exhaustive? Did she come to the theatre with no idea what she would see, then decide without a second thought that she would forego the prerequisite six and a half hours of cinematic backstory and dive right into the three-and-a-half hour conclusion, hoping that she could catch up enough of the story to enjoy the finale?

And why didn't this question pop into her dim little mind during the commercial for the Army, or Movietickets.com, or even the previews, for pete's sake (and mine)? Why did she have to wait until the opening credits to realize, "Gee, I have no earthly idea who any of these people are, what the story is about, and why it's going on. Should I maybe find SOMETHING out before venturing into the three-and-a-half hour film? Hmm, I don't know."

Ugh. But, Brent got to see it for the first time. So the trip was worth it. And Brent, Mike, and I got to eat at New York Pizza in the Willowbrook AMC Courtyard. Good pie. We got the football playoffs special deal--large Pepperoni for eight bucks. And it fed all of us, with a big slice left over. Now that's-a what I call-a pizza.

Wow. That was lame.

Anyway.

The Packers lost a heartbreaker to the Eagles last night. So once again, I will look upon the Super Bowl with a minimal interest. I'll still go to the Super Bowl party with the Singles group at church. What else would I do, sit home and watch it by myself? At least there's a possibility of meeting interesting new people (read: girls) at the church party.

Reading From a Buick 8 by the King. Good so far.

Saw Moulin Rouge on VH1 last night. I caught the last half hour, and was a bit miffed when they put the commercial break at the absolute worst time (between when Satine dies and Christian lets out that awesome wail). Totally blew my emotional rhythm. I was bracing for the impact of the wail, and the ensuing catharsis (yes, I weep like a baby every time I see that), but was slapped in the face with an abrasive commercial. Which further enforces my belief that all movies shown on TV should be commercial-free. TV shows are designed with commercial breaks in mind. Movies are not. It breaks the flow.

By the way, if I ruined the end of the movie for you, it's your own fault for not seeing that gorgeous film by now.

Guess that's all.



"Hop on my choo-choo/I'll be your engine driver in a bunny suit..."