Caught flatfooted again. Dammit.
As one of my feet is missing most of its arch, I guess that would give me a 50% chance of being caught in that condition. Of course, the state of my foot should have very little to do with whether I spend time producing more than a shite column for the week, but hey, we're all in this together, eh?
I just learned that someone who I consider a good friend, someone who works with Harlock, actually enjoyed Episode I and II.
She may as well have admitted to avidly following the career of John Tesh. It's just shocking.
It made for some fine discussion, especially considering how her husband largely agreed with me. Sometimes it's fun to just go off on something that isn't earthshatteringly important or serious. You can have the same sort of dialog about politics, religion, or gun control, but it usually isn't quite as much fun. Sure, there's certain futility to it. All my ranting and raving wasn't going to make my friend not enjoy the films. That wasn't my point, if I even had one. I think it was just really satisfying to stomp around on George Lucas by proxy.
When I started this column, I considered adding a teaser, a feeble gambit to capture a reader's attention because my bag o' writing tricks held nothing but a gritty piece of lint. I was going to announce something along the lines of "There's a secret message hidden here" and then not bother to do anything, but then I thought better of it. It would be fun to find out what, if anything, folks managed to extract. After sitting through enough lit, creative writing, and poetry classes, I've ceased to be surprised by what anyone can read into anything. Our brains are designed to find patterns. That's what they do. If someone can see the Virgin Mary in a burnt tortilla, if my lit professor can see strong homosexual currents in Chaucer's "Miller's Tale", then I'd be curious about what could be lifted out of this tripe I'm posting.
In other news, we're nearly done with the remodel of my son's room. By "nearly done," I mean that we only have 30 or so tasks to go on that task list of a few weeks ago. I sprayed the first finish coat on the walls and it looks really great. By "really great," I mean that it looks like a room, just a room, with no wallpaper seams, no cracks, and an overhead light that turns on when you flip the switch near the single door. It all sounds very mundane and it is, actually. Anyone not familiar with the saga would stick their head in for a quick look and move on. There's no vaulted ceiling or dramatic built-in nook with accent lighting or full-size mural reproduction of Manet's "Olympia" painted on a wall. It's just a room and it makes me happy.
My wife finally recycled all my old computer game boxes. She was nice enough to ask for my guidance and didn't just toss the lot. I don't know why I've held on to them for so long. They take up so much damned space and are completely, utterly useless. They are pretty though. See, I obviously don't play enough computer games. If I played as many games as matched my desire, the undeniable, storage-filling volume of those pretty boxes would crush my packrat impulses. Instead, I'd have a dense box stuffed with CD/DVD cases. Of course, spending that much time playing games on my computer might put a wee strain on my marriage. My wife generally holds in the same regard time spent playing FPSs or MMORPGs and time spent sucking on an opium pipe. Playing Scrabble or Boggle on the computer is OK though, probably because it doesn't involve blood, cleavage, or elves, unless you can use all your tiles with a triple word score.
I suppose that will have to do for this week. If you do happen to discover a hidden meaning or message in the preceding, please share by all means. Don't be shy.
Pakeha