"Notes and Observations"

by Dom B.
2001.07.12

As of this writing, I have just finished watching Battlefield Earth on HBO. Weep for me. Weep for me, because I was mildly entertained.

No, I wasn't on any drugs. Yes, I have been drinking lately. But that wasn't my fault. What I've been finding lately is that I don't have the attention span to stay awake in traffic, yet I have just spent the last 1 hour and 45 minutes watching John Travolta lumber around in an alien costume consisting of big shoes, stilts, and fake dreadlocks.  Apparently, Battlefield Earth is based on a book of the same name written by L. Ron Hubbard, founder of Scientology. Yeah, real big score for acceptance of your creed there, Travolta. Call me when the spaceship shows up for the Rapture.

Sigh. Now I'm depressed.

I will never get back the approximately 2 hours I spent in front of the TV watching Travolta repeat, ad naseum: 'silly man-animal, HA HA HA HA!'. Time, that fickle bastard, decided to sprint for those two hours. When I woke up at 4 am this morning and couldn't fall back asleep, time stood still laughed at me while I stared at the ceiling. On Sunday afternoons, around 6 pm, time does the moonwalk. Minutes stretch for untold millennia, yet I still can't make myself do anything meaningful on a Sunday afternoon.

If time could be distilled, personified, solidified into human form, I would kick his ass. Since this isn't so, and time is an absolute (time is an absolute since I'm not traveling at light speed, so lay off, trekkies), time gets to kick all of our asses. That's why drinking is so great. It totally screws with time.

P.S. Today I saw a Chevy Cavalier with a large pentagram on the rear window. Does that make it an 'evil' Chevy Cavalier? Talk to you next week, kiddies.