So Toshiro Mifune, Bob Tv, and Rachael Ray walk into a bar...

To illustrate how nerdy I can be, last night I chose a movie to watch by pulling its name out of a hat. I've been in an Akira Kurosawa state of mind lately, and there were three of his films I had an equal desire to watch, so I wrote out their names and plopped them in a hat. (I'm having second thoughts about classifying that action as nerdy; I'll stick with it, though, because it's close enough to what I meant and who cares, anyway). The three films were Stray Dog, High & Low, and Yojimbo. Though the reason for the whole hat business was because I couldn't decide which film to watch, I found myself rooting for Yojimbo. I wanted to finish what I started --- something I don't do enough of, generally speaking--- so I reached into the hat and pulled out the lucky winner: Yojimbo. Briefly, I questioned whether I unconsciously influenced the results, but I wasn't of the mind to get into all of that, so I plopped the movie in my dvd player and marveled at how lucky I was that the movie I rooted for was the one that was chosen. The movie started and about ten minutes into it, I wasn't feeling it anymore. I have no idea why. And after all that build up! Sounds like some some people's sex lives. Not mine, though--- just wanted to state that for the record. So, Yojimbo was a bust. I'll try again some other time and with less fanfare.
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I was surfing the internet last night while nursing a mug of coffee when I was stricken with the need to use the bathroom. I held off heading downstairs to the bathroom because I was in the middle of reading an article and I was doing a fair job of holding it in ( No.'s 1 and 2, for those of you who are detail minded). When it became too much to bear, I wrapped up what I was doing and was about to head downstairs when I heard the bathroom door close. As far as I knew, I was the only one home, but it was now obvious I wasn't. I looked at the clock. It was a little after six, precisely the time when Bob TV comes home from work. Fuck! Before panic settled in, I calmed myself with some deep breathing and summoned the necessary will that would enable me to hold on a bit longer. Luckily, Bob TV didn't stay in the bathroom long, but it didn't matter because from the bathroom he made a bee-line up to my room and asked me if I had a few minutes to spare. He wanted to discuss the problems he'd been having with our other roommate, Spira. I was curt with him for obvious reasons, but I had some of that will left over, so I decided to hear him out, with the caveat that it would have to be short and sweet.

Short and sweet are words Bob TV has never joined together, I suspect. He's an interesting guy, but he tends to take the long way around a point when he speaks. Maybe it's' because he's from the south. Anyway, since Spira and I are very close, he figured I'd be able to clue him in as to why she hardly ever speaks to him. If I was brutally honest, I would have told him that she flat out doesn't like him, but that would have been cruel and tactless. I ended up telling him that she's had a lot on her mind lately and that he shouldn't interpret her behavior as having to do with him. I don't know if he was satisfied with that assesment, but I didn't care at that point because the enemy was at the gate. I ended our conversation and excused myself to go the bathroom. I was just in time.
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It dawned on me this morning that there's nothing a golden retriever can do to make me afraid of it. I know that would offend some of the more macho retrievers out there, but it's the truth. They're too damn cute to be threatening. And while I'm at it, I want to get something off my chest that may ruffle some feathers: I think puppies and kittens are much cuter than babies. That's not to say that there aren't any cute babies out there, but c'mon, if you put a puppy with a little bow around its neck next to a baby in diapers, the puppy wins every time. Every time!
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I'm off to Luke Warm's house to watch the Celtics game. I'm still holding out hope that Iverson will be traded to Boston, but it doesn't look like that will happen. Luke Warm lives down the street from me and it sure beats driving half an hour to his house like I used to do when I was living in Chelmsford.
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I don't know much about Rachael Ray, but I have a strong dislike for her. Part of the reason may be that I see her face everywhere I look. There's not a cracker box, magazine cover, billboard, or tv ad that doesn't have Rachael Ray all over it. Plus, hearing her talk annoys the hell out of me. I don't think I'd be able to last five minutes in a room with her. Am I in the minority or are there others like me out there? Like I said, I don't know too much about her and I almost feel bad for feeling this way, for pre-judging her, but it is what it is, I guess.
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Before I sign off, I want to thank Doug, and everyone else who left a comment, for welcoming me to the site. It was much appreciated. They'll regret the kind gesture, though, when they realize what a hateful person I am.