Besnowed Day, Fibucetera 1, 40 A.B.

     Been feeling a tad lightheaded the last few days.  A bit woozy.  A mite logy.  
     The optimist in me says, "The furnace is leaking carbon monoxide into the house - just lay back and enjoy it while you can."  
     The pessimist in me is saying, "No, you've always been lightheaded, woozy, and logy.  It's just taken you a while to admit it because, you know, you're lightheaded, woozy, and logy."
     Thank goodness the realist in me stepped forward today and presented me with another answer.
     "You just overdosed on movies over the weekend.  Idiot."
     Of course.  Watching too many Hollywood movies is often mistaken for carbon monoxide poisoning.  You get sleepy.  Your face appears bright red when people unexpectedly discover you.  And the return to harsh reality tends to be a bitter disappointment.  

     In truth, I only watched two movies, but to my poor, unhabituated system, it was like 16-20 movies to a normal person.
     What movies?
     "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me" (1999).
     And "Diner" (1982).
     Did I like them?  Hate them?  
     I don't know.  
     At this point in my recovery, I'd be happy if I could just tell the two apart.
     Both had neat cars.
     Both frequently focused on the male's need for sexual gratification.
     And both contained scenes of a fat guy pigging out on chicken.
     I don't know why the people who made these flicks didn't simply combine their talents and make one film called "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me In The Diner" (1990)....

     One sign of just how confused I was by the end of the weekend: When I returned the tapes to the video store, I asked if they had Toro! Toro! Toro! - the famous movie about the Spanish attack on Pearl Harbor.
     "I think you're thinking of Attack of the Killer Lawnmowers," the clerk rudely attempted to correct me between bubblegum snaps exactly as if I needed more of an incentive not to go back there ever again.
     "No, I think you're thinking of Attack of the 50 Foot Slacker," I replied during the ride home, rather too late to have the effect I desired.
     It was that kind of weekend....

     One sign of how long-lasting the effects of celluloid poisoning can be: I woke up today with a dream unlike any I've had before.  In it, two wrestler-types were in a ring playing Demolition TV.  Each had an old black-and-white console TV on casters which they were pushing at each other in an attempt to do more damage to the other fellow's set than was done to his own.  Both TVs were on and flickering away, their cords plugging into overhead receptacles attached to some sort of free-moving metal arm.  I guess the winner was going to be the guy whose set remained working the longest.  
     After watching Martha Stewart take several sharp corner jabs to an eye, I seem to have left, squeamish as always when it comes to scratched wood.

     On the bright side: I learned three new words since my last entry!
     Anorak:  A heavy jacket with a hood; a parka.
     Edentulous:  Toothless.
     Psephologist: One who studies political elections.
     And tonight - this very night! - I actually got to see an edentulous psephologist in an anorak telling me that McCain had beaten Bush in the New Hampshire primary.
     Meaning that I'm now - right now! - giddy as well as lightheaded, woozy, and logy.
     As good a time to stop writing as any.

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(Accidentally ©Now by the too-close-to-a-keyboard, cane-swinging Dan Birtcher)