The other day I was watching Commander in Chief (which I am unabashedly, embarassingly hooked on to the point of fever sweats about what I'm going to do when House comes back on and takes back the timeslot) and when it was done, I flipped around and found Air Force One airing on another channel. So I went from watching Geena Davis avert a terrorist disaster that would have claimed the lives of hundreds of school children on Hallowe'en, to watching Harrison Ford kick the shit out of Eastern European terrorists bent on taking down his wife, daughter, and very big plane. (And as much as the visual effects are pretty much the worst put on film in the past twenty years, I never get tired of watching AF1 cartwheel across the Atlantic when it finally crashes.) And rather than become intensely annoyed with all the patriotic do-gooding, I found myself succumbing to a rather significant happy. I do a lot of bitching about the ol' U.S. of A. on this particular web site, but there's one things about those fellas that I find unendingly endearing: they really, really want to believe that their president is some kind of hero. And even if their president is certifiably not a hero, not anything more than (in this case anyway) a largely inept sales manager, they still want to believe the best of the person who sits in that big chair in that strange, round room (like Captain Kirk... who was Canadian... hrm). It's not quite a redemption for the whole darned nation, but it's enough to give a world-weary observer a modicum of hope.

I'm in a good family way around here. I got back from 108 strangely unnerved by the fact that the 'rents had got through a whole dinner without mentioning my imperturbable unemployability and its ongoing imperturbableness. There's been talk of me moving back there, but I en't gonna do it. Past a certain point (and lordy, am I past that point), it's just time to be a grown-up and accept the fact that life doesn't always turn out the way you like it, but you're still responsible for your own shit. I like it here. I like the incest/pedo phraseology in our Simpsons fridge quotes. I like the 850 DVDs in the living room. I like the smell of the three (and only three) meals that Chris knows how to cook. Everyone's all excited about the Hallowe'en party, Brandy's been baking with the Robbie Williams music cranked way up, and my costume is all done... though my penis may yet get in the way. But I suppose the main point of all this is: even if my life is an absolute waking nightmare right now, it's sure nice to live at 3QF meanwhilst.

I had an extremely detailed dream about the Mal/Inara love story in Serenity 2 the other day, and let me tell you, it's damn good. If I had won the 54 million bucks, I'd buy me the sequel to Serenity and make Joss put me in it as some loser that Inara humps at the beginning of the picture. No wait... maybe I'd just buy Morena. We need someone to serve tea around here.