In Mongol, Genghis Khan goes to reward a dude and says "Give him a hundred horses and put his yurt next to mine." Yurt proximity is now the measure by which Matty Price's friendship with me is measured. When we piss each other off, we tell each other to back the yurts off a bit. When he does something nice for me, I tell him to connect his yurt-door to my yurt-door so that we can't ever get out but can only visit each other. Right now I'm saying that when I get up in the morning, I hope that Matty Price's yurt is reasonably close to mine, though not close enough to smell, because that's gross.

Also in Mongol: excellent use of blood in the battle scenes. I know that's a weird specific thing to notice, but I really noticed it. For whatever reason the blood sprays and gobs of hack-justice that came a flyin' while old Genghis went to his Khanin', looked really really real to me. So I'm saying if you want to see blood splattering done right and not for comic shock value, look to the Mongolians. They had it right. Or wait: the filmmakers who made this Lord of the Mongolians flick complete with Pellennor battle had it right.

Right now I'm getting grinded up in the Ryerson pulp mill; Juno and Nothing is Private and Dead back-to-back-to-back in the same theatre, and all running late and all very crowded. The entire fucking cast showed up for Juno - Alias, and Teen Wolf (2), and Kitty Pride, and J. Jonah Jamison. All here for the little movie about the knocked up 16-year-old and her merry pregnant adventures. Which, by the way, ow my soul. It's like Little Miss Sunshine without the intense post-manipulative-cinematic-crap need to shower for about a hundred years. In other words, it's gloriously heartfelt, achingly funny, and thoroughly earned. One of the best films of the year.

And yes, I was the guy in the balcony who, when Jason Reitman said something along the lines of "you're going to know this girl's name very soon: Ellen Page," yelled out "YEAH - I KNOW HER NAME." This is because, as has been proven umpteen times before, I should not be allowed to say words. Ev. ER. Didn't hurt that I wanted to plant a sloppy wet one on Allison Janney by the time the movie was over, or that the screenwriter's name was Diablo and she was, in fact, a perfect human. Actually, it only really hurt that Page's character in the flick - the titular Juno of the growing belly-bulge and the many witty wordplays - made me miss Grimlock a bit, and the movie in general made my nipples hurt. Otherwise, Juno is the happy dance. It's a little ball of happy lovin' sunshine and I heartily hope it makes sixty-five billion dollars.