"strap on your wings...

...it's painless to fly."

It's a translated line from a song playing in the film we saw tonight. I'm not sure if that site will get you to a point where you can understand anything or not, but it was really nice. English subtitles, when they let us see them, are really nice.

So I learned about the Passion recut that Mel's decided to release, and I thought it appropriate to post a poem I wrote about the original cut of the film. Before I do that, though, let me paint the scene which is necessary to appreciate the literary masterpiece that I've created: we had been drinking quite a bit. To fill our addled hours, I started to assign people topics to write poems about. I let someone else assign me a topic along the same lines (movies, actors, favorite mr. show sketches for example). I was assigned the Passion, and this is what my wine-addled brain produced. The working title is "ah, my balls."

Mel Gibson drove a nail through what?
Jesus' hand, but it felt like my nut.
That coffin just could not stay shut,
like robbin' graves, just like king Tut's.
They sure did whip poor Jesus' butt,
but, Jesus Christ, the unkindest cut
to watch it without eyes a-shut,
I'd rather have played a round of putt-putt
It's like I got nailed...
right in the nuts.

So there's that out of the way. An homage if you will. Today I took something approaching 70 pictures. We set out to show Jesse the view that Andrew and I enjoyed last week, and then we took a brief tour of the sight of our getting lost.

Last night I convinced Andrew that, should he have a band name, it should be A.M. Whims, or perhaps A.M.'s Whim, because it sounded cool. It was also the reason he'd skipped his classes for the last two days, early morning whims. If he needs an album cover, I have him even more covered now than before, especially if he makes an album with Jesse.

We went to the another park out beyond the bounds of reason (or town center, depending on how poetic your soul's feeling at the moment), but before doing that we intercepted a mob of ladies (4). The sun was setting red and I wished I had color film and there was a man with a hawk and dogs having sex.

There was a wooden cow. Pictures of such will be available in three months.

Oh, and yesterday I got my face cut by a gyro (don't ask. Or do.)

MUSIC: grandaddy: comin' up empty again