All right: it's almost April

This is the time of year when Aprille showers supposedly come one's way, or some shit. Not in Southern California, of course, but perhaps there is somewhere else on God's green earth which is not in fact Arrakis, Dune, desert planet . . . cue Kyle MacLachlan looking really intense while communicating with a giant worm in a somewhat suspiciously homoerotic yet bestialic (is this a word?) yet . . . oh god, who cares. It's a giant fucking worm. And it pops out of the sand (got to be uncomfortable with all those crevices, anyone who's ever tried to have sex on a beach like in all those movies where they're doing it in the surf will understand the Editor's point here) and then opens its segments . . . all I'm saying (and Dune is one of my favorite, favorite movies, David Lynch is some sort of deity, don't get me wrong) is that it's a little much.

Sidetrack officially over. April. Yes. It is undeniably spring, which means that the Editor feels a little remorseful for having only reinstated the year as of last week. What did the adoring public do during those cold, nonexistent months? Hopefully they soothed their sorrows with copious quantities of macerated, distilled and otherwise tastified mixtures of ethanol. That is of course how the Editor has spent the otherwise useless time.

Speaking of which, the Editor has consumed a fair amount of inexpensive grape-based ethanol this evening, so don't expect no sparkling wit or nuthin. In fact, the Editor's zombie-infested bedchamber awaits; I would merely like to state, since I promised such in the previous post, that I love everyone everywhere. The world is a good and happy place. The Editor is drunk.

2007: Probationally reinstated

All right. There has been no zombie holocaust, and there is no cure for the flu; pie has not even appeared on the horizon, although the Editor did at one point attempt to make a pie and was thwarted by the fact that I can't seem to buy fruit without having it magically go bad. However, in spite of the conditions originally set for 2007 having not yet been fulfilled, the year may continue, for now.

Why, you ask? Because the Editor's cold, dry, blackened heart has suddenly been touched by the essential nitwittery of humanity. No, this is not a joke. One movie, one FX broadcast (still on, if anyone's in front of their television) has changed my life: restored my faith in the tenderness of a father-son relationship, spelled out the dangers of humanity's blindness, and given me a whopping good giggle.

Honestly, if people can still soldier on, blithely making movies like The Day After Tomorrow, and even taking it seriously . . . if, in short, there are people in the world stupid enough to a) believe that this film is a prescient exploration of scientific fact, b) shed a solitary tear for the precociously impertinent teenagers marooned in wolf-ridden (?) New York, or c) pay to see such a film in the theater; if these people exist, then the Editor's life has meaning. Of course, I don't think that's what the makers of the movie in question had in mind. They probably intended the touching warmth, without the uncontrollable laughter. At least they succeeded at something.

And after all, they may have begun an Ice Age in the fictional world of the film; but they ended an Ice Age in the Editor's heart. More warm, fuzzy posts will be coming up soon, when topics may include how much the Editor loves animals, the way that multiracial children make me smile, and the essential decency of all the peoples of the world.

Also, please watch for Hell freezing over in the near future. Happy 2007!