Got me a movie, I want you to know.

Friends...

Have you ever been at a loss for conversation with your optometrist? You're not alone. Thousands of people visit optometrists every day, but there are only ten thousand jokes one can make about eyes, vision, and sight. This means that after five years of practice, your optometrist will have heard every last one. What can be done to escape this predicament?

Fortunately, we have Un Chien Andalou. The link goes to the entire film -- all 16 minutes of it. Why should you watch it? Simply for the morbid curiousity of seeing what happens when Salvador Cubing Dali decides to make a film. It's barely watchable, totally original, somewhat repulsive, completely unforgettable, and the perfect movie to watch before an eye exam. If your optometrist has never heard of it, you can recommend it. If he's seen it, you can argue about it. If he's seen and enjoyed it, however, feel free to run from the room screaming.

And, as an added bonus, while the two people next to you in the waiting room are impressing each other with stories about the fights they had last night at the bar, you and your friend can discuss exactly what Dali was thinking during the scene with the man dragging a pair of grand pianos, each with a dead donkey inside. It might not make any sense, but it's certainly satisfying to hear the mouth-breathers next to you get a little bit creeped out.

All in all, a very good day... even if my pupils were dilated like Astro Boy's for the rest of the afternoon. With this sort of vision, how that kid could even fly in a straight line is beyond me.

I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I know there's a lot of bad karma surrounding Alberta drivers, but when I was driving to Edmonton this weekend, one driver smiled and gave me a big ol' thumbs up as I passed him. That's got to count for something.

Conversely, I'm sure someone out there is putting the following in their blog: "I know there's a lot of bad karma surrounding Alberta drivers, but when I was driving to Edmonton this weekend, one driver was totally rocking -- even spazzing out to Pixies on his CD player as he passed me. That's got to count for something."

And it's true -- MJ lent me a Pixies CD last week, and I'm hooked. It's a little embarrassing to admit it, however. That band was cool precisely when I was the ideal age to care about cool bands (Denton_1987 = uncool), and liking them now, I fear that I'm grouping myself with baby boomers who still remember The Day The Music Died. Behold the grim and terrible truth of retro: pull back the facade of irony, and it's just another term for "golden oldie".

The only chance is to keep on going; pull back the facade of nostalgia (easier in my case, since I never liked them in '87), and the good music is still good. As for Pixies, they're not just good; they're gnarly.

That wasn't my only foray into 80s music this week. There was also my Tae Kwon Do class this evening. A senior student was showing some others how to sweep their foot back more effectively, and I was struck by a realisation:

That's how you do the moonwalk.

In other words, today was a very good day.