There are menstrual relief pills on the desk next to me.

Menstrual relief pills. Non-brand name, but "comparable to Midol!" The label also calls it "menstrual complete", as if there's a slash-rate medicine that's "menstrual partial" whose effects are less effective: you get the bloating medicine, but the cramps- that was a little more expensive, so you're stuck.

That was probably the most I've ever used "menstrual" in my life. Thank goodness. Once more and I think I would have started to grow a vagina. Which may or may not be a bad thing, because then I might actually have use for the medicine on the table.

This post is rather random in nature- I don't have anything to rail against or cry out about, so bear with me as I jump around.

I just finished a Good Book, which differentiates itself from The Good Book in that it has an editor. I have no problem with the Holy Bible, aside from the fact that people are begat-ing each other left and right and there's a lot of fluff in between the good parts. No, this was a Good Book, and in some ways there's nothing better. Who can resist the pull of that next chapter, even though it's far past your bedtime and your light is the only one in the house burning brightly? And what lingering sorrow greets you when you realize there are only a few chapters to go. We have no recourse but to move on to the next one and hope that it is as gripping as the last. Ah well.

My other thought for the day was spurred on by looking at a Chinese Horoscope. Depending on the year of your birth, you are forever assigned some kind of animal with whom you ostensibly share traits. It's a lottery and completely unfair. Just because you were born in 1983, you now must invariably be linked to a pig. Sure, they try to justify it: "Oh, the pig is a very generous and honorable creature." Well, maybe, but it's a pig. You don't have to say reassuring crap like that to people born in the year of the Dragon. They're a fucking Dragon; all you have to do is give them a high-five.

Similar in nature to this is the idea of an animal totem: a species with whom you share a number of traits. Now, just about everyone I know would want some kind of cool animal- a bear or wolf or eagle or something. Really, you just want to avoid being a prey animal. I mean, what good can you say if your animal is a muskrat or fiddler crab? Some kind of spirit guide will tell you that you don't need to have an animal that's powerful or big- each animal has it's advantages. Whoever tells you this is full of shit- you want an animal that has 3 foot claws dripping with fiery venom and razor-sharp teeth and possibly a rocket launcher.

The reality of the situation is that the idea of a totem animal is utterly stupid: It's not like you'll be walking through a forest and come upon a grey squirrel (your totem animal) and your gazes will lock for a moment before he gives you a wise and knowing nod and then all the squirrels of the forest will emerge from the brush to pay homage to you. No, you'll be walking through the forest and the squirrel will lock gazes with you and then bound the fuck away because you're a human. Therefore, the totem animal is really just there to impress your friends, and you're not impressing them when you tell them your soul is bound to the bluejay.

Me? My soul is bound to menstrual relief pills.

Tagged again, by cruel fate

I have been tagged by The Sherriff, so here goes:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was in my senior year of high school, taking a free period after lunch which was awesome. I also managed to eat a bacon cheeseburger in two bites, nearly choking myself in the process. So, yes, highly intelligent activities.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
More of the same, really. Planning on going to foreign countries, maybe?

Five snacks you enjoy:
oranges, trail mix, beef jerky, cheese and tortilla chips

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. Red Right Ankle by the Decemberists
2. Particle Man by TMBG
3. In my Life, Beatles
4. Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, Monty Python
5. I can whistle sailor's hornpipe.

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Underground lair
2. Batmobile
3. Mansion
4. Batarangs
5. Ok, I'd be Batman.

Five bad habits:
1. Laziness
2. Not answering questions seriously
3. Wearing underwear for more than one day in a row
4. Laziness
5. Laziness

Five things you like doing:
1. "Working" on the computer
2. Playing basketball outside and not falling in the pool
3. Piracy
4. Making elaborate snow forts and engaging in a battle royale
5. Making grand plans and then not following through

Five things you would never wear, buy or get new again:
1. Pants
2. Tuxedo
3. Work boots
4. Indian food
5. Tomatoes

In this post, I complain about something

I am, by my own estimation, a gentle creature; I will nuzzle your hand softly then bound off into the green mists of a primeval forest, the only sign of my presence the delicately pressed ground where my feet were. I don't swear often, and am amicable to all of mankind upon first meeting. Mine is a life of blissful tranquility, where agitation is the long-forgotten tale told by some wizened old man with pale hair growing out of every orifice in his head.

Despite my contented state, I do have occassion to be riled up and drawn forth into a furious ball of diabolical energy, awaiting only a spark to ignite my frenzied and lunatic savagery.

What sad event might evoke such intense passion within me?

Why, it is nothing less than going to the movies: seemingly innocuous, you might think. A movie is supposed to be a happy occassion, if you were to mimic the Swamp Lord in Monty Python. One chooses to go to movies- that is the way it always has been, although perhaps some cults could direct you against your will to the can't miss hit How to improve your life: It rhymes with "pult". The Nazis probably did that too, because they were jerks.

For modern, non-cult-or-Nazi-affiliated man, we have the option of going to see these masterpieces of acting and special effects. As with most entertainment, we pay some amount of currency for the privilege. Now some might think that my objection is with the cost- but nothing could be further from the truth. Nine bucks for two hours of entertainment is a bargain, in my opinion. When I'm shopping with my wife, I can spend ten times that in a tenth the time.

The assault, however, begins when you enter the theater. Quite instantly, you are transported to a world that would only exist in some ad executive's wet dream. Giant cardboard cutouts hawking snacks, upcoming movies and God knows what else line the periphery like some two-dimensional spectators, each taunting you with the promise of unending happiness if you would only just buy. Surely that four extra dollars could be spared to provide a gallon of soda for your enjoyment during the movie? After all, you get a free refill.

If you are somehow able to avoid those cardboard demons and make your way to your seat, your only hope is for the Lord to strike you blind temporarily if you have managed to arrive before the movie starts.

If, for example, you were to show up a half-hour before the movie begins (aside from the criticism that perhaps you're taking your planning a little too seriously), you are treated to a merry-go-round of slides, some of which have fun corporate sponsors with fun little trivia games that make you want to throttle the person who invented both fun and Fanta soda. Add in the trivial pop music piped in and you're in for a coma-inducing experience.

Should you arrive within 20 minutes of the movie's purported start time, you're now able to view an exciting reel that drills into your head exactly which products someone of your age group and gender should be consuming, be they television shows, movies or delicious snacks. As if to hammer home the point, they "recap" the past 20 minutes at the end, as if most people couldn't possibly have an attention span that long.

Should you be present during a first-run movie, you'll now have the opportunity to watch previews for other movies that you don't want to see. Although I regard the man who does the voice-overs for those previews as the fourth in the Triumvirate (Father, Son, Holy Ghost, Movie-voice-over guy), each one wears down your soul until you are a bitter and unblinking husk of a person, waiting only for the sweet release of death. And yet, you soldier on stoically.

Finally, after forty minutes of previews, thirteen reminders to turn off your cell phone, a friendly reminder that snacks are still available in the lobby- you know, just like they have been for the last 90 years, two people's cell phones ringing (I believe the tones are "La Vida Loca" and "Darth Vader's theme"), a crappily animated video of a jet or a roller coaster or some bullshit flying by even more floating clouds of Coke, Skittles and Red Vines, you are invited to sit back, relax, and enjoy the feature presentation. You collapse, realizing the worst is behind.

Then, in the first scene, the gallant starship commander reaches for a Coke.

If you survive the initial rush of blood to your head, the intense pressure in your eyes and the urge to elicit a blood-curdling scream, then you may survive. However, resist the urge to rip your theatre seat from it's mount and send it hurtling towards the screen Simply internalize all of your anger, sending it deep within you to be released like a torrent at the next person who irks you.

If you're one of the lucky ones, your head will merely explode at the first preview.