Crazymaking

I finally went to see Fahrenheit 9/11 last night. I've been meaning to go. Wanting to go. Missing out on opportunities to go. For weeks now. But at last, I went, and it was a good thing. It was really entertaining, really informative, really provocative, and really infuriating. What I've heard most often from friends who have seen it is their disbelief at how much of the information the film presented was not being delivered by the major news agencies. Or any news agencies at all, for that matter. And that's definitely something you come away from it thinking. But I don't want to posture or preach. I want people to see the movie, but I won't twist any arms. You will make up your own mind. As you should.

A hispanic couple left early into the film and didn't return. I wondered if it's possible for someone to come to see a Michael Moore movie and be caught unawares by the subject matter. Maybe they mistook it for a screening of the Ray Bradbury story the title parodies. (I'm being sarcastic; they were wearing matching sweatpants.)

In my ongoing trailer commentary, I will say that the trailer for Motorcycle Diaries made me want to go buy deodorant, and the trailer for the remake of The Manchurian Candidate really, REALLY chafes at me. Manchurian Global. The very idea.

I've been on hold and not on hold with Cingular Wireless for the better part of two hours now. I'm now hearing an extraordinarily cheesy instrumental version of Belinda Carlisle's Mad About You. I can't quite put my finger on how it makes me feel. But I think that synthesized steel drums might be a trigger mechanism for the "sleeper" in me.

And in further news of my wound-healing: Peh! I think I just got Neosporin in my mouth.