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April 30th, 2005

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Last night, I saw The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The biggest surprise to me, since I'd missed the theatre posters (D. and I walked right past three huge ones on the way in, but discovered it on the way out and marveled about how we've become blind to big blue things with people on it) and the full length trailer (I saw only that annoying teaser) was that Ford was black. In fact, I believe my first words after the film ended was, "Hey, Ford's not black in the book, is he?"

Still, whatever. It's not like being black is a character trait in this film, and there's Stephen Fry narrating and a funny song about dolphins leaving the planet, which is cool.

My opinion on the five Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books, of which I've read only the first two, is that they're nothing special. Some funny jokes and ordinary prose and low page count means that you can read it in an afternoon. You pass the time in a fairly reasonable way if the books catch your fancy, and you pass the time in a fairly reasonable way if they don't. They're that kind of innocuous entertainment, fit for everyone to digest, with the mileage measured by your appreciation of the comedy within.

That's how the movie is. I enjoyed Stephen Fry. The dolphin song was funny. In short, I passed the time, had a few laughs, and thought about lounge acts.

Sex and Death.


Best Sex.

Like many people on this planet, I was really quite drunk when I had the best sex of my life. There was tequila. A lot of tequila. I, by all accounts and the money left on the fridge in the morning, was fantastic. She, by my own sharp and attentive memory, was beautiful and rich. Part of me really doesn't believe I could have picked up such a woman, but given a smooth and charming list of lies by the tequila, I was able to seduce her like I was another person. And, like I said, I was fantastic. It went for days. It went through parking lots, parks, buses, every room in her flat... I don't remember what the fist full of pills she gave me were, but they went crunch crunch and stuck to my teeth, but when the sun rose the next morning, there was no reason to stop.

There was a strap on. I don't remember her pulling it out, or even putting it on, but it was great.


Christian Hell.

I think Hell is going to be great. To start off with, my friends are going to be there, and secondly, there isn't going to be God and His People. I mean, lets face facts: if there is a Heaven, if there's a God, then it's been designed for those Christians of faith who are in charge and busy ripping the rights to live a life with freedom of choice, and that's not the kind of Heaven I want to be in. It'll be about as much fun as sitting and listening to those fucked up people on the street that tell you their dirty little photocopied flier can lead you to saving your soul, if only you'd step into their church. No thanks. I don't like those people. I certainly don't want to spend some kind of eternity with those losers.

It's Hell for me and all the other free thinking freedom of will loving dead folk. I imagine I'll start a book club.

(I'm answering thirty questions. I don't much care what they're about. Bring them down. Any old wild shit will be taken in, though I reserve the right to avoid those that double up.)