I've previously discussed my child's love for all things Bigfoot. The boy loves Finding Bigfoot on Animal Planet, and he will talk to you about Bigfoot until your eyes cross. Imagine our surprise to find out that SOME IDIOT killed Bigfoot here in San Antonio. We have kept this news from Zane, since he would be extremely upset at such rampant cruelty. Also because we think the guy making this claim is a big fat liar. I base this assertion on the fact that he was involved in a Bigfoot hoax a few years ago, where he claimed to have a Bigfoot carcass, and this time, when he allegedly shot Bigfoot, he took the body to Las Vegas. Las Vegas, folks, not a reputable university with a decent anthropology program, like say... the University of Texas? Or Texas A&M, which has the one of the best vet schools in the country? Anyway, everyone knows that San Antonio is stone-cold Chupacabra territory(the Chupacabra is some sort of mysterious creature that likes to suck the blood out of random goats. I have no idea why). We can't have more than one sort of monster in an area at a time. I'm sure there's some law that says that, otherwise the Loch Ness Monster would surely have relocated to a warmer climate by now. My point is that part of the mystery of Bigfoot, Nessie, and all their legendary friends is that it really doesn't matter whether they exist or not. What matters is that the hunt for such creatures spurs the imagination, fires up the blood, and gets people out exploring their world.
|I'll bet this guy knows a few things about the birds and the bees.|
I am sitting here typing, and my cat Pounce is lying on top of the printer, and she is staring. I cannot figure out what she is staring at, and it's making me paranoid. Is there a bug crawling up the wall over my shoulder? Did a wayward scorpion find its way up here? I keep having to stop and look! Darn cat. If there's something over there, go kill it. You're a cat. That's your job.
My husband and I finally got a chance to go out on a date. We bribed Zane to go hang out with his grandparents for a few hours, and we hit the Alamo Drafthouse to see A Good Day To Die Hard. The cool thing about the Alamo Drafthouse, besides their awesome menu of beer, is that they ferociously enforce the "No Talking" rule during the movies. You get one warning, and if you don't stop, you get thrown out. I like that rule. As for the movie, I think that the critics who panned it are idiots. You don't go to a Die Hard movie expecting a morality play or well written dialogue. You go to a Die Hard movie to see John McClane have a bad day. No thinkee, lots of boom boom. In that regard, this rendition of Die Hard was pretty darn good. At least as good as the last one, not as bad as the second one. As I've said before, if it's a tear jerker or a meaningful movie, I don't want to see it in a theater. If I have to pay to see a movie, I want action or comedy. Wholesome, escapist fare.
I am hanging out at Stacy's today. Go visit her!