Unfortunatley, insurance doesn't cover any of these
Mood:  smelly
Now Playing: "Taylor the Latte Boy" - Kristin Chenoweth

So the other day, at the gym, I whimsically challenged myself to do an 8-minute mile on the treadmill.  "Pish tosh," said I to myself, dismissing imaginary naysayers with an airy wave while hiking up my leg warmers and setting the iPod to Extra Bouncy, "I routinely did this in under 7 minutes in high school.  Eight minutes should be a breeze."

Oh, how I do love to laugh.

The next morning, while googling "owwwwwwwww" and "alarmingly swollen knee", I came across an ailment known as Theater Knee.  At first glance, it sounded like an actors' affliction - too many genuflecting "Alas, poor Yorick" scenes on unforgiving hardwood veneer - but no, it turns out to be an affliction of  critics and specatators.  Theater Knee is the result of too many hours spent at film festivals, crammed into uncomfortable seats, legs bent at an acute angle, patellas jammed into seatbacks and whacked askew by people climbing over to get to the restrooms.  And boy howdy, it can really hurt.

My next thought was "well then...surely there must be disorders specific to David fans".  Every day, countless lives are disrupted by ailments such as Lukemia, Gingervitis, and Huangnail, to name a few (the latter caused by eagerly ripping open the newest DVD arrival, and cutting a finger in your haste.  Even though you know David isn't in it all that much).  Don't you know people who've nearly died of a Doug Overdose, Josh Palsy, or Spartan Vaporlock?  This is a serious crisis, people!  I've got an icebag going right now to subdue my Killing Time Anticipation Tic.

Speaking of Killing Time. Which we were not! But I couldn't think of a graceful way to change the subject.  Didn't you love the trailer?  OK, so it's evil David this time, but refined, elegant, Porsche-and-coke, succumbing-to-temptation evil David, as opposed to Jerky McOutback, the Outback Jerk.  (Yes, if I saw that action figure in a store, I would totally buy it.)   No flies, whips, or lizardskin boots here - instead, it's a world of police corruption, maximum-security prison, and vicious criminals.  And David gets to wear one of those Monty Python judge wigs.

One of the interesting things about Fraser, it seems, is the way in which he keeps reinventing himself, setback after setback - from small-time lawyer to high-profile criminal attorney to disgraced drug addict to prisoner to author to public speaker to comedian (yes, he has a comedy show called "High Sus", which was featured at the Melbourne Comedy Festival last year).  The guy just keeps on moving from role to role at a dizzying pace.  Next he'll show up on Dancing with the Stars.  Or he'll announce that he's putting out a CD of hardscrabble roots music.  I wonder if that chameleon-like quality is what interested David in portraying him?

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Stupid Idea of the Day:  You know how 3-D glasses leave dents in your nose, and make you look like a Buddy Holly impersonator operating a bandsaw during a racquetball match?  Movie theaters really should offer 3-D contacts as an alternative.

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Quote of the Day (from my 10 year old nephew):  "Oh yeah, I've heard of 300.  It's a movie about men.  It has a lot of men in it.  I think it was made for men."