At Nancy's recommendation, Jon and I watched the first 4 episodes of the 1st season of 24. Pretty darn good, so far. It's an interesting gimmick: 24 hours - each hour is an episode and things are in 'real time'. And the best thing is Jon watched it with me and he's interested in watching the rest. Yay! I couldn't get him interested in Angel at all. You know, the older Kiefer Sutherland gets, the more he looks like his old man.

The other day I proved to myself once and for all that my cat is stone deaf. We did take her to the vet; he looked her over and said he couldn't find anything wrong with her ears. Last Tuesday I was vacuuming the house and I saw her asleep on a box. So I turned the vacuum cleaner off; rolled it up right next to her, then turned it on. If you own a cat you know that you would have to then use a putty knife and a claw hammer to scrape/pry kitty off the ceiling, but she didn't even budge. With the cleaner running, I woke her up by scritching her behind the ears; she stretched, yawned, and then went back to sleep. Yep, deaf as a post. Kinda envy her in a way.

The beer is burping merrily away. Once I transfer it to the secondary fermenter I'll have a small taste to make sure nothing funny decided to breed in there. The secondary is merely getting the new beer off the bed of dead yeast which will start breaking down and adding funny flavors to the beer. Am I afraid of poisoning myself? Nah. No self-respecting pathogen would grow in that crap.

The secondary fermentation simply gives the more hardy yeast time to flocculate - wait, that's a cool word:

flocculate
SYLLABICATION: floc·cu·late
VERB: Inflected forms: floc·cu·lat·ed, floc·cu·lat·ing, floc·cu·lates

TRANSITIVE VERB: 1. To cause (soil) to form lumps or masses.
2. To cause (clouds) to form fluffy masses.
INTRANSITIVE VERB: To form lumpy or fluffy masses.
NOUN: Something that has formed lumpy or fluffy masses.

*Heh*. Any way, I will transfer the beer into its secondary fermenter, which will be its permanent home (until I drink it) which is an old metal Pepsi 5 gallon keg. I'll seal it, and burp it every 2 or 3 days to relieve the CO2 pressure for about 10 days. Then I'll hook it up to my CO2 tank and carbonate it. Mmmm. Because I'm doing the secondary fermentation in the keg, that first glass of beer will be about 90% flocculated (heh) yeast. Mmmmm! It's a great source of (if I recall correctly) vitamin B-12, which coincidentally is good for hangovers.

Oh, yeah. My other vocabulary word for the day:
bonhomie
SYLLABICATION: bon·ho·mie
NOUN: A pleasant and affable disposition; geniality.
ETYMOLOGY: French, from bonhomme, good-natured man : bon, good (from Latin bonus).
OTHER FORMS: bonho·mous (bn-ms) —ADJECTIVE

Just to make you run from the room screaming; here's my useless prattle about redheaded Englishmen for the week. From an article someone uncovered on the web:

FRIDAY: When I get out of this limo, I’m going to walk into a room and meet Tom Hanks. I must remember to tell him how much I like Philadelphia, Saving Private Ryan, Apollo 13, his ‘serious’ work. But all I really want to talk about is Splash, Big, and Bachelor Party, the ones I grew up on.

‘Hey, Damian, thanks for coming. You must be tired after flying all the way from London.’
Tom is speaking to me. Before I can stop myself, I’ve launched into one of the unfunniest jokes I’ve ever made. I rub my arms, and blurt out: ‘Yeah, my arms are pretty stiff,’ (implying I’d actually flown). Geddit? Genius. Traffic comes to a screeching halt. Tumbleweed blows through the room. Silence.

‘Did this guy just say what I think he said?’ At least, this is the look on Tom’s face. His jaw slightly open, a look of utter disbelief in his eyes. The silence lasts a few seconds before Tom, realizing that he simply has to help me out of this horrible moment, yells out: ‘Aw, okay, funny guy. Very good. Sit down over here.’

He can’t possibly give me a job after that, I’m thinking, but undeterred, Tom cracks on. We act together. I play Winters. Tom does all the other characters. My accent is now rock solid. Nothing can shake it. Not even Tom’s beard, now so big for the film Castaway that I can’t be sure it’s even him talking.

‘Okay, you’re too good. Get outta here,’ he yells, oozing bonhomie. Tony To appears from behind another door. ‘Nice work, Damian, you have nothing to worry about.’
A little cryptic for my tastes, but assuming he means a job well done, I go out and get absolutely smashed until five in the morning.

8AM NEXT MORNING: ‘Damian, are you awake? Steven would like to see you at midday.” It’s Meg, the casting director. I cry into my pillow. Little simpering sobs at first, then naked hysterical screaming. The biggest meeting of my life and I’ve blown it. I’ve had three hours’ sleep and I’m still drunk.

By midday I’ve had three cold showers, five coffees and stubbed my toe a lot. I walk into the office sweating heavily and shaking. We’re introduced. ‘I used to live in Hampstead,’ Steven tells me. ‘Maybe we know the same people?’
Not unless you’ve been around Kensal Green lately mate, I thought to myself.
‘Do you know Ralph Fiennes?’ he asks.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ I nearly fall off my chair with excitement that I can actually continue this conversation with Steven Spielberg.
‘We did Hamlet together on Broadway. I played Laertes,’ I say.
Steven remembers the show and even me in it. He saw it twice. He liked it. This is good. We chat some more. Steven’s off to watch his kid play soccer. I want to tell him it’s called football. Probably not the best time, though.

Tom has to go and buy a Christmas tree with his daughter. They leave. Tony looks at me and says:‘So, ready for boot camp in March?”
I leap up and kiss everyone in the room. I’ve got the part! I’m Dick Winters. I’m in Band of Brothers.

Hey, he's an actor, therefore he's a Twinkie; he seems to write well for a Twinkie, though. I want him for my birthday, in case any one's trying to think of a gift for me.

Eventually I'm going to move this blog elsewhere. I have discovered due to our DSL connection Jon and I have a certain amount of free web space. I'll probably eat that up pretty quick because I want to post photos. I'll have to do some judicious editing to previous posts because my husband doesn't know about this (yet). I tend to value the unvarnished truth to diplomacy for the most part, but not everybody does.

I did skydive last weekend - 8 jumps. 4 fun jumps and 4 AFF. My grand total is 977; 23 more to go for my nice, round number. God willing and the skies don't rain I should get that by my birthday.

The beer has started to ferment. Last night when I got home from work, I took the lid off my plastic brewing bucket and panicked because I saw no tell-tale yeast foam on the top of the wort. So I went to plan B, which is a good dry yeast. I sprinkled that on top and closed the lid again. I hate plastic buckets because you can't tell what's going on inside. I used to have a 6 1/2 gallon glass carboy but my husband broke it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one of those puppies?

So I checked it again this morning and I still saw no activity in the airlock. The airlock incidentally allows built up C02 gas to escape but doesn't allow any other air back in. Good thing or else things would go all explody. Sorry, that's one of my favorite Buffyisms.

Speaking of Buffy (sort of), TNT is now showing Season 4 of Angel. I'm not sure I like what's happening to Cordelia, but I knew she was being too sanctimonious even for her. So she's the Big Bad of the season. And poor Wes. He has no luck with women. Anyway, one recent episode had a demon tear through Wolfram and Hart, inc. Everybody died (but Lilah. Cordy took care of her instead) and came back as zombies. I'm not exactly sure why; but what the hell. You know how much I love zombies.

It's always good to see Faith. Hey, one scene had a random vampire recognize her as a Slayer so he took off running. Apparently not all Buffyverse vampires are stupid. Yes, I'm including Angel and Spike. Neither of them are noted for their deep wisdom.

Back to the beer; I took the cover off again this morning and there is yeast activity. Now I just hope I haven't contaminated the wort. Stay tuned.

I wonder if Frank Sinatra and Sid Vicious are together somewhere in the afterlife singing duets? They were both self-affirmed punks, after all.

I took yesterday off as a vacation day - Jon and I spent most of it getting our house finally in order from the move. 3 months after the move we officially have everything out of the boxes.

I spent yesterday afternoon brewing beer - now that's a hobby of mine that displays the INTP nature of becoming competent (but not mastering) at a skill. I know just enough about beer brewing to brew up a decent batch of ale but that's as far as I got.

Just to bore you, Beer is composed of 4 main ingredients: water, malted barley, yeast, and hops. You also have adjuncts, which can be anything from corn syrup to jalepeno peppers. The water is self-explanatory. Barley is a type of grain - "malted" means it has been allowed to germinate then dried. If you chewed on some malted barley as opposed to unmalted, the malted tastes sweeter.

Malted barley (and malted wheat, sometimes) is lightly crushed and allowed to steep in hot water. This is called "mashing" and basically it's converting the starches in the malted grain into sugar. The sugar water is drained from the leftover husks, then allowed to boil for an hour or so. During the boil, hops are added at certain intervals to counteract the sweetness and provide flavors. Trust me. Without hops beer would be so gaggingly sweet no one but desperate alcoholics would drink it. And Southerners. Have you ever drank store-bought sweet tea? About the same in sweetness. At least kool-aid has citric acid.

I digress. After boiling the crap out if it, this sweet water is referred to as "wort". The wort is cooled, then yeast is introduced, and then it's all up to those little buggers to eat the sugar, and piss alcohol and fart CO2. Once they are done, the beer is removed from the dead yeast bed. At that point it can either be force-carbonated with CO2 (usually done if kegging), or a little more sugar can be re-introduced so that the more stubborn yeast remaining can carbonate the beer naturally (usually done if bottling). Note national breweries force-carbonate everything.

I buy pre-measured kits with malt extracts. It means someone else has mashed the grain - I buy the wort, essentially. I add water, boil the crap out of it, and hop it up then add yeast. I own a freezer dedicated to beermaking / beer kegging so I set my fermenter in the freezer for temperature control while the yeast eat themselves silly.

Most people don't know this, but there's only two types of beer: Ale and Lager. Ales are brewed at higher temperatures, and the yeast tend to hang around the top of the wort. They also ferment out pretty fast (5 -7 days) so are ready for drinking quicker. Lagers are fermented at lower temperatures and can take months to ferment out. Lager yeasts tend to hang around the bottom. Ales can taste sweeter; lagers taste crisper. Most popular American beers are Lagers.

Everything else is style. Ale styles include the sweeter Scotch, Irish and Brown ales, and the heavily hopped Pale Ales and the dark Porters and Stouts to the light Cream ales. Lagers include the light Pilsners to the dark German Bocks. Most American beers are modelled after the Czech Pilsners. I don't dislike American Beer; I was drinking Michelob Light during my brew session last night. I'm just glad that there's more variety available, thanks not only to imports, but regional brewers like Sam Adams and Anchor. I'm addicted to Anchor Porter almost as much as I love Guinness Stout. Mmmmmmm.

Styles are determined by recipe. When malt is dried, it can be roasted for a darker, richer flavor. This procedure is what gives the darker brews their color. Darker beers do not neccessarily have greater alcohol content; that is determined by how much sugar you start with and end with in the brew. American beers tend to use rice or corn which can give the beers a lighter flavor because the sugar from these grains tend to brew out more than those in barley (conversion to alcohol is more complete). You aren't going to hear me complain too loudly: you go mow the lawn then reach into your refrigerator for a Guinness! Blech.

I am brewing an Irish Red Ale. It's somewhat similar to Killian's Red; except that's a lager so mine tastes a little richer. Mmmm.

Right now I'm in that 24 - 48 hour period where I'm worried that I killed my yeast. If you exercise good sanitation techniques, once you introduce the yeast it should be the dominant bug in the brew so it will go forth and multiply so fast that no other bug will get a toe-hold. However if the yeast are quitters any other germ can have a field day. So far I have never had a batch of bad beer (except one bad attempt at lager. That wasn't bugs, though. It tasted like shoe. I think I let it ferment at too high a temp) due to non-yeasty bugs taking over.

We shall see.

Just for Nancy, this week's Melancholic Moment is brought to you by Dylan Thomas. Now when you read this it is important to imagine Rodney Dangerfield is reciting it:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Well, I finally watched a movie that wasn't stupid. Bizarre, yes, but not stupid. It took me a couple of hours after watching Adaptation to decide whether I liked it or not. Ultimately, I did.

What is it about? Well, let's see. There's this screenwriter, Charlie Kaufman (Nicholas Cage), who has been assigned to adapt the book the Orchid Thief into a screenplay, but he's discovered that it's pretty much unadaptable. He himself, is a neurotic mess; he is overweight, balding, and terribly shy. He lives with his twin brother, Donald (Cage again), who is nothing like him personality-wise. As he wrestles with the book, trying to find a way to portray it on the screen, his leech of a brother decides he's going to write a screenplay, too. His novel idea is to write a screenplay about a serial killer, sort of a Silence of the Lambs meets Psycho.

The book Charlie's trying to adapt is about literally an orchid thief, John Larouche (the always watchable Chris Cooper) who hunts for rare orchids in the swamps of Florida along with a group of Seminole Indians. When they get caught, Larouche's whole defense is because the Seminoles were picking the flowers it is legal, even though the swamp - I mean wetlands - is a protected wildlife preserve. The book's author, Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep, whom I have slowly forgiven for Sophie's Choice, an unbelievably pointless and depressing movie), interviews Larouche for a New Yorker piece, and slowly discovers a fascinating man who at first glance comes across as a wierd redneck.

Charlie's social life (which essentially is reduced to conjugal relations with his hand) is a mess; his agent (the always watchable and cute as a button Ron Livingston) is on his back about getting the book adapted, and his brother's trite script gets sold for a cool million. His brother swears by this guy who holds these 3-day scriptwriting seminars (the always watchable Brian Cox - yes, I was delighted with the supporting cast of this movie!) so Charlie, desperate, attends one even though he initially tells his brother those kind of seminars are ripoffs.

Charlie to this point has been resisting the standard Hollywood fare. He wants to be honest to the book, and not sensationalize it at all. After some conversations with the scriptwriting guru the movie gets really wierd.

And I won't describe the third act just in case you might want to watch. What is really mindnumbing about this movie is this: Charlie Kaufman is a real screenwriter. He's famous for writing Being John Malkovich, another totally bizarre movie. We even see him on the set; being dissed and ignored by Spike Jonze and John Cusack (played by Jonze and Cusack respectively). His brother Donald doesn't exist, even though he gets screenwriting credit for this movie.

I had to check: The Orchid Thief is a real book and Susan Orlean and John Larouche are real people. I wonder what they thought about this movie.

So other than trying to sort out fact from fiction, what did I like about this movie? Well it never bored me, and I had a tough time figuring out what would happen next. I love a challenge. Plus, there's one point in the movie where Charlie and Donald are discussing their differences (in a swamp - don't ask). Charlie is reminding Donald of a time where he was talking to a girl in school. Donald smiled, and reminisced that he was madly in love with the girl. Charlie pointed out that when he walked away, the girl and some of her friends made fun of him behind his back. Donald says something to the extent that hes he knew about it, but that didn't change the fact that he was in love with her. Some people would look at what he says next as the theme of the movie: "You are what you love, not what loves you", but I liked much better what he says next: "What she felt was her business".

Kaufman kept touching on things like that, things that are essential to my philosophy. Life got much easier for me when I stopped caring about what was going on in other people's heads. That's their business.

Oh, yeah. Just read Nancy's blog and couldn't resist:

If I ever have a kid I'll have to figure out what to do about it. If I ever need it there's no point in having them locked up and unloaded but I would not like to have my kid accidentally blow his (or my) brains out. I always hear stories about kids playing with guns. My dad owned (owns?) an arsenal, and out of his five kids, none of us ever played with the weapons. Dad never hit us (that was mom's job), so I have to think it was because from an early age we were trained in handgun safety (and I mean early! I remember shooting my dad's .357 when I was 5). I was, at least, intensely aware of what that gun could do to a watermelon (heh heh. Kewl!).

Statistics are funny things, of course. I dug around a bit; in the 0-14 year old category, in 2000 943 kids died in accidental drownings, and in 1995 (I tried to find 2000 stats) 250 died in accidental handgun deaths. I'm not about to brick over my pool, so STAY AWAY! I'M A MADMAN, I TELL YOU! MY POOL IS FULL OF WATER!! Damn kids.

Yes, there's a fence around our pool. The trouble with making anything foolproof is that fools are so ingenious. And that includes kids. If a kid breaks into our back yard and drowns, what do you think the parents are going to do to us? Maybe I should brick the damn thing up.

I need a new job. I like programming; but in context it is a soul-sucking experience to work in a corporation this large. I'm too damn lazy to be self employed.

I could open a pool-cleaning service, considering how much I learned about that in the last week. I didn't go swimming; the water is too cold. So I grabbed some beer and sat by the poolside dangling my feet in the water and read while the sun set. Pretty. Goddamn bugs.

No stupid movies last night, unless you want to call 1/2 of X-Men stupid, which I guess you could. Eh, it was entertaining; but I spent most of the time wishing Hugh Jackman would do something about that hair helmet. Magneto's cool. The second movie is much better. How often do you get to say that?

This week's melancholy moment (courtesy Denis Leary):

Life's gonna suck when you grow up, when you grow up, when you grow up.
Life's gonna suck when you grow up, it sucks pretty bad right now.

You're gonna have to mow the lawn, do the dishes, make your bed.
You're gonna have to go to school until you're seventeen.

You might have to go to war, shoot a gun, kill a nun.
You might have to go to war when you get outta school!

You're gonna have to deal with stress, deal with stress, deal with stress.
You're gonna be a giant mess when you get back from the war.

Life's gonna suck when you grow up, when you grow up, when you grow up.
Life's gonna suck when you grow up, it sucks pretty bad right now!

You're gonna wind up smoking crack, on your back, face the fact.
You're gonna wind up hooked on smack, and then you're gonna die!

Jon and I are trying to get the pool ready for swimming. We are painfully learning the Way of Pool Maintenence. First off you have to dump in a buttload of chlorine, which is called "shocking the pool". I'm sure all the little organisms who lived in the pool were quite shocked when we dumped that stuff in. So shocked, they all had heart attacks and died and are now building up sediment layers on the bottom.

Also on the bottom are all the leaves that collected over the winter. We have a special little gadget that sweeps and collects them off the bottom; we also have another special gadget that vacuums up the dead algae, dirt and whatnot that has collected as well. You try vacuuming a pool. It's a pain in the butt. We priced out some of those little robot gadgets that continuously do it; at first we decided $600 wasn't worth it but now I'm thinking that's a bargain.

I also learned how to prime the pool pump, turn it on and off and purge it (that gets rid of all the crap that gets caught in the sand filter).

Then you have to skim off all the floating leaves and insects. Holy cow, the insects! What do I expect from Alabama? I'm sure this Summer will be more fun. I hope I won't have to fish out dead frogs and snakes but I bet I will. Most of the time the pool's filtration system grabs the unlucky creepy crawlies but still I'm not jumping in the damn pool if a 4" dead spider is randomly drifting around the area. I have my limits.

I'm hoping we'll have it clean enough this afternoon so I can float around w/ a beer and a paperback for a while. Bet it will rain.

Last night's stupid movie was S*W*A*T. I remember that series from when I was a kid but the movie had nothing to do with the show except the names of some of the characters. Unlike all of the stupid movies I have been watching recently, this one finally broke my Golden Rule of Movies: Just Don't Bore Me!

What a waste of a perfectly decent cast. I like Samuel L. Jackson, L.L. Cool J and Colin Farrell (he's cute, but does nothing for me. He can act. And he has a pretty good American accent). I put it on my Netflix queue mainly for Michelle Rodriguez but she's wasted here. Hell, she played pretty much the exact same character in Resident Evil (Tough Hispanic Chick in a paramilitary unit) but had 5 times more to do in that movie! Dammit, if she's going to get typecast into the Tough Chick role, at least let her hit someone. Sheesh.

The bad guy was a French mobster. I think. He spoke French. I guess they are bad guys du jour. God forbid we have Arab terrorist bad guys (they don't exist, of course). But the French are good targets. I'm really surprised he wasn't a French Nazi Mobster. I guess there were too many African Americans in the cast to have any of the antagonists display any racism (actually a nice change of pace), so they had to have them display sexism ( a *girl* on a SWAT team! Horrors!). So what does she do? She gets herself shot.

Anyway, the real problem with the movie was that Action movies are supposed to have Action. Right? Bad director! No cookie!

Just a quick note today: I'm busy and can't think of anything to talk about.

So here's my random link of the week:Dante's Inferno and All-Night Video Store. The man who owns this site has an enormous appetite for direct-to-video movies. He must have seen everything Don "the Dragon" Wilson and Lou Diamond Phillips have ever done. I also like the personal pages he has on his site. He's a member of the U.S. Army; his stories of his days in Germany are fascinating to me. Plus any one who rescues a cat and names it "Jet Jaguar" is okay in my book. You have seen Godzilla Vs. Megalon, haven't you?

Bleah! Sinus headaches. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Yes, I did skydive. 8 jumps in, 4 with my brother. I'm really enjoying teaching him my sport. Maybe because he's competent. I get impatient with people who don't listen to what I'm saying.

I went home Sunday, took some sinus medication, and curled up on the couch with Books 2 and 3 of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. Since TiVo automatically records anything with my top 10 actors in it (man, am I getting tired of deleting Armageddon!), I put the tv on and played Band of Brothers (showing on the Hitler channel) on in the background; looking up only at the really interesting bits. There's a lot of interesting bits so I think I read maybe 6 chapters.

Stayed home Monday, still suffering (but hey; I still had plenty of sinus medication, books, and BoB episodes to keep me company). When Jon got home, we bought chinese take-out, and watched Cabin Fever, a stupid horror movie.

5 college students vacation during a break in a cabin in the woods. Stop me if you've heard this one before. A stranger with some horrible flesh-eating disease stumbles into their camp and begs them to help. Because he is spewing up blood, however, they chase him off (after conveniently ruining their truck). One by one these students contract the disease, and the locals aren't much help.

First off, all the students are jerks. I especially wanted the jock to die, and he did (yay!). Oops, hope I didn't spoil anything for you. Matter of fact, he dies, she dies; everybody dies! One guy doesn't contract the illness - and as he dances out of the cabin in joy, I realize the stupid son of a bitch has *not* seen Night of the Living Dead. Still, I had to shout "Just DIE all ready!" two or three times before someone obliged and whacked the bastard.

Best seen with low expectations and a black sense of humor. And a tolerance for flesh-eating bacteria.

Last night's stupid movie was a stupid Vietnam war movie The Boys in Company C. It's a lot more lame than I remember - I don't think I've seen it since it first came out (in 1978!). Matter of fact, the only thing I found interesting about this movie is that Lee Ermey was in it as yes, a marine drill instructor. This movie predates Full Metal Jacket by 9 years and this movie was his first role.

Other than Lee Ermey, the only other bright point was the main character was a black man who *didn't* die. Everyone in this movie, however, needs to attend Overactor's Anonymous meetings. Except for Ermey. I love him just the way he is. Yes, I watch Mail Call on the Hitler Channel all the time.

Bad blood
Is takin' you for a ride
The only thing good about bad blood
Is lettin' it slide


I have a soft spot for That 70's Show. My favorite characters are Eric Foreman's parents, Kitty and Red. Especially Kitty. She endeared me during an episode where Eric went with her to work. It was 'take your son to work' day at school, but Red had been laid off so Eric went to the hospital where Kitty was employed as a nurse. He was rattled by how different his mother was and how tough the work could be. He freaks somewhat at a dead body. At the end of the ep as he and Kitty were driving home, Eric tries to ask her how she could stand it, do her work, day in and day out. Kitty is singing along with an Elton John (okay, Neil Sedaka) song I haven't heard in *years* (Bad Blood) and instead of answering nudges him into sing along with her.

My mom's a nurse - or was, but now she's retired. It was a good scene - Eric (and I) developed some strong respect for Kitty.

Argh. After two tough days at work it's nice to sit down and watch stupid movies.

Last night's feature was a stupid disaster movie, The Core. The earth's core has stopped spinning, so the electro-magnetic field surrounding the earth is dissipating which is causing all sorts of natural disasters. A rag-tag team of scientists take a new type of vehicle to the core to jump-start it into spinning again.

Really! I swear on a stack of Edgar Rice Burroughs books that's what it was about!

I have absolutely no idea how bad the science in The Core was; I'll leave it up to a scientist to rip it to shreds (he lays into the movie, not only for the bad science, but the bad grammar. He noticed the exact same thing on a computer screen that I noticed last night). The deeply entertaining part of this movie for me was predicting who would live and who would die.

Not only was my score %100, I predicted the order in which they would die. Here's the rag-tag group:

1: Hunky (and, to his credit, a little dorky) Hero Scientist (played by Aaron Eckhart, who looks like the middle frame of a morph between Thomas Jane and Viggo Mortensen). He's the reluctant hero who rises to the challenges presented him as things go bad.

2: Older (and white male) vehicle Pilot-in Command. He offers serious advice to his protege (see below) about being in charge and making tough decisions.

3: Spunky (and hottie female) vehicle co-pilot. She is highly skilled and cocky, but not as experienced as the P.I.C.

4: Foreign Scientist. Best friend to Hunky Hero Scientist who doesn't want to save the world, just his wife and two children.

5: Brilliant Asshole Scientist. It's secretly his fault that the core stopped spinning.

6: Brilliant Scientist/Inventor of the vehicle and its drill. He has a grudge against Brilliant Asshole Scientist, who made a lot of money off of some things that they invented together (but did not share royalties with). I should mention that he's a Black Male.

So, who lives and who dies, and why? I paused the movie just before they started their venture to the center of their earth, and told my husband:

-Oh, by the way, if you don't want to be spoiled, don't read this -

First to die will be the Older White Male Pilot in Command. He *has* to die. Otherwise, how can the spunky co-pilot learn how to lead, plus show off her superior piloting skills?

Second will be the Foreign Friend. He's European, with a wife and kids. We *like* him, so he is so toast. I knew he would be second becaust the third and the fourth would have to come later in the movie.

Third to die will be the Brilliant Inventor. He has to die doing something to fix something on his beloved ship. Plus, he's the one Black member of the crew. They *always* die.

Fourth to die will be the Brilliant Asshole Scientist. He must die because it's all his fault. To the screenwriter's credit, he's not Eeevil, he's just a jerk who invented things for the military and something went wrong. He does not try to throw a monkey wrench into the Hunky Hero Scientist's desperate plans when things go wrong (which is the Uniform Code of Eeevil Scientists and Military Types everywhere), but actually tries to help. He even supplies the missing piece of information that will make the plan work. Still, he's the asshole so he must die.

Hunky Hero Scientist and Hot Babe Hotshot Pilot live. Why? Because they are pretty.

I would congratulate myself on being so perfect in my Disaster Movie knowledge, but any 11 year old could have done the same. Still, I got a lot of good laughs for every time I was correct; plus my husband kept me in stitches with his own Star Trek generated techno-babble voiceovers: " The granualarity hydrometer is reading off. We have to recalibrate the gorgonzola extracticator to push the crystallizers out."

Okay, yeah, we were drunk. How was your Tuesday?

Existence, well what does it matter
I exist on the best terms I can
The past is now part of my future
The present is well out of hand

melancholy
SYLLABICATION: mel·an·chol·y
NOUN:
1. Sadness or depression of the spirits; gloom: “There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass” (Charles Kuralt).
2. Pensive reflection or contemplation.
3. Archaic a. Black bile. b. An emotional state characterized by sullenness and outbreaks of violent anger, believed to arise from black bile.
ADJECTIVE:
1. Affected with or marked by depression of the spirits; sad. See synonyms at sad.
2. Tending to promote sadness or gloom: a letter with some melancholy news.
3. Pensive; thoughtful.

This month's INTP Melancholic Moments brought to you in part by Harlan Ellison, Kurt Vonnegut, and Philip K. Dick. Thanks, guys.

I don't spend too much time thinking about the past and I don't know if that's a good thing. Most of what I remember is fragmented: my most vivid memories are sensations and not specific incidents. Unles I was horrendously embarrassed then of course I remember the whole thing.

I don't look forward to dying, who does? Death I suppose is no big deal unless I'm wrong and I wake up burning in Hell. Or maybe my fondest hope will come true and I'll be sent back to try again. So any way, I'm not looking forward to the Big Sleep. So I woke up in the middle of this huge movie, and I'll have to leave before it's over. Sad, but then there's the alternative; which is being there for the Big Finish. Yikes.

So I don't look forward and I don't look back. Each day I wake up and try to find a few moments or hours where I can just sit back and *think* about things. "Things" can range from politics, philosophy, plain old fantasies or some fine looking man's nekkid bod( In the philosophy side of things, I'm with Bentham about pleasure: quality isn't an issue). The things that actually happen to me during the day may stay with me a while, but for the most they fade. Is it a wonder I like books and movies so much? They are static; the book I read when I was 13 will begin and end the same as now when I'm 40. Context matters; if I had read the Harry Potter series when I was 8 or 9 it would have affected me far differently. I'm sure I would have been completely obsessed by the series. Immersed. Some day I'll tell you about how worked up I got by the Hardy Boys or the 6 Million Dollar Man. Or maybe I won't.

What frustrates me is when I find a "happy place" (puerile term but it fits), external or internal, it doesn't last. Sooner or later I have to leave. Going back to the Caribbean the last two years was frustrating to the extreme - what I saw with 30+ year old eyes was *not* the same as what I saw with 8 year old eyes, although some of the things I saw were beyond any memories I had as a kid. Take for instance the one scuba trip where I was in the back and came right up on a sea turtle laying low behind some coral. Face to face with a sea turtle. They have these onery expressions. He noticed me looking at him and slowly swam away. It's hard imagining something like a turtle being graceful but there you go.

Was there a point to all this? Just that sometimes I think about how time in my life is like trying to scoop up water in my arms and hold it.

Enough of that.

Jon and I watched The Rundown last night; by far one of the most satisfying stupid action movies I have seen in a long time. It starred 'the Rock' (his friends just call him the), and (unfortunately) Seann William Scott. It makes sense to pair this hosehead with Ashton Kuchtner, but Chow Yun-Fat(Bulletproof Monk.Disappointing)? But I tolerated his presence because the Rock is a hoot. An ex-wrestler, he's handsome, charismatic, and isn't afraid to make fun of himself. -And I just checked is imdb listing to get his real name, (Dwayne Douglas Johnson), and I was right! He is part Samoan.

Anyway - plot doesn't matter. The action set pieces are what makes this movie. Most of them are not overambitious - lots of punching and stuff, but imaginative. There are some explosions and Christopher Walken doing his Christopher Walken thing (I'd kill to see him in a musical, btw). The director (Peter Berg. Hi Pete! You were da bomb in Shocker) gets a little fancy to the point of distraction and it's just a little too long, but overall I enjoyed this stupid movie. Arnold Swarzennegger has a small cameo; he brushes past the Rock in a bar and mutters, "have fun!" Nice Meta Moment, there.

Oh, yeah. Ewan Bremner was in it. He was Ewan MacGregor's dorky friend in Trainspotting. He has a pretty good American accent (Blackhawk Down,Pearl Harbor), but he had a ... some sort of... accent in this movie. I *think* it was scottish. Anyway, nice of him to get work, although it would have been a far more interesting movie to see him paired with the Rock instead of Stifler.

Nobody in Hollywood listens to me, though.

I read an interview with Damian Lewis recently, where he was talking about his character Soames Forsyte. The interview was over the phone. He made mention that he went to boarding school so lived for a while in a similar 'milieu' as the one presented in the Forsyte Saga, but that he's a more 'ebullient' person than Soames. Is it okay for me to say how all hot and bothered I am for a man who can use the words 'ebullient' and 'milieu' in a phone conversation?

Dylan Baker has had a fairly solid career as a character actor. He and William H. Macy could play/be brothers. I was watching a preview of Spider-Man 2 and he's in it. I am sure I am not the only one who gets rattled every time I see him in a role. It's because of the part he played in Happiness, a very dark (ultra-violet) comedy. He played a psychiatrist who loves little boys. He did a fantastic job - I felt bad for the creep as well as thoroughly repulsed. That's the kind of role that can ruin a career.

Speaking of Spider-Man 2, (June 30) I'm judging by the trailer but it looks like it will be another angst-filled action fest. Or is that an action-filled angst fest? No matter. Bless Sam Raimi for taking his subject matter seriously. I have heard rumors that the people responsible for the James Bond franchise are going nuts because they can't come up with a decent script. Last I checked the most decent script they used was Dr. No in 1964. But I digress: get a clue you morons. If you want to revitalize the franchise it won't happen by more clever gadgets or explosions or the flavor-of-the-month teen idol. Get yourself a good director and screenwriter who will take the subject matter seriously then let them loose!

That reminds me:

Top 10 Internet Grammar/Spelling Errors/Quirks that Annoy Me*

10: Using 'loose' when you mean 'lose'. You lose your keys. Your clothes feel loose after a few weeks of dieting.

9: Two, to, and too. TWO students went TO the football game. My brother went, TOO.

8: Free rein!

7: Its and it's. This is a weird one that I get wrong sometimes. "Its" actually indicates possession, like its horn, its glasses, its teeth. "It's" is the contraction of "it is". It's raining.

6:Who and whom. Actually I don't care if people don't use 'whom'; it's going out of style. But if they do....
Here's a hint: re-word the question into a statement. (who or whom) is going to the dance? HE is going to the dance, therefore you use Who. With (who/whom) is he going to the dance? He is going to the dance with HIM. Therefore it is With whom is he going to the dance? Or use "Who is he going to the dance with?" see if I care. Just don't say "Whom is going to the dance?" Argh!!!

5: "Irregardless" is a stupid word. Don't use it.

4: Strunk and White are correct: Omit needless words! The fact of the matter is I'm guilty, too.

3:"Quotation marks" in a sentence or around an interjection to indicate emphasis. Don't do "this", really. It makes you look sarcastic. If you can't underline or bold your words, use *asterisks* to indicate emphasis, or even _underscores_. But "this" looks "sarcastic". "Okay?"

2: I'm guilty of this, too... using ellipsis (ellipses?) when I write... And I thought using "whom" correctly was pretentious... bite me...

1: Using an apostrophe to indicate plural. Use them to indicate possession, dammit! A car's door! Those cars over there! Those Cars' doors!

* which is hypocritical of me because I'll dangle a participle, split an infinitive, and end a sentence with a preposition with the best of them.

I felt great at the gym this morning, especially on the treadmill. I wish I had more days at the gym where I leave wanting to do a little more (as opposed to those days where I'm going "please, God, let it end!").

Jon and I watched Commando Wednesday night, and I'd like to reaffirm that it is indeed one of my favorite bad movies of all time. It gets worse and funnier with age. Jon was a little wierded out by a preteen Alyssa Milano - now he knows how I feel every time I see clips from Empire of the Sun.

The new South Park was truly inspired; I have laughed myself silly in 3 out of 4 of this season's shows and the 4th had its moments. If there is one child in South Park who will grow up to be more deranged than Cartman, it has to be Butters. He apparently didn't lose an eye when Kenny nailed him with a shuriken, but his tapdancing has landed him a body count of 13.

Thanks to Netflix, Jon and I watched Solaris last night. I dislike George Clooney for his uncouth comments about Charlton Heston's Alzheimer's. His statements pretty much kept me from seeing this movie when it first came out. It's too bad this little gem tanked, because it's a good movie and Clooney the Asshole did a terrific job.

Nominally a science fiction story, Clooney plays a psychiatrist who is sent to investigate some odd occurences aboard a space station orbiting the planet Solaris. He finds two of the crew members dead, and the two remaining are freaked out. The first night aboard the space station he dreams about his dead wife, and when he wakes up she is next to him, flesh and blood.

I won't say more about the plot; it reminded me strongly of something I once said about religion. I once said I thought if humanity wanted to achieve the promise of eternal life, we better look to medicine, and if we want the promise of heaven, we better look to space. This movie is a wierd interpretation of the latter sentiment and it was like a punch in my gut. "No explanations, just choices" ouch ouch ouch ouch. By the end of this movie I was a blubbering puddle on my couch.

I checked Steve Soderbergh's credits through IMDb; I've seen a bunch of his stuff including Out of Sight, Ocean's 11, the Limey, and Traffic. I like his spare style; and he seems to balance his directing between the crowd-pleasers and the art stuff. Hey, he's an Atlanta native, how about that?

I just realized, when I wrote out that synopsis, it sounds remarkably like Event Horizon which is a really bad movie that starts out with promise. It's funny what the difference between a good director (Soderbergh) and a bad director (Paul Anderson. No, not that Paul Anderson. The other one!) can make to a plot line.

And I'll make another comment about Clooney. The MPAA was going to give this movie an R rating because of a couple of butt shots. So what? Actually he has a fairly nice ass so I think some of the wrinkly MPAA bastards were just envious. But I digress - wait, one more comment: You can't see a man's butt unless you're 17. WTF. Hell, I fervently pray for the day I can see a man's erect penis in something other than low-budget porn but I guess that is never going to happen. What? I *like* erect penises. Penii? Sue me.

Back to Clooney. Technically I suppose he's handsome (although if I ever met him I'd tackle him and shape his eyebrows) but not my cup of tea. I do like the fact that he has a strong masculine presence - does that make sense? He's not a little boy the way Orlando Bloom is. He reminds me of Eric Bana that way. So why do I want Bana's love child but not Clooney's? (I knew that before his comments). Beats me.Was this going somewhere? Oh, yes. I still think he's an asshole, but he impressed me with his work in Solaris. Next time I'll cut him some slack and support such a thoughtful film in the theater if he ever does something like that again.

Top 10 things I have heard/learned recently:

10: Jason Isaacs and Ralph Fiennes will be in a movie together called the Chumscrubber. No, I have no idea what a chumscrubber is - someone who washes fishguts of the decks of boats?

9: Jason Isaacs will be on 3 episodes of The West Wing which I have never watched. Guess I will this time although I have a bad feeling: he plays a photojournalist on assignment in Israel. JI has a bad habit of dying and I bet this time it's no different.

8: Christian Bale is Welsh-born with English roots. Damian Lewis is English-born with Welsh roots. I am Kansas City-born with Welsh/French/Dutch/Cherokee/Choctaw/Blackfoot roots. Actually, I've known that last bit for quite a while now.

7: My dad and Ileana have moved permanently to Oklahoma (where the wind comes sweeping down the plain..). They are building a house on the same property where my grandparents used to live.

6: Damian Lewis and Kristen Davis are not getting married, it's just an unfounded rumor. They aren't even dating.

5: Roger Clemens is pitching for the Houston Astros. When the hell did that happen?

4: Some people are getting jewelry deliberately imbedded in their eyeball. I'd rather get my clitoris pierced.

3: Amphibian aircraft use type 4 fuel. It must be true; I saw it in Commando.

2:Yellowstone Park is going to blow sky high... soon... I have a feeling that this one is a bit of overexaggerated net rumor.

1: Xanax = good.

I haven't written about the gym in a while - yes, we're still going. I'm frustrated by Preacher Curls - I strained some tendons in my wrists so I can't use the same amount of weight as I'm used to.

Am I still on the diet? No, I'm holding steady for a bit (as opposed to eating like a pig and gaining everything back).

I have had some amusing AFF dives lately - no students from Hell, but definitely a few from Heck:

Student #1 is a nice but nervous fellow who is about 5'6" and 240 pounds. Not only does he resemble a bowling ball he has the fall rate of a bowling ball. So despite putting every pound of lead shot into my weight vest that I could find, I had a difficult time keeping down with him. The other AFF instructor, Frank, isn't exactly a heavyweight either. We got out the door, everything was fine, but he de-arched a little during his practice ripcord pulls and went head down somewhat. That makes you increase your speed. I was flung across his back and was about 50 feet above and away from him and Frank when I recovered. By the time I managed to get close to them again it was pull time.

I discussed it with Jon; he suggests I wear a tee-shirt and shorts next time I do a skydive with someone that heavy. Personally I would just rather not skydive with someone that heavy: it's a matter of physics. Take a 240 pound human who is spinning at a rate of 2 revolutions a second with a fall rate of 140 miles an hour. Do you really think a 130 pound human is going to be able to stop the spinner? Much less fall at 140 miles an hour (my fall rate is more like 110) without tying an anvil around her waist.

My second student from Heck was a woman who weighs less than me. It was a Level 1 AFF and again, the other jumpmaster was Frank. We got out the door just fine and she had a really good body position, which is rare in a beginner. She did not do her practice ripcord pulls, so I gave her the signal to start them. She just stared at me. So I took her hand and pulled it behind her back, and she got the hint and grabbed the pilot chute's handle. I *thought* she understood. She pulled the pilot chute out and opened at about 10,000 feet. (Normally students open at 5,000; experienced skydivers can go as low as 2000).

What a long cold ride. She had no idea what she did wrong. She basically lost altitude awareness; we teach them that the skydive is over at 5,500 feet and not before then. She was very discouraged. I hate seeing that. I'd rather them lose altitude awareness and pull high as opposed to pulling low. I tried to talk her into going again. I doubt she'll be back which is a shame.

For the first time in a while I'm reading a book A Game of Thrones, by George R.R. Martin. It's a fairly typical fantasy epic, except with a decent amount of kinky sex and non-cartoon violence and some interesting, 3 dimensional characters. It's a projected series of 6 books and only the first three have been written. Like many compulsive fantasy readers, I have given up on Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time series so I'm hoping this series will not disappoint me like Jordan's did.

The new Batman movie has started filming. Some photos have popped up on the web: go here especially if you are a Christian fan. No batsuit photos; just him being Bruce Wayne. And I have heard all the "Bateman" jokes I care to, thankyouverymuch.

Judging by his face, he isn't on one of his severe body-altering diets.

I watched The Patriot last night, with ex-listee Mel Gibson and very much a listee Jason Isaacs (as the Evil Bad Guy). There's some pretty scenery in this movie, and some random acts of violence, but I could have done without all the cliches. This is one of those movies that I would have liked to have played script doctor on. Why make the Evil Bad Guy such a cartoon? Couldn't he and Gibson's Benjamin Martin come to be antagonists simply because they were on different sides? Why the snidely whiplash behavior (burns the house, shoots wounded Colonial soldiers AND one of Martin's sons)? The movie also had
Tchéky Karyo, a french actor whose name I can't pronounce but can always count on for an interesting character. And Chris Cooper (always interesting characters, far more pronouncable name).

Bundling, by the way, is a real custom.

Why oh why is there mention of Orlando Bloom and James Bond in the same sentence? Clive Owen and Colin Firth at least have that generic handsome British man thing going for them. Bloom is a puppy! Great elves do not make great James Bonds. Hell, Hugh Jackman rumors make more sense to me.

I've mentioned this before; when I become smitten by an actor, I do research on the web. I try to tell myself it's only to glean info on his movies, but that's partially horseshit. I do have a interest in the person himself. For the most part, I research then I leave. Occasionally though I find a fairly interesting fan community. Jason Isaacs is one of my favorite and the only one that I'm an active member of. I dig the people on the message board. Mostly older women but occasionally younger; they refer to themselves sometimes as a 'sewing circle'. There are topics that are strictly prohibited, especially any sexual in nature (although posts about how 'hot' a character or the actor himself are okay as long as they don't go into masturbatory detail). And if you want to be tarred and feathered, then run out on a rail, constantly use bad grammar and insult Mr. Isaac's family.

He occasionally reads the message boards, too. I'm sure it's a bit mind-bending and an ego rush to visit a community based around you.

I'm not active, but I subscribe to a fan mailing list for Damian Lewis. I stay subscribed because their community is a hoot, as well. Again, I'm struck by the older nature of the fans (the photo section has one area where fans post pictures of themselves with the actor) which is surprising because Lewis is in his early 30's (I want to say 32). There isn't so much self-regulating censorship here, but it hasn't really been needed that I've seen. People are more open about their feelings towards the actor (they refer to themselves as 'gutter bunnies' and once sent Lewis a huge boxful of ladies' underwear) but no one gets gross and I have yet to see a flame war erupt. I have been kept in stitches by all the stories of women whose husbands are curious about their sudden interest in World War II.

I have never met any celebrity beyond the occasional local news personality. I have seen some - when the Braves all of a sudden learned how to play baseball in the early 90's Fulton County stadium was crawling with them. Emilio Esteves was in town filming Freejack and he and his brother Charlie Sheen showed up once when the Cardinals (or was it the Reds?) were in town. My sister Andrea jabbed me in the ribs with an elbow when Sheen skulked past our seats wearing sunglasses and a ballcap. She whispered excitedly "Hey! That's Charlie Sheen!!" My thoughts were, "so?" Not impressed.

The late Gregory Hines came to a ballgame and he smiled and waved at people who were pointing at him. He was cool.

Arnold Swarzenneger and wife came to the stadium once. 6 foot 3 inch John Smoltz walked up to him and shook his hand; I was struck by how *short* arnold is. I'd put him somewhere between 5'6" and 5'8".

But anyway, I'm leading up to a point: would I want to ever meet an actor I admire/love/drool over? No; what if he was in a bad mood or something? I'm such a wuss. Well, if I ever could, I'd buy Bill Paxton a beer. He's such a hoot.

Windy Sunday.

I seem to have developed an affliction for Linkin Park.
Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

Man, if I were 19 I would have thought that was sooooo deep. Still, Linkin Park has everything I love: lots of angst, lots of anger, a bunch of shouting all with a nice beat.

Actually my favorite band for the last 6 or 7 years has been Front Line Assembly if I go by a) number of albums bought and b) the amount of time I listen to them. They're loud, angry, and have a good beat, too. The best thing about their albums is to figure out which science fiction movies they sample from.

Quick note similar to yesterday: Georgia Skydive ads.

Go to Monroe, Rome, or Thomaston in Georgia for tandem skydiving. I don't much like the advertising practices of Cedartown. I'm not saying they aren't safe. I severely detest them implying that other dropzones (including mine) are not safe. We follow the same damn rules as they; I used to *work* at their dz and know they don't have anything in place to make their skydiving a safer experience than anywhere else in the known universe. And I don't care *what* their site says: people have gotten injured at their drop zone. It happens because it's skydiving. And it's not hearsay: I worked manifest there for a while and I'm the one who had to call 911 when someone busted a limb. This goes for experienced skydivers, AFF students, and tandem students.

Why the *hell* is my blog attracting ads for the only 2 dropzones on the face of the planet I have problems with? Guess I ought to shell out the money to pay for my own bandwidth. That will stop that. And then maybe I can post pictures.

In the meantime here's a link to a rather spiffy Alabama drop zone, if I do say so myself: ---------------->

Editorial note: I have noticed that Blogger puts ads above the free blogs. Hey, they have that right. At least they are unobtrusive.

But if you see the one for Skydive Las Vegas up there; let me tell you this: they suck. Why? Because of this policy. They are what we call a Tandem Factory. If you feel like doing a tandem, go to a drop zone that does not ban experienced jumpers. Tandems in my opinion do not give you the real experience of skydiving - it's even worse if all you do is go to a drop zone and meet no one but other tandem passengers. At least at a normal drop zone you might pick up what a little more of what skydiving is about.

SLV's owner has every right to run his dz the way he see fits. I just think it sucks. EOM.

Yeagh. Bleah. Note to myself: I never want to go on vacation to an area whose main attractions are Casinos.

Last night I flew with my husband and his flight instructor to Tunica, Mississippi. Why? Jon needs a night time cross-country flight (greater than 100 miles) for his commercial pilot's rating. We rented a retractable gear Cessna 182 and off we went.

Many people love gambling; I saw a bunch of folks there having the time of their lives. Me, I felt like someone had put a vacuum hose into one of my pockets. One-armed bandit: oooOOOOoooh! NOW I get it! Eh, I know the odds and I allotted a small amount of money to gambling. I got so disgruntled I held back $40 and I'm going to take it and buy me a copy of Neverwinter Nights, a relatively new computer role-playing game based on Dungeons and Dragons.

Actually, I enjoy blackjack but the tables were crowded and the blackjack machines were not as fun as the ones I played on St. John: I spent about 5 bucks; and 2 hours and 6 Amstel Lights later I had won back about 30 bucks. The booze is free in Tunica (and considering some of the dumbass betting I saw from hideously drunk men, that's a smart move by the casino), but flagging down someone to bring me a fer pete's sake Budweiser (hey, what do I want for free?) was annoying. Guess I don't look like a big tipper. Actually if the waiter/waitress does a good job I go plenty over 20%.

But anyways we flew back at about 3am and my eyes were almost puffed shut from cigarette smoke. Yes, casinos are about the last place a smoker can go and light up. I don't begrudge them this priveledge; they can have the casinos. I won't be back any time soon.

Here's a web site to El Yunque, the rain forest in Puerto Rico; and here is a web site to Culebra and Vieques, two islands off the east coast of PR. Vieques might sound familiar; the U.S. Navy used part of Vieques as a practice bombing range since WWII. A resident was killed in a training accident in 1999 so many people came together and protested the Navy's presence. The Navy stopped, and I read today that the Navy presence has almost completely left Puerto Rico. This means that Roosevelt Roads has closed. I congradulate the people who stopped the shelling; Vieques is a beautiful place and now it can be completely cleaned up and rightfully claim its place as a jewel of the Caribbean. I also know a lot of people lost jobs because of the base closing; I hope they can find jobs and a better use for that land.