So we were having a lovely party here at Morehead Heights back on Thursday evening, celibating my eleventy-first birthday (and Little Dougie's birthday as well, though not as much). I had a small libation, or eleventy-one, (The Headless Indian Brave was mixing his own special home-brewed firewater in with the vodka. It makes for a potent beverage.) and then I found I was napping. But when I woke up this morning (When I catnap after a particularly social party - I am strictly a social drinker - I sometimes snooze for a day or two. As long as no one panics and buries me, it's not a problem.) and glanced out my window at The Befuddlement, my ultra-mega-gigantic hedge labyrinth, I saw a very odd sight. There was some sort of mountainous land mass right smack dab in the center. Here's the view which met my blurry eyes this morning. (And by "Morning" I mean 2 PM.)
I needed an aerial view to see just what was in there, so I went up to my peaked, clark-gabled rooftop for a gander. I wanted to get as high as possible, and also to achieve an elevation sufficient to peer down into my infamous labyrinth, and here's what I saw.
Out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, a great big island had materialized smack dab in the middle of The Befuddlement! How had that happened? For one thing, The Befuddlement, like my house Morehead Heights, is on top of Tumescent Tor, a promontory extending some 1000 feet above sea level! Yet here was an island, surrounded by sea water, in the middle of my hedge labyrinth, 1000 feet above the ocean. It made less sense than the final season of Roseanne. I staggered down to The Befuddlement, and as soon as I stepped through the entrance, I found my self face-to-cloud with Smokey the Smoke Monster! Good Grief! The Island from LOST had moved from the South Pacific to my backyard!
Apparently, when Ben Linus and Locke moved The Island in the 4th season finale, to hide it from Charles Widmore, they didn't just displace it in time like those time-hopping bunnies (That's Hugh Hefner's dream: time-hopping bunnies!), but they also moved it into my rear quarters, knowing full well that The Befuddlement is so complex and bewildering (Of the more than 700 people who have wandered into it in the over-80-years I have lived here, only 17 have ever found their way out again. The number of Japanese hedge-trimmers misplaced in there alone could populate Kyoto.), that The Others felt perfectly confidant that, within The Befuddlement, The Island would still be utterly --- LOST!
What could I do? I went down and provided cocktails for all my LOST buddies, now wandering, still LOST, in my labyrinth, and then I shagged Sawyer. Look for my house all through season 5.
Then, I hurried off to my local movie simplex to see Raiders of the Lost AARP. Harrison Ford ages very slowly, and there's nothing quite like a refreshing dip down three waterfalls to moisturize and youthenize aging skin. (Several critics have suggested youthenizing Indiana Jones after this movie.) Along with a crystal skull, I think Harrison may have crystal balls. Certainly when I've gazed into them, I found him utterly magnetic. It was nice to learn that, when picnicking, one should bring along a crystal skull to keep the ants away. But please, if you're going to ride your motorcycle through a library, get a muffler. People are trying to read.
People are complaining that the new Indiana Jones film isn't credable. They say that if a 65 year old man were to hide in a refrigerator during a nuclear blast (An everyday occurrence.), and it gets thrown across the desert and bounces and rolls around before crashing to a halt, that the old man would roll out of it dead, with every single bone broken. They say if you ride a "Duck" (An aquatic land/water vehicle that quacks) over Niagara Falls three times (Or even just once), you will be crushed and torn apart before you have a chance to drown. That you can't fence on top of a moving jeep. In short, that the whole film is just too fantastic to swallow. Well darlings, if I've proved anything in my life, it's that I can, and will, swallow anything, especially Harrison Ford.
I'm sorry. Were Faces melting off of Nazis because they opened a mythical casket believable? You know what happens if you jump out of a plane over the Himalayas with an inflatable life raft instead of a parachute? You get pulverized down the side of a mountain in a long red smear. If you rip the beating heart out of a man's chest, he doesn't stay alive, looking at you with horror. If you shriek and scream as shrilly and unrelentingly as Kate Capshow, you better marry the director, because the leading man will be hiding from you. Nobody builds parallel roller coasters inside Indian mountains. Drinking water from an imaginary goblet won't heal a gunshot wound, and Sean Connery never sired any sons when he was 12 years old. Yet NOW they think Indiana Jones is unbelievable? Darlings, the credibility ship sailed away from the Indiana Jones movies 8 minutes into the first film, when Indiana ran past hundreds of shooting poisoned darts without even one hitting him, and then outran a giant boulder. It's a little late to start complaining that they are too fantastic now.
Get a grip. Besides, a country that believed what Dubya told us to get the country to support the invasion of Iraq is in no position to call Indiana Jones unbelievable.