Thoughtless for the Day

Last night Vienna watched the season premiere of I Shouldn't Be Alive, featuring man trapped under boulder, and the movie Open Water, featuring annoying couple harassed by sharks, jellyfish, barracudas, and low production values.

Open Water didn't manage to get a grip on my attention. It was basically a reworking of those 1970's B-movies in which a wealthy, white urban couple would find themselves in a remote location surrounded by Mexican bikers. In the intervening years, Mexican bikers have teamed up with Jewish lawyers (I once knew a guy who was half Mexican and half Jewish: he was a janitor, but he owned the building) to make sure that if a Mexican biker is going to appear on the big screen, he's going to be a sensitive, victimized Mexican biker. That's why Open Water used sharks (also the name of the Puerto Rican gang from West Side Story) as a metaphor for Brown people.

I Shouldn't Be Alive, on the other hand, was fascinating and I'm glad that I gave up sitting through the second half of the over dramatic dramatization of the life of Boudicca on the History Channel to join Vienna to watching it. Please keep in mind that when I say that episode of ISBA was fascinating, that's only because, having just spent twelve grueling, adrenaline fueled hours trapped at my job, I could easily identify with a guy who spent thirty-six hours trapped under a boulder.

I'm not going to go on a three hundred word crying jag about my job, because I get paid an assload of money to do what I do. There are millions of other people in this country who labor just as hard, if not harder, for less than half of what I earn. But I'm also not going to pretend that yesterday didn't depress the Hell out of me (I actually had two glasses of wine with my dinner last night: I have a glass of wine once every six months or so). That's why I decided to run out and buy myself some toys today.

I woke up wanting some toy soldiers (maybe it's my way of dealing with the hectic pace of my job - wanting a little army that I can order around - , or maybe it was the side effect of combining two glasses of wine with the fist have of the Boudicca special). If you're like me (and I know I am) you don't want just any toy soldiers. You're going to want either some ancient Greek or Roman soldiers. Now, if you're looking for some "high end" metal toy soldiers you'd better brace yourself for some sticker shock (How many adults are out there with enough disposable income to own army of forty dollar soldiers?** Also, you might want to check out this somewhat creepy Egyptian collection. If my soldiers ever need dancing girls, at least I'll know where to find 'em). What I was looking for were some cheap plastic legionaries. In other words, like Donald Rumsfeld, I wanted to outfit myself with an entire army for under twenty bucks. And I wanted (needed) them today, which precluded online shopping: Even though I only waited two weeks for my copy of The God Who Wasn't There and my Darwin fish to arrive from the James Randi Foundation, it seemed like an eternity spent in Hellfire. By the way, feast your eyes upon this cool return address label that was on the package:

Since I wasn't will to wait eight to ten business days for my troops to muster, I tossed aside what few shreds of my dignity that I was saving for my deathbed (now I'll be forced to die in a freak accident involving a mule and one of those potato cannons), and pay a visit to the only place geekier than the Comic Book Store: the Hobby Shop. Although, as far as hobby shops go, the one nearest me, located near Third and Market, isn't as geeky as most: many of the male customers have even slept with women who didn't have to be inflated. Once there I quickly picked out two packs of soldiers (Legionaries and the Imperial Roman Command), plopped down my two Hamiltons and beat a hasty retreat while praying that no one had seen me either enter or exit.

So, like many fans of the Latin language before me, I had purchased myself an army: eighty-nine soldiers to be precise. But what exactly did I get? Let's open the boxes and take a look.

I hope you're not disappointed. I'm sure that, despite the title of this piece, many of you were expecting my army to be painted and to be considerable bigger (look; you get roughly forty-five to a box. How big did you think they were gonna be?). As for me, I couldn't be happier with them (Shit Luther, I've been assembling them while I've been writing this post.). Being small, they're incredibly portable. In fact, the next time that someone says to me "Oh yeah? You and what army?" I plan to produce them on the spot and proudly proclaim "This army!" before stabbing the offending party in the neck and running away.

Well, I've got plenty of work to get to. If there's one lesson that the Red States have taught us it's that those Barbarians aren't going to civilize themselves, so I've got to ship my boys off to bring Roman culture to the unwashed sections of the globe. I'll be sure to keep you informed of any additions to or developments concerning my tiny Roman army.

(not so) Phun Phact: Adolf Hitler collected toy soldiers. The only other person in the world who was allowed to play with Hitler's toy soldiers was Benito Mussolini.

* Euripides trousers, Eumenides trousers.

**You may, or may not, be interested to know that my search of the worldwidewebofinternests turned up these moderately priced and apparently very well made Roman soldiers.

PS. There'll be a little less elbow room in Hell tonight.

PPS. The new Green Party candidates flyer is out! Vote Green or Die at the Hands of My Tiny Army!