12-14-00
I went and saw Proof of Life. Decent flick. But the greatest impression that it made upon my person is that if there ever was a person meant, and I mean meant to be all tarted up in military face paint and camouflage fatigues, wistfully staring out of a helicopter, that man was Russell Crowe. I never thought the paramilitary gig was super sexy, but DAMN. DAMN, DAMN, Damn.
And I hear that Dubya is now our President-Elect. Gore went and got all noble and made what has been referred to as the 'immaculate concession.' Well, here's hoping that someone will decide to make some sort of grand gesture to impress Leelee Sobieski and assassinate Dubya. I'm sure that Cheney would have a heart attack on the spot, and then perhaps someone competent could be found to run the country.
Barring that, I'm fully prepared to skip town and head south. I speak passable Spanish, and I figure that with my two grand and some judicious budgeting, I could live like a ten-thousandaire in sunny Mexico.
Perhaps I could even swing by Russell's pad, and with his millions, we could live like sassy senoritas (or whatever term would be more apropos) by the seaside, sipping margaritas til the sun goes down, day after glorious day.
Immaculate concession, my ass.
