Not everything in my life are the Jody Maroni hot dogs that I drove to South Bay for. Superman Returns, for example: who cares if Kevin Spacey wasn't the scene-stealer audiences have to come to expect from big-budget blockbusters, there is nothing like looking out the window of your plane and seeing a man in a "bad outfit" save your ass. (Okay, maybe Godzilla approaching way off on the horizon.) Batman Begins may have also been a pleasant surprise back then, but it still suffered from the kind of cliché spectacular climax that just fits in right here.

Oh, and I finally saw an episode of the new Doctor Who that I really liked and didn't have to wonder why it still wasn't as good as the Tom Baker Sarah Jane/Leela ones from my youth. Apparently the object of considerable rancor among the fanboy community, anything that'd depict love as between a nobody seeking monsters in a "better" world and a disembodied head, and their less-than-subtle consummation thereof, is what I call progress.