Narrowing options.

Finding Nemo was hailed by audiences and critics alike as a brilliant picture for all ages and, in our continuing quest to find movies we can watch with Blasty, C and I checked it out a few weeks ago.

Michael Hanscom's breakdown of the relentless sexism in these flicks kinda pre-empts my own criticisms, but it still bears being said that what passes for female "characters" in these ninety-minute toy commercials is a sick joke. Every woman in this movie is either deranged or murdered in the first scene... I actually think Pixar's treatment of women is actually getting worse with time. I thought Toy Story was bad enough, but wiht every new film, the studio is painting themselves further and further into an indefensible chauvinist corner.

Crusades.

We arrived home last night, exhausted and laden with much-needed baby booty. C's family was unbelievably generous: with a few exceptions (stroller being chief among them), our shopping list is closing in on "done."

We lucked out with the weather yesterday, too: clear skies, bright sun, warm winds and light traffic made for a relatively easy drive. C even decided to commemorate the trip with a shot of the sun dipping into the ground:

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From the annals of Stormtrooper Academy: Zaman Online ("first Turkish paper on the Internet") reports that while butchering innocents at Haditha, US marines also managed to murder the first cousin of Samir Sumaidaie, Iraq's ambassador to the US.

You gotaa give the marines credit, man: people said that Abu Ghraib would go down as the worst clusterfuck of the Iraq war but those never-say-die leathernecks just raised the bar for human rights abuses. Top that, Rumsfeld.

Reprise.

The Caledonia debacle isn't going away soon, for better or for worse: Ontario Superior Court Justice David Marshall, who originally ordered the province's attorney general and provincial police to evict native protesters back in March, has summoned everyone back to explain themselves. The complete CBC article may be found here.

Marshall's the one who precipitated this most recent debacle with his heavy-handed response to the native occupation of the land. "Get 'em the hell out," was, I'm told, his succinct orders to the troopers and when level heads prevailed (temporarily), his nose seems to have been put out of joint.

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Let's hope the nice weather holds: today, we're driving to Barrie for the second of three baby showers, this one thrown by C's mum and attended by her family & friends. It might be a little overwhelming, and driving to and from Barrie in one weekend is exhausting, it's gonna be a good time.

Mission:Predictable.

A few weeks ago, for the first time in ages, C & I decided to head out and watch a movie in an actual theater. A rock 'em, sock 'em sensorium like Mission Impossible 3 seemed like an appropriate choice: a ride like that loses a lot in the translation to DVD, so we signed up for the full-on, twelve-dollar experience -- the price of thrill.

All in all, it was exactly what it promised to be: a loosely-organized collection of chattering guns, beeping doohickeys, split-second acrobatics and exploding stuff. Go for the fluff, stay for the mindlessness.