It's a small thing, but here's a little Jim Carrey charticle thing I put together for Friday's paper. Enjoy!

My prayers have been answered. Ren and Stimpy is coming back with new episodes by John Kricfalusi directing and doing the voice of Ren! Holy, holy, holy.

I have no idea how Stripperella will be, but we did get a promo tape of Gary the Rat. It kind of stinks. Like a rat.

All right, first off, whoever did a Google search for "Pony fuckers" and somehow got to my site -- you're no longer allowed here. Please go away.

This morning, I was driving to work, and there was a commercial starring Adam Carolla on the radio telling some poor schmoe that the only way he's going to get a girl to notice him is if he buys some huge stereo system for his car. The implication was that the guy's date would be impressed if she saw "Alpine" or "Pioneer" as the car stereo instead of say, "Crappy-o-Vox." And while you're at it, the girlies really dig on pre-amps and subwoofers.

Maybe I've been out of the dating scene too long, but when did girls start wetting at the seat over car stereo components? This commercial is just flat out false, right? I mean, I've long known the connection between hot cars and loose women, but I didn't know that it extended to invidivual components of the car's interior. Can you turn a girl off by having the wrong car-lighter? Is there a particular brand of fuzzy dice that will drive her wild? Do power windows really make the man?

It brings up the larger issues of girls and technology. Although I know a few women who are technophiles, none of them become drooling messes of panting lust over things like DDR computer memory or customized desktop cases. In fact, if it were up to most women I know, these things wouldn't even be known to me. I'd be Beige Box Joe with crappy SDRAM.

On the other hand, a growing number of ladies have developed what I'd call unseemly relationships with their TIVOs. When you start hearing them talk lustily about "two-tuner capabilities" and "unlimited season passes" and how the Earth moved when every episode of "Nigella" was recorded, it all sounds vaguely dirty.

But not as dirty as thinking you're going to get laid because of the size of your Blaupunkt.

Bruce Almighty -- I was supposed to see this on Tuesday, but missed it (plus it was Finale Night!), so I don't have a really good read on it, but so far it's getting mixed reviews and seems to suffer from Kevin Spacey Disease, in which the lead actor in a movie and the movie itself are trying so hard so make you love them that you feel like when you're at somebody's house and their oversized dog keeps coming over and nuzzling you in the crotch. It's kinda funny and endearing at first, but mostly it just makes you uncomfortable.

The In-Laws -- This had the distinction of being promoted by the worst trailer in the history of films. It was the kind of trailer that if you saw in on the street you would run the other way for fear that it would shake you and ask for your pocket change. But Albert Brooks is very funny and the reviews say it's not as bad as it could have been. I'm really irritated that the newer previews are comparing it to My Big Fat Greek Wedding, though. What Greek? Where's Nia Vardalos? Is Michaal Douglas supposed to be John Corbett? Whatever, dude.

Man on the Train -- A fascinating look into human nature and honor among thieves that I won't be seeing.

Nowhere in Africa -- Great idea for a movie. A Jewish family flees Germany before WWII, but not to America or other parts of Europe; they go to Kenya. I have a friend who's joined the Peace Corp and will going to Kenya within the month. It sounds like a great, epic movie, and one that I'd love to see if I had an extra day or two to just veg on free movies.

XX/XY -- It's about Gen Xers (including the wonderful Mark Ruffalo, who was great in You Can Count on Me) who have a threeway and then 10 years later still feel awkward about it. If there's one thing American independent films have taught us, it's this: Threeways are NOT the answer. You hear that Ben Affleck? Stephen Baldwin? Step away from the mid-'90s indie film plot contrivance. (I would like to add here that 95 percent of all threeway-based scripts are written at night by office dwelling screenwriters who can't get one woman into bed, let alone two.) I think I'd rather eat glass and shit Waterford crystal goblets than watch this.

Quite possibly the greatest invention ever. I could have compressed the contents of my apartment and moved everything in one car trip the last time I moved!

At least I think that's how it works.

Mical and I have a lot in common, but none of it is on the surface. It comes out in e-mails, or steps we take in our lives or immediate reactions to things people do or say. It's an Aries thing.

He told me recently that he felt he could be doing more, and that's a constant theme with me, in my life, here in my writing, everywhere. I'm doing one thing and thinking ahead to the thing I could be doing next. I'm working, but wondering ahead to what I'm doing after work. I'm awful at long-term planning, but obsessive about it in the short-term. And nothing frustrates me more than wasted time. I feel it slipping almost physically. Sometimes I feel I can see time pulling the threads of life showly from my fingertips. And there's the free-floating sense that there's more to be done, that nothing done so far has been enough.

Common complaints, nothing new, I know. They are fears that never go away. If they did, I think somehow that would mean that I lost.

I haven't played it myself, but my brother wholeheartedly endorses the Enter the Matrix game. He says it's not the best videogame ever, but it is very innovate for a licensed title. And it's got some extra Monica Bellucci than what was in the movie, and that can only be good.

For my part, I've mostly been catching up on some games I didn't get to play much the first time around like Battlefield 1942: Road to Rome, Command & Conquer: Generals (damn you, GLA!) and Phantasy Star Online I & II for Xbox.

Since hardly anyone I work with watches Smallville the water cooler talk this morning has been all about 24, which one co-worker said could just have easily been called 18 this season and saved us all an anti-climactic last few episodes.

So what happened to Lynn? And what about Nina? And the little girl who caused Kim all the grief? It seemed like a lot of loose ends just weren't resolved, and as Gustave says in his recaplet, it's like a cavalcade of rich white guys pulling all the strings. Last season, we were supposed to find out about a vast conspiracy involving Zee Germans, but it never really materialized. Instead, we just learned a lot more about Kim's bustline when she runs.

And I miss all those cool guest stars. Remember Lou Diamond Phillips? And Dennis Hopper? And the inimitable Zeljko Ivanek. Shit, pull some strings, Keifer. Get Cheech Marin or Rob Lowe up in there.

Baked Doritos
I love you.
Orange dust,
on happy fingers.
Tangy, tangy love.

The Pianist was fantastic all the way through except the DVD I have crapped out right toward the end, so we kind of had to piece together exactly what happened with the German guy and the coat and everything up to the last scene. But still, even a crapped out Pianist DVD was better than most of last year's Best Picture Oscar nominees. And although I was happy Chicago won Best Picture, I think Pianist probably deserved it just as well, if only for making a star out of Adrien Brody's nose.

I'm better. Not all the way better (I still sound like Deviated Septum Man), but good enough to go to work and not be miserable the whole day. Well, more miserable that unusual.

Hey, boss! Didn't see you there. That was a total joke. I LOVE it here! Go team!

Tonight is TV Clusterfuck Night with 24, American Idol (or, "The Elf and Fat Albert sing songs your parents like" as it's known in my house), Smallville and Buffy all doing the finale thing. My suggestion: Watch Buffy and 24 (because somebody will surely ruin them for you if you don't), record AI and skip Smallville -- you can always catch Smallville on Sunday on the EasyView or just read the recap later.

Of course, if you don't watch any of those shows, you could actually, I dunno, go outside or have sex or have a nice dinner somewhere. I mean, it's your life.

I'm sick! I'm fucking sick! And no, it's not allergies. Someone gave me the litmus test for Austin allergies versus flu a few years back: If it's just allergies, all your expelled phlegm is clear. Well, last night, mine was anything but clear.

I hate being sick, like anybody, but this sickness is particularly curse-like in that it waited until I was done with our two-week show run and just days before I'd be done with this season's Smallville recaps. I guess that was the virus being considerate, making sure not to take me down right in the middle of big projects, but what it's instead done is ruin me for free time. I finally get a chance to relax and enjoy myself and have some time for fun, but instead I'm tied to a desk and a Kleenex box as my nose has turned into the Play-Doh Snot Factory.

Damn you, SARS! Damn you back to China!

New recap of Smallville is up and ready for your approval.

I'd have written more this weekend, but I seem to have come down with a bad case of the SARS. I'm been sniffly and had a sore throat since Friday night. I refuse to go anywhere at work today without my trusty box of Kleenex in hand. It's not pretty.

I did get to watch more than half of The Pianist and it's even better than I expected.

And to those of you who heeded the call to help Al and Chris last week, I do appreciate it. I understand quite a few people donated. You guys rock.