True story: One time, I was writing a newspaper story about two major chip (chip as in microprocessor, not corn) companies duking it out for market supremacy. So I had this idea of writing the lead as a boxing story, and having a sidebar comparing the companies in a kind of tale of the tape. So I went to the designer with my editor and told him my idea and suggested that maybe we could do that old-timey boxing match type with opposing gloves with the companies' names on them and really kind of spice up what would ordinarily be a fairly boring story and presentation. He looked right at me and said with incredible disdain, "Let's not get too cute with this."

So that's me. Too-cute Omar with the cute stories about the cute companies running in the cute newspaper. Nevertheless, I feel that way about "Movies This Week" today: Let's not get too cute with this. There's only three movies opening, none of them huge or exactly significant (although one is getting pretty good reviews), and I'm hopping on a plane to Chicago in about four hours. So let's ixnay the utecay:

Chasing Liberty: I don't know if I should be proud of the fact that I've never seen a Mandy Moore movie since a lot of people, even harsh, ass-crusty critics, seem to dig her for what seems to be honest-to-God talent and looks that she doesn't go around flaunting in hasty wedding ceremonies or with gargantuan Pythons on a stage. Not that I'm thinking of anyone in particular. Nevertheless, Ms. Mandy is stuck in a movie in which she plays the President's daughter when another movie just like it staring Katie Holmes is coming down the pike. Say what you will about Katie Holmes and her disturbing refusal to age, which creates a fractuous dilemma in the pedo-lech continuum where men are allowed to ogle her despite the fact that she still looks 12, but the woman knows how to pick pretty decent movie roles for herself. I'm betting her First Daughter movie will be a lot smarter and won't have to resort to putting Mark (divorcee-bait) Harmon in it to get moms in the theater. No Bush daughters were maligned in the writing of this capsule.

My Baby's Daddy: Sometimes I completely miss the boat on what the white film writers call "Urban comedies" like Barbershop and I was completely willing to go see this one (it doesn't hurt that Amy Sedaris and Sopranos star Michael Imperioi star in it and that I've gotten to like Eddie Griffin quite a bit since seeing him do stand-up a few months back), but then... guess what happened? Miramax issues press invitations for screenings throughout the country. Then they took them back. That's right. They uninvited pretty much every film critic in the country from coming to see what's probably going to be remembered as a righteously shitty film. So, I didn't see it. Neither did anybody else. But watch it make a trillion dollars this weekend since there's really nothing out there for teen audiences that doesn't last three and a half hour and features Blatant Preening Viggo.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised: This is a documentary about Venezuela in which the film crew got caught up right in the middle of a coup. I've got a tape of it and haven't watched it yet, but I hear it's fantastic. Mostly, I just want to see it so I'll know what to do if I'm ever caught in a coup de' tat. Is it all right to make "Coup coup ca joo" jokes? Do you get to vote on take-out or just eat what you're given by the new regime? Who pays for Pay-Per-View movies on the cable bill that were ordered pre-coup? Is it impolite not to forward phone messages and mail?

Yossi & Jagger: This is the kind of film that sounds like what you'd see at your local gay film festival: Two soldiers, falling in love, not asking and not telling. But the twist is that it's set on the Israeli-Lebanese border and that in the film two women join their ranks and complicate things. It's getting pretty good reviews, and nobody's even making jokes about shooting blanks or foxholes.

DVDs: Adrian is bringing his portable DVD player on the flight, so we're both bringing a ton of comedy stuff including the Eddie Izzard Circle DVD my brother gifted me for Christmas and Rap's Hawaii a regional DVD from Hawaii that Greg got me featuring Rap Reiplinger, a Hawaiian comic who did funny sketches then O.D.'d on drugs way back in the early '80s. We watched it last weekend and it's got some good stuff on it. Also taking Johnny English because I love Rowan Atkinson and I don't care who knows it.

I keep thinking things will slow down, but of course even when they do, they really don't. When things go down below 60 mph to 45, you still can't just hop out of the moving car, right?

I had a whole list of things I was going to write about here at the start of the new year, but here it is days into it and I haven't found the time or energy to do it. I've had rehearsals this week for our gig in Chicago (more on that below), but the real reason has been that the things I want to write about are Big Big Things, stuff I want you to know about but haven't been able to verbalize and I don't want to say them the wrong way. One thing in particular is something I've been struggling to say for almost a year and now the deadline has passed for when I wanted to address it. But it's coming, I swear. It can't NOT come.

I hate being all Secret Code [Clue About Something You Have No Idea What I Mean] Man, but right now, on the eve of my trip, it's kind of unavoidable. But just so you don't worry, I'll just say that the last week or two have been really, really good. That things that I've been worried about for ages seem to be resolving themselves as things work toward their natural climaxes. I'm happy, very happy, even when I'm not particular happy or grumpy about whatever. When I bitch about computers or movies or the Internet or my job, please understand that if I was truly unhappy, I could certainly change a lot of things in my life. The truth is, I'm happy and satisfied, lucky beyond any reasonable measure, blessed and content. It's very hard for me to say something like that because I've always believed that contentment is inherently wrong, a state of complacency no artist or craftsperson should ever enter into willingly.

The simple truth is that life has seen fit to make things very good for me right now. And to not stop and try to enjoy it a little would be like an awful sin and very ungrateful.

So. I'm very grateful. I'll tell you all about it soon.

If you're in the area... Chicago Sketchfest info:

We perform at 9 p.m. Friday and Saturday It's at Theatre Buliding Chicago, 1225 W. Belmont and tickets are $10. You can call (773) 327-5252 for reservations or get 'em on Ticketmaster.

L'il Floaty Omar Head goes clubbin' and then gripes about HBO on today's XL Blog. Because that's original.

If there's one thing women love to do (and no it's not Shopping as in, "Women be shoppin'!") it's explaining to ignorant men how their private parts work.

No sooner had I written about my confusion over the shape, girth and heft of Jennifer Connelly's boobenclage than I got not one, but two explanations via female readers much more schooled (some would surmise, "Self-taught") in the manner of breasteses.

Kate wrote, in an e-mail with the subject "Jennifer Connelly's boobs" (spam filter be damned!):

She is nursing. That can cause yer boobs (well not yours), that can cause one's boobs to expend and contract like crazy. I am sure you can now sleep better.

Boy, can I. Can't say I'm enjoying those nursing dreams, though.

My friend Yvonne also chimed in with the e-mail subject "Jennifer Connelly's boobage" (down, spam filter, down!):

I'm not 100 percent certain, but I would imagine the fluctuations of her bosom have to do with being pregnant and her breasts being full of milk (I know you like the milkshake song, so imagine if they had incorporated boobie fluctuation in the lyrics!). She has two children (one recently), so that may explain it.

So there you have it. Thank you, ladies. Your boobs continue to fascinate me.