I took the bus to the Cinerama yesterday. A clean cut guy, in his fifties or sixties, who was on his way to Westlake Mall to take part in a protest was earnestly discussing his experience in the Vietnam war, why he had to speak out against the situation in Iraq, and his plans for moving to Powell River (which is on Vancouver Island, in B.C).
I cheered up some by watching the Incredibles again, although it was marred by people who clearly ignored the PG warnings and brought their very young kids. People, it’s PG for a reason, and the label doesn’t justify your kid bawling for ten minutes in the middle of my movie.
On the way home, two men came on the bus just before Aurora bridge and started loudly discussing how the current Bush administration should start focusing on Muslims who live in the states instead of overseas, where “focus” is my euphesism for something much cruder and more despicable. Noone on the bus said anything, one of these men sat next to me so I kept my mouth shut. Whatever goodwill I was feeling evaporated instantly. Thankfully I only had three stops to go.
Spending the weekend in a black funk; not just for the above reasons, mind.
