Eeeyuck...I didn't actually eat dinner tonight. I just had some nachos at the movie theater. You know, not real Mexican restaurant nochos, but a cup of melted cheese, a bag of chip and some jalapeno slices. So now I've got a hungry headache, but I feel a bit bloated and gross from the nachos.

Why was I at the movies on a school night, you ask? 'Cause Saturday I stopped by Wherehouse and they had free passes to Detroit Rock City, the KISS-based teen comedy. I grabbed it. Free movie? Hell yes!

I have a soft spot for KISS, really. As a child, I remember my sister's room was plastered with KISS posters - and as a five year-old I was taken to the Coliseum to see them with AC/DC. I fell asleep, but it was still my first big-time rock and roll concert. Somewhere there's a tape of the five year-old me singing "Beth" into one of those little tape recorders. As a high school heavy metal hoodlum I rediscovered their work, and hey, the albums were already laying around all over the house.

A few years ago me, my sister Dawne and her husband Sam went to see KISS doing the full make-up and costume thing at the Pyramid. It was a special moment for the family. Sonya painted Dawne's face like Peter Criss. It was cool.

Anyway, I enjoyed the movie. It was neither the most original or intelligent of movies, but it was good summer fun. I think the kids will like it quite a bit. It was reminescent of Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Rock and Roll High School, Adventures in Babysitting, The Breakfast Club... basically all the John Hughes movies and rock and roll movies of the early eighties. Go see it. Edward Furlong strips, Shannon Tweed vamps and Ron Jeremy (really!) is an MC at a strip club. It's totally classy.

I've mentioned the trip to London, right? Well, The Wife got us some plane tickets. She went to priceline.com and got us two roundtrip on Northwest for just under a thousand bucks, total. This, kids, is a very, very competitive price. It's official, now, I guess. We got plane tickets. They've been charged to our credit card; the damned things are in the mail. We have to go.

London, baby!

My friend Glen and I were comparing notes on car maintenance.

"I haven't had an oil change in six months," I said.

"I've never had a tune-up on my car," Glen said, "I keep thinking, fifty bucks, eighty bucks...I can find better uses for the cash."

"Tune-ups are for pussies," I concluded.

You all know I try to keep metajournalistic content to a minimum, 'cause it's boring. But I was looking through this web ring today. All these people

A) seem to know each other
2) think online friends are just as good as real ones
III) are pathetic

Mind you, I've done the chat thing. Five years ago. Sonya and I would go to our frined Jon's apartment, slip him twenty bucks and chat on his damned computer all night long. The three of us would burn whole weekends on the damned thing. Guess what, kids? It's 1999. Online chat is so 1993. Join us here at the turn of the century. It's a lovely place.

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