For no reason at all, John Denver’s classic “Annie’s Song” popped into my head last week and I haven’t been able to get it out. I couldn’t remember all the words, but had the gist of the song. The only clear thing I remembered was a very sinister-but-pleasant parody song they used to play on Dr. Demento that I loved that began, “And now, the sounds of John Denver being strangled to death.” Then the singer would begin using a very fake country accent and mess the words up with something like “You laid on my pillow…” instead of the actual lyrics, until he begins violently choking and eventually dies.

I do some of my best thinking in the shower. Maybe it’s the warm water opening up the pores. Perhaps being free of bodily restrictions also frees up the old grey matter. Watching water and soap suds disappear down the drain makes me wax metaphysical….

The Dude remembers running around the living room, wearing an orange towel, carrying a cardboard gift-wrap tube, and trying to figure out how to pull a tire out of his belly button. While at the same time jumping from couch to chair to coffee table screaming, “Captain Caaaavvvemaaaannn,” and trying to hit The Dude’s sister. She was obviously some kind of mutant zombie that needed to be exterminated from our beautiful planet. In retrospect, The Dude probably should have let her be one of The Teen Angels.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2006) ***½

Documentary about the career of Austin musician Daniel Johnston, a brilliant man who spent his life fighting manic depression and sitting on the cusp of stardom on numerous occasions. The fact that Daniel recorded and made videos of most of the moments in his life brings out a story that couldn’t have been told as well. Instead of hearing about his insane behavior in New York, it’s RIGHT THERE. Instead of hearing about the love of his life, we see a film he made of her. Mesmerizing and poignant, it’s one of the best films of 2006. And the special features section is a must, as it adds an additional epilogue on Daniel that is both sad and a tad unnerving.

Elle quietly crept into Zod’s room and spied him sleeping in the lavish bed positioned against the back wall. Silently she unsheathed her sword and savored the moment before her target’s intestines were cordially introduced to his black 320 thread-count sheets.

Elle softly spoke, “I might never have liked you. Point of fact, I despise you. But that doesn’t suggest I don’t respect you. Dying in our sleep is a luxury our kind is rarely afforded. My gift to you.”