The Extended Cut of Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven is far superior to the theatrical version of the film. The movie now feels like an epic, whereas before, it felt like it might have wanted to be an epic, but couldn’t really be bothered to put forth the effort to become eptastic. (How epic is it? It has an intermission! And overture!)

And of course, they kill the token black guy — and, uh, the token German guy — about ten minutes into the film. Ain’t that always the way?

Wombat came over late last night (after I finally got out of work, which, by the way, sucked — thirty-one deliveries and my average was down — shoulda made $155 with mileage, made $20 under that) and we watched while drinking cider, then drinking water, and eating a delicious pizza, pictured below.

What you’re looking at is a sixteen-inch skin, sauced (with some hot sauce added for flavor), topped with pepperoni, pinneapple, tomato chunks, a light dash of onions, jalapeano peppers, and sausage and beef chunks which had been saturated in barbeque sauce. The pizza is topped with three kinds of cheese: mozzarella, cheddar, and provolone. I can three things about it: 1. It was very good (duh). 2. Wombat had to use a fork to eat it. 3. I’ve already had quality toilet time this morning.

Anyway, watching a movie with Wombat is sort of like a poor (and more disgusting version of MST3K, as we both insisted on a running commentary to the film. Everything we were cracking seemed very funny last night, but I don’t really recall many specific examples — probably all that manly Cider — except I do remember thinking that, of all the actors on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, I always figured Avery Brooks would be the one to make a career that didn’t involve sci-fi conventions. I think I was wrong. (And how amusing that there’s a character named Odo? Deliberate?). We were also both surprised, firing up IMDB.com, to find that Edward Norton played the leperous king of Jerusalem.

Er. I think I was supposed to wrap this post up already. Go see the film, get ahold of the extended cut if you can. If it doesn’t entertain you … it’ll put you to sleep. And then entertain you in your dreams.

(By my count, this is the third film Orlando Bloom has played a blacksmith in. Variety is the spice of life!)

Towards the end of the night — which is to say, my ten-hour money shift (it was busy!) — I was heading downhill on Jarrettsville Pike coming into what I always say ‘can only be laughingly called downtown’ (two gas stations and a traffic light), the rain heavy drizzling across my windshield, the glare of headlights in my rear-view mirrors, the oddly strange and bright yellow lights flashing to the south.

My first thought was “Fire!”, but the light wasn’t flickering, it was like, popping. Ever seen one of those military infa-red videos where everything’s green and you’re watching as a bunch of missiles hit a bunker or something? Flashity-flash-flash! Like that. Except, y’know, the mottled gray-blue the world was today under the clouds and falling water.

The dude from the liquor store had moved to the bench near the Franchise. I asked him what the fuck the flashing was about. As I exited my car, the rumbling reached my ears. I thought for a moment that a stray lighting bolt — odd, since it wasn’t lightning or thundering out, but, y’know — had blown up a house and started a chain reaction of exploding McMansions. That would’ve been cool. Nope. “It’s the country club,” liquor store guy told me. “Fireworks.”

Because fireworks in the middle of a rainstorm makes perfect sense.

***

I nearly got killed today. First delivery, no less. Ditz in a white BMW looked to her right before making an across-traffic turn out of the Safeway lot onto Sweet Air Road. Too bad she didn’t look to the left, but thankfully, there was no oncoming traffic and I was paying attention. As I skirted across the double-yellow, palming the horn and screaming something along the lines of “HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THA FUCK?!” she gave me this look which, to me, said: “Huh?”

***

Are you aware that leaving your high beams on while following a vehicle is just as wrong as it is to leave them on when you’ve got an oncoming car, er, oncoming? The dipstick on Hess Road — who, even though I had a two mile gain on me, caught up in about thirty seconds — was aware of the latter. He kept turning his highbeams off when there was oncoming traffic, only to flick ‘em back on as soon as they were gone.

I really hope that someday I have the opportunity to mash his nuts with a rolling pin or something.

***

I got shorted a buck by a babysitter. The address is a semi-regular and usually tips four-ish. I get there, unfamiliar car in the driveway, unfamiliar chick at the door. Familiar kid running around house. (That’s one … plus one … plus one … equals, babysitter!). Total was $18.45. I can see she’s got a twenty and two singles in her hand, and she doesn’t do a particularly smooth job of palming one of the singles. I smile, say thank you, but then walk away before she’s back across the threshold — mind, I’ve had my foot holding open the screen door, which promptly smacks her on the ass, eliciting a startled “Oh!” By that point, I knew that she knew that I knew she shorted me a buck.

The saying isn’t, “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way in”, is it? I can’t remember.