House of Dying Flaggers

I was starting to get very concerned about the perpetual bad mood that I've been in for days weeks months.

Last night's adventures with Joe has turned that frown not-exactly upside down. Maybe more of a half-smile laced with wry cynicism. But it's an improvement.

Joe had blown out a tire and I was helping him out and we stopped to get some food at our favorite Chinese buffet. While sitting there, I noticed that the place was over-run with homosexuals. This is not the kind of place that should ever be that gay.

Everywhere I looked there was a fag!

And a steady stream of faggotry kept flooding through the doors. And they weren't annoying loud mouthed boiz, either. They all looked like huzbands out for dinner, or friends out to gossip or the non-annoying-type-of-gay-with-his-mother that is so rare to find.

It was so unexpected - so strange - that the persistent super-bad mood faded into an absurd appreciation for unexpected kookiness.

So.....we went to see House of Flying Daggers. As much as I love an unlimited Mongolian buffet, I love silk and sword movies more! The film is beautiful and so is Takeshi Kaneshiro. My love affair with Clive Owen may be over!

In honor of super gaiety of the night, I've forever changed it's title. It's not quite as good as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Drag Queen (that's another story) but it is quite entertaining.