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Last week, I misread a form and showed up at an appointment a few hours early. They were unable to change the time. A three-dollar theater next door was showing a couple of films, so I decided to step in and watch a movie (instead of going to a cafe, reading a book, reading the paper, reading the menu of said cafe, walking around, basically anything but a movie). Unfortunately, the only movie showing in my brief window of time was one about toy poodles on Fifth Avenue. I like dogs, so I thought this could be fun. I bought some popcorn (a “medium” sized tub which was roughly the size of a mop bucket). The number of consecutive bad life choices I made that afternoon should not astound you. I have, after all, spent some time paying for bad life choices.

The theater was very nearly empty; there were a few mothers with young children and no one there was alone. I suddenly felt very self-conscious. This movie was clearly not intended for my particular demographic. Thankfully, or not, the lights dimmed.

The accents in this movie are atrociously stereotypical and the special effects leave much to be desired. This is a fish out of water story and the plot is so easy that I heard a couple of infants predicting where the movie would go. And they were right.

I’ve never been able to walk out of movies; I made the conscious choice and paid the price, I will get what I came for if only for the air conditioning and popcorn. I believe I would look weird sitting outside on a park bench eating a mop bucket of movie theater popcorn.

Still, it is not lost on me that I have paid to feel like a broken man and for a moment I wished I were at one of the newer theaters, the kind that serve cocktails, but it’s a bad idea to meet with anyone at 3:30 PM drunk. I finished watching this movie and the other adults in the theater all had the same dead look in their eyes and the children were either asleep or echoing my internal monologue and screaming for the exits.

I’m no Gene Siskel, and I know that I am not the target audience for this movie in particular, but that does not mean I should not be able to see the point of art. I laughed out loud once at a kid’s show about a squeaky yellow sponge man that lives in the ocean, so I’m not prejudiced towards entertainment aimed at children. This is my first movie review and I cannot in good conscience recommend this movie to anyone.

As we approach the season of eggnog, family squabbles, and mass consumerism, it's important to focus on what really matters. That's right; I'm talking about the tricks retailers use to peddle their wares on Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year.

The term Black Friday originated in Philadelphia, when, the day after Thanksgiving, consumers would flock to stores, causing horrible traffic jams and foul moods. During the 1980s, a great many merchants objected to the term's negative connotation. So they did what any good salesman would do -- they changed its meaning. Since then, Black Friday has become synonymous with the time of year that stores definitively turn a profit, a.k.a. the time of year when stores are "in the black."

There are a great many myths surrounding Black Friday, the first being that it is not, in fact, the busiest shopping day of the year. It might be the seventh busiest shopping day of the year, or the second, but it is not the busiest shopping day of the year, in terms of actual sales. The busiest shopping day of the year, sales-wise, is almost always the Saturday before Christmas.

Another Black Friday myth is more a ploy than a myth, which even I have to admit is pretty clever. So clever that I wish I'd thought of it. But I didn't. Have you ever seen, maybe a month before Thanksgiving, a breaking headline that Black Friday deals have been leaked? Well, that's not some disgruntled employee out to destroy his confidentiality clause. No, that information is leaked by an insider to whet appetites for products. Fascinating, huh? Or is it only fascinating if you're an economist? Or me?

Well, here's one for you, if you don't care about press leaks. If you don't partake of this very special holiday, maybe you don't understand why people line up at zero o'clock in the morning to snipe, push, and trash-talk each other. I'll tell you why. One word. Doorbusters. Or maybe that's two words. Does it have a dash? Anyway, doorbusters are supply and demand at its best. Retailers advertise an item everyone wants for a special price. The catch? They only have a few. Come early, try to get that very special item at that very special price, but if you don't, stay awhile, buy some more stuff. Everyone's happy.

Regardless of all this mystique, all this strategy and spin and traffic, I'm going to be first in line at my local mall. I have decided to start a new tradition since my time away. I'm going to get there as early as possible, be polite to everyone I see, but I am going to get as many doorbusters as I can as quickly as I can.

Then I'm going to donate them to a charity of my choice. What's that? You think I have a good heart? Actually, it has more to do with the fact that I get really discouraged every time a new gaming system comes out and I can't seem to get the hang of it. I may or may not have thrown a couple of them out the window, and why do that, when I can just give the item to someone who will treat it better than I will?

Whatever you buy, for whomever you buy it, have a safe and happy Black Friday.

I have a question for you loyal readers out there. Feel free to be honest in your responses. I don't judge. Here is what's weighing on my mind:

Is it ever a good idea to get back together with an ex-significant other?

Think on this, and let me know. I look forward to your thoughts.

Well, good people, its Election Night here in the United States of America. While some people have to work late solving crime, others, like myself, are glued to the television. Granted, Wednesday night is my normal television night -- gets me through "Hump Day" as it were. I love trying to piece together a crime along with the detectives, although some of them are just too clever for me to keep up.

Anyway, tonight is Tuesday, Election Night, and here I am, watching the tube with a beer in one hand and tortilla chips in the other. Don't worry -- the salsa's on the table with its friend guacamole.

As I'm watching the returns come in, and realizing the record numbers of voters turning up at their polling places (most of them grumpy at being caught on camera in their pajamas), I just want to say to all of you who voted, thank you. I don't care who you voted for, I just care that you showed up, probably either in sweatpants and bedhead or in your maybe pressed/maybe not work clothes. You want to see the diversity in this country, check out your local polling place -- the kid casting her first vote, the hungover frat boy, the woman with her walker, the pissed-off guy in a suit who can't believe HE has to wait in line. All welcome pictures on this Election Day.

After all, we might be nervous, hungover, annoyed, hungry, or impatient, but we're still exercising one of our most important rights. Now if only someone would realize guacamole should be a right...