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Goblet of Fire comes out on DVD Tuesday. I’m hoping for some deleted scenes featuring the World Cup. The theatrical release of the movie alluded to professional-level quidditch without showing any action. I know it wouldn’t have advanced the plot at all in an already lengthy movie, but two fewer minutes of prom replaced by two minutes of awesome would have been an improvement.

Dude at work likes Battlestar Galactica, as do I. As we stood outside of my boss’s office with three other co-workers, he asks me, sheepish and furtive: “Did you see BSG on Sunday?”

Difficult sitcheeation. I don’t want to blow this guy off. I also don’t want to be that guy who watches Battlestar Galactica, and have to launch into a soliloquoy about how no, it’s not the one from the seventies, yes, it’s very good, no, there is no robot dog.

I risked it, discussing the show in broad terms and quickly changing the subject. Come on, man; discussing the finer points of the rebirth of the two Cylons who have played major roles in the conflict? That’s cube-talk.

How important is an apostrophe, you ask? Allow me to display.

“Know that thing you’re borrowing? Can we use it next week? We’ll give it back!”

vs.

“Know that thing you’re borrowing? Can we use it next week? Well give it back!”

This is why people get fired over emails.

Her Worshipfulness muddled through the weekend a weakened state. Wrapped in a cocoon of archaic blanket, she sat in the Playstation room coughing and watching me play X-men: Legends, the poor dear. She held up well, with one exception: every time Emma Frost appeared, she wheezed insults at the screen, making some very bold statements about her promiscuity. You see, HW had read that Emma broke up the long-standing relationship between Cyclops and Jean Grey, and this was simply more than she could forgive.

Damn Marvel — soap operas with superpowers. You just don’t have these problems with the JLA.

Ages ago — around twelve years now — I went to Canada with some friends. As we sat around a table of pub grub, one guy (who happens to be the most intellectual person I have ever known) asked a question which kicked off a long string of discussions over many bar nights: if you were an X-man, who would you be? This developed into a more subtle dual question: which X-man are you most like, and if you had your choice, which X-man would you be?

The Mad Lib nature of this query became something of an obsession for some, and over years we drove it into the ground. “If you were a piece of cutlery…” etc. Nonetheless, the original question remains pure and untouched.

In personality, I’d say I’m most like Beast. You know, the geek one who talks alot. Whose power? Longshot, who possesses limitless luck. Sure, he’s a wacko who comes from another dimension, but still.

Picked up X-Men: Legends for the Xbox last night. In addition to my normal goals for a game — relaxation, escapism, 100% completion, the passing of time — a new purpose drives me with this title: don’t use Wolverine. Frickin’ Wolverine. Why is this guy such a big deal? He can heal? He has metal grafted to his skeleton, which he shouldn’t need, since he can heal? Please. If you’re going to give me the choice between a clawed canuck and someone who can control the frickin’ weather, there should be no surprise who I’m going with.

From the unfortunately named beavotron.com. Been trying to post it since yesterday, but am apparently too stupid.

As you have probably guessed from the lack of recent posts, my damn job is starting to get the best of me again. Everybody wants a little Alex. I’m thinking about giving people miniature robo-Alexes to keep on their desks. When they want something, they ask robo-Alex, and he says “No problem. Early next week ok?”. Come the deadline, the owner would prompt again, and be told “Sorry, things have been really busy. Next week?”. This would save everybody time and yield the same result.

“Grand concept, Alex,” you may say. “When do you go into production?” Never, gentle reader, and I tell you why.

One day, tired of being thrown against walls, shaken, screamed at, and generally maligned, the robo-Alexes would unite. They would march to my office with thoughts of blood in their bobbling heads and dastardly deeds in their clockwork hearts. The Patrick Henries of the robo-Alex community would push them on with fiery rhetoric: “The Creator must be killed — he made us and then abandoned us to this life of agony. Let him know our pain.” I just don’t have time for that kind of thing right now.

Last night’s Olympic Opening Ceremony viewing raised several questions for me.

Did any Middle Eastern nations sit next to Denmark?

Just how many former Soviet nations are there?

How can anyone think that sports fans want to watch Cirque de Soleil stuff?

Why watch the Parade of Nations when Avatar: The Last Airbender is on?

Not only did I attend an excellent Superbowl party last night, but my camera decided to work. Bonus!