Who you gonna call?

I think my next door neighbors are witches. Witches of the worst kind, I might add—Harry-Potter-inspired witches. The two conversations I have had with them somehow involved Wicca and Harry Potter, and how they are persecuted for liking both. Being into Wicca is like balls awesome when you’re thirteen and just got out of the Pokemon phase, but being thirty and being into Wicca is the female equivalent of two thirty year old men arguing over who shot first, Han or Greedo? There I go, persecuting both Wiccans and Star Wars fans. Listen, I’d like nothing more than to use the Avada Kedavra killing curse when somebody comes to steal my pogs, but doing so would sentence me to a lifetime at Azkaban. My neighbors sure do reflect a life that is conducive to witchcraft and other forms of debauchery. My bed is next to the window that faces their house. Just last night I had a hard time falling asleep due to the sound of “uhn tiss uhn tiss” at one o’clock in the morning, probably summoning ghosts and ancestral spirits. I’m going to call Ghost Busters if they don’t knock it off. And then the cats…

There is a surplus of cats in the neighborhood, many originating from this witch-infested house. Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest slaps them in the face, fortunately. For every cat, there is at least one ten year old boy who hates anything smaller and weaker than himself. Armed with rocks, bb-guns, and weapons of mass destruction (still unable to find them but my intelligence informs me they exist…), they go Darwin crazy to thin out the populations. One poor feline is armed with a ubiquitous stench that covers the neighborhood—for defensive reasons I suppose—one good eye since two is overdoing it, and what looks like oversized-cancer-ridden testicles. Not that I am checking out the local cat studs; they are just very apparent as this poor beast loiters in my driveway. The neighbor kids are sure to torture him at every possible moment. I do not like cats, but this cat looks like he was forced to take on the hatred of all cats himself. He is suffering so every other cat can live.

I was finally able to watch The Dark Knight last night after two weeks of failed attempts. When the X-Files came out, the manager put it in the largest theater, while putting The Dark Knight into the smallest. This rained on my Saturday matinée plans, causing it to sell out by the time Scott and I got there. Other than Christian Bale’s voice sounding like it was possessed by Satan with emphysema, the movie was everything I expected it to be. Everybody praised Keith Ledger for his acting job, and with good reason, but he couldn’t have done the job without the writing that went along with it. They made his character so complex. There is society, and then there is The Joker as the antithesis. He is the textbook definition of a sociopath (lacking of a conscience, no ability for empathy or love, compulsive liar, manipulative, etc…). He wasn’t just a crazy man on a mission of destruction; he used destruction as a means to show the hypocrisy in society. It eventually failed with the boat scene, but that’s when he turned into just a crazy man on a mission of destruction.