Or how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy being a hermit.

What's the perfect accompaniment to Chef Boyardee's mini ravioli? A 2000 Columbia River Valley Syrah, to be sure. Such a fine flavor combination.

Ah, a fine night indeed. Watching terrible sci-fi (Stargate to be specific), playing awful songs on my guitar, and reading some of my favorite poet's insane supernatural philosophy. Life is good.

And speaking of Yeats' automatic writing kick, I'm watching this Dream Team show on the SciFi channel right now. I do love dream interpretation. Sure, it's worthless psychological games, with no scientific basis whatsoever, but like a good tarot card or palm reader at a party, it's entertaining as all hell. This show, however, is not entertaining. If it wasn't for me drinking a bottle of wine and typing this thing out, that channel would be changed, lickitysplit.

The show does have one thing going for it; I learned tonight that all women dream about looking at, or having sex with, other nekkid women.

What can I say, the SciFi channel knows its demographic. If they'd only get rid of that John Edwards weenie.