Coming back from two weeks off, I really must recommend long periods of not working to anyone. Actually, I did work a bit (dayjob, that is) since I'm just sick about such things. But still, it was a treat to wake up casually, walk the pup around the neighborhood, then splay myself on the sofa for hours at a time watching all the Clint Eastwood movies I've accumulated over the past year.

I really like his spaghetti westerns and even the cheesier Dirty Harry flicks are pretty good. I was remarking to a coworker yesterday that if someone held a .44 Magnum to my head ("the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow [my] head clean off") and insisted I be someone other than myself, without hesitation, I'd be Clint Eastwood; more specifically, I'd be (Dirty) Harry Callahan.

Why? Well, I'd always be able to get out of dangerously improbable situations with any combination of a contemptuous smirk, a dry comment spoken through barred teeth, or a few blasts from my .44 Magnum!