Kottke just posted an entry about Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, giving it a five-star rating. First, this is great because I was going to include in a soon-to-be post the very superior sequel, Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey. This is one of a very select group of movies I watched during our honeymoon last week. I was supremely fortunate to find this movie on HBO one morning—the uppermost nonheinous of events during our impulsive honeymoon addendum.

Second, I have a very quick and simple answer to Jason's question, "How on earth is Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure over anyone's head?" Unfortunately, most people tend to look at a thing no further than its skin, taking no effort to peel back anything. 'Bogus Journey' and its predecessor offer much more than the crazy, fluorescent 1980s teenage pop culture. They are literary marvels—mavericks of cinema whose only crime was trying too hard. "White Ninja Comics Bill & Ted are not for the weak of mind. They are a brilliant satirical commentary on controversial worldly issues." The brilliant use of subtlety left most of the public omitted in grasping the true essence, and particularly the proposed graduated revelations throughout (these movies address the core of human concern). They are underrated, overlooked, and only remembered by those fortunate enough to've seen the real value of Bill & Ted. Sure, they're also at the top of the list for comedy, but that takes a backseat to their humane features. I advise everyone to watch these movies. Station.

Lindsey Proctor became Lindsey Hathcock on May 20, 2006. I'm still Brian Hathcock, unfortunately.

The wedding went by very quickly. I was nervous for none of it, which was surprising. I woke up that morning, got ready, and right away it seemed I was standing beside the minister watching my bride travel the isle. I repeated some things, lit a candle or something, and we were done. The reception had an even shorter lifespan, it seemed. We were introduced after a string of bridesmaids and groomsmen, ate, cake, done. The one constant was a Canon 20D in my face, which I quickly tired of. The photographer took so many pictures, that picture-taking is the main memory of the event. When I look at the pictures next week, all I'll be able to say for each is, "Hey, I remember posing for that picture."

OK, it wasn't that bad. It was a "very beautiful wedding," according to a buttload of women. It tasted good, I know that. There were shrimp, chocolate strawberries, and other "food" like that, but I had green beans and a pound of icing.

I think people had a good time. One thing I was disappointed about was the music. I spent at least a solid 20 hours working on gathering and arranging music for the reception. But a lot of it wasn't heard because the time ran short. I was aiming high, I guess, in assembling four hours of music. I danced, though, which I have never done in public. It was a big hit, I think. You might see a picture later on, but there is no video, thankfully.

As we exited the church, Lindsey and I grabbed handfuls of birdseed bundles to hurl at those assembled outside ready to pelt us. It was a spontaneous thing, and I think I hit someone in the face, which I didn't mind after the trouble I went to later in cleaning my car.

We left for Nags Head through a crowd of cheering people. Lindsey said the experience of driving away was surreal, and I guess I felt it a little, but for me it was pure excitement, relief, happiness.

Being completely alone for eight days of our honeymoon was wonderful. The house was great—far too large, but great. We spent lots of time on the beach, lounging in the house, and exploring the area.

We also saw some wonderful sunsets.

And sunrises.

After Nags Head we weren't ready to leave the ocean, so we made the long journey down to Myrtle Beach, SC. We stayed there another two days, hitting the hotspots we usually visit on our yearly summer trips there.

We reluctantly made our way home, dreading thank-you cards and work, but that dread was easily gulfed by our fun and anticipation. We stopped in Dillon, I bought a couple bags of fireworks, and we found our way to Albemarle in time to see X-Men 3 with Justin.

It's taken me a while to get this entry on the site because of married life business. There may be more pictures in a couple weeks, but I won't be writing much more about our wedding day. Friends and family, you can always read the wedding blog Lindsey and I kept from October 2005 until now, detailing some things about the wedding. There are a few more pictures here and those previous.

Life is fun right now. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but things will be great now that we don't have to worry about tuxedos or Jerry Falwell.

I spent a while cleaning a portion of the lake today. Probably ten minutes. Probably ten feet. Here's what I got:

Anger. Hatred.

A month has passed since Lindsey and I were married. It's been the time of our lives so far. There has been great fun, yet many tough times, too, as we adjust to a different way of life. I've learned a lot as we've moved into a house, dealt with jobs, signed contracts, and bought big things. The first is that a generalization has been proven in the fifty-seven boxes and bags Lindsey brought from Virginia with her.

1. Women have lots of things.

When I say things, I mean crap. I've tried to be nice about it, but most of it is just that. In going through her endless stuff, we've found ten beverage warmers. I'm no warm beverage expert, but I don't think even Santa Claus had that many. Right now they're all lined up on the mantle as a reminder to visitors that cups are important, easy storage can be a curse, and consumerism is all pink, warm, and healthy. After the cups were arranged on a table I had a fun time pretending to be Indiana Jones from the climatic scene of 'Last Crusade.' Yeah, I'm adorable with youth. Anyway, after I gave up finding anything resembling a whip, I stumbled over a box of shoes, stood up, and promptly fell into another. If Lindsey ran out of table tops when using those cups in college, she surely had no trouble decorating the rest of the dorm room with high heels, sneakers, and flip flops. After playing a virtual game of Tetris with the room, I gathered four boxes of shoes. These weren't little boxes. The smallest measured about 2'x2'x1'. But the volume isn't even the most disturbing thing. What caught my surprise is the fact that some of them are almost EXACTLY THE SAME. I counted six pairs of very similar brown shoes. Into the mix I brought three pairs of sneakers, two pairs of dress shoes, a pair of sandals, and flip flops. According to my calculator—and it's a good calculator—with the amount of shoes I own, I could only supply the feet needs of 1/7 of a girl.

2. Girls like girly things.

Here I am trying to compose a nice, modern, hip, intelligently arranged home when all sorts of fancy glassware, smelly candles, and cute kitchen novelties get in the way. I was assembling an entertainment center for the living room, and when I finished Lindsey handed me a pair of glass candle holders and said, "Put these in the bottom shelf." I know, I can't believe it either. I said, "That's where the Nintendo is going." Apparently, when you get married, even if you pay for something with your own money, and go to the store and buy it, and put it together, the other person still has a say in how it's used. I'm going to find a way to get rid of those glasses. "Oops! My fishing rod fell into the entertainment center."

3. Girls do not like gory movies.

All I was trying to do was watch Dawn of the Dead (you know, the new one that came out in early 2004—it's great; you should watch it). Five minutes into the movie a little girl zombie breaks into a house and rips out the throat of a lady's husband and proceeds to chase said lady around her bedroom. Nothing major, right? Lindsey freaks out and now she can't be alone in the house for the night, turning on every light and asking me to check behind the shower curtain. She's also now protesting scary movies, but I'll be darned if I give up Alien and Rosemary's Baby (or The Garbage Pail Kids Movie for that matter).

4. Nor do girls like violent video games.

I was playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas on my PlayStation 2 as Lindsey watched from the couch. After about five minutes she said, "Is there a point to this game?"

"Yes, but I'm just playing around, now." I was driving a fire truck through a crowd of beach-goers while helicopters and police cars assaulted me with their bumpers and bullets. Another couple of minutes passed before Lindsey spoke again. By then I was on a busy road, ramming my sports car into motorcycles.

"Why don't you like to just drive normally? Stay on your side and avoid smashing things and running over people?"

"That's the whole point," I said. "I can do that any time, but I can't go around like this in reality. It's fun to just cause havoc in this game. That's part of the appeal—I can break all rules of society with no consequence."

"I don't like to break rules."

5. They really do spend that much time in the bathroom.

I see the inside of a bathroom for probably twenty-five minutes of each day, including my shower, shave, and waste relief. However, when Lindsey goes into the bathroom to get ready in the mornings, I might as well go build a model plane. One time I was so bored for so long that I painted a side of the house. Eventually I made a game of it. I see how much of the house I can paint before she's done, and then next time try to break that record.

6. My wife thinks that I can fix anything simply because I'm a man.

I was an intellectual kid. I watched Sesame Street, read, made up imaginary worlds, and looked at squashed bugs in my microscope. I never learned how to build engines, weave shingles into a roof, or lay concrete. Still, Lindsey expects me to fix four-hundred-pound appliances with all the ease of looking at a butterfly. Apparently, working with electrical wiring is not very much different than plucking blades of grass, either.

7. Fishing always involves a headache, wet pants, and/or spilled tackle boxes.

Lindsey tries, I will give her credit. But there are lots of problems. For starters, if we're using live bait, I have to put it on the hook. I have to assure her that the worm doesn't feel anything and actually enjoys being torn into four or five pieces. When she catches a fish, I have to convince her that, just like worms, fish don't feel pain and like to have their mouths and eyes pierced. I think she finally saw through this pretense when she hooked a snapping turtle. I finally got the hook out of his mouth, and, since I'd had little fun until this point, I threw the turtle like a baseball—far, far out into the middle of the lake. By this point Lindsey had had enough emotional stress and finally released it with a lot of tears. "He's dead!" she moaned as he hit the water. In truth I reassured her that he wasn't dead, or even hurt, and that I wouldn't have done that if there was a chance he would've been. (The turtle is fine. He was there the next day.)

So, fishing with the wife is like fishing as two people because I do everything for both of us. Lindsey's mom is going to be disappointed when reading this (she's a good fisherman, for a girl). I have confidence, though, because she is learning. She asks lots of questions such as, "Which end of the stick do I hold?", "How many bobbers do I put on the string?", "I wonder what size rock I'm stuck on?", and my favorite, "Do you have any ChapStick in your tackle box thing?"

8. Super Soaker fights are not to be initiated indoors.

9. Whether traveling on interstates or winding through country roads, it is not OK to do so like a race car driver.

Again, I need to give Lindsey credit here. She can go pretty fast herself (about 15mph over the limit), but gets a little scared when I do (30mph or more over the limit). I try to convince her that I know how to drive, that people will get out of my way if I cross into their lane, especially if I have my lights on. She just doesn't understand how the road works.

10. It's not a good idea to take dozens of pictures of her just after waking. Especially not with the flash. And especially not before she's awake.

I've learned this the hard way, at least twice. Oh, and never, ever even go into the bathroom with a camera in your hand if she's on the toilet. No.

Now for the good news. I've made fun of Lindsey throughout this post, but to be truthful, she's very down to earth and understanding. For example, it's OK if I give her a gift wrapped in aluminum foil, and she doesn't get all that mad if I clean fish in the living room. She may be girly in a lot of ways, and that may limit the extremity of my male immaturity, but it's a good thing. I don't want She-Hulk asking for my comb to get wood shavings from her armpits. I like my cute, sweet Lindsey who's afraid to put worms on hooks and can't stand the sight of ugly feet. I love my little wimp.

or "Grab Your Umbrellas Or Hit The Back Button", because I'm going to get mushy.

I love my wife. She is the greatest girl in the Western Hemisphere. She loves me more than anything and never lets me forget it—whether she's checking my nose for boogers or hugging me during late night homework sessions. She's cute and sweet. She's my Cutie Pie, my Sweet Face, my Shmoopsie-Poo. I mean, just look at her.

Gorgeous. Of course, I don't love her simply because she looks like a supermodel. She has other qualities. Like talking on the phone.

Perfection.

I'm only joking, you know. It's hard to tell you how great my wife really is. But I'll try. For example, sometimes my temper can get the best of me, but Lindsey knows how to cool me off and get me back on the track to my senses. She's always kind and has the best temperament of anyone I've met. She counterbalances me with her optimism and always has the right outlook on every situation. She also gives great surprises. Like Leo Kottke tickets, 5th Avenue candy bars, midnight milkshakes, and other things that will remain secrets.

Secrets are something I like having, because they're fun to have with Lindsey. It's great to be with this person that knows everything about me. We have secrets about each other, and about all other things—memories and inside jokes, crude things even! It's great to have a girl who can appreciate being stupid and silly. This is another quality Lindsey excels in demonstrating. She understands my burping and farting, and even joins in occasionally. What? That's gross? Grow some perspective™. Lindsey can sing "Whoop There It Is" and move right into "Bohemian Rhapsody". She'll act like a dark cynic and then use baby talk about a puppy she saw while riding in the car. One time she was lying on the bed, and when I looked over she was picking her nose. She simply stared back at me and said, "I love you!"

Yep, that's her. That's my Lindsey Pop, my Lindsoid, Lindzorz. I'll be lying in bed asleep. Suddenly I awake to the sound of her voice. When I look at her, she's talking in her sleep. She says things like, "I don't like purple shoes," and, "This peppermint is not the right size," and, "Stop licking me," followed by boisterous laughter.

Look, she's even cute in her driver's license. She looks like a news anchor. "Tonight on Lindsey Hathcock Live we have a very exciting exclusive look at Star Wars: Episode VII with Harrison Ford, George Lucas, and Mark Hammill. Bob Dylan will also be joining us to talk about his new radio show, an upcoming album, and who will be joining him on tour in 2007. Finally, J.D. Salinger will speak with us if time permits."

In my dreams, I reckon. But that's just the thing! Who needs dreams with a mate like her? Not me, unless we move into more questionable content.

Anyways, in a nutshell, Lindsey is the cutest cute that ever cuted. I love being with her and look forward to all things we hope to do together. I see beach trips and Christmas mornings. I see mountain hikes, road trips, concerts, movies, family get-togethers, and countless adventures of discovering everything. Whatever happens, we will have love and laughter. Lindsey is great. I love her.

One thing I love about summer is the ever-present blockbuster. Even though disappointment comes easy, I still look forward to the big movies of summer. Superman Returns is an attempt to be that main blockbuster. It is successful.

I fall into a conundrum whenever I speak my mind about movies, usually. On one hand, I'm very critical, but part of me wants to be very forgiving. It's difficult because I want films to be good in every way. For movies like Superman, X-Men, and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, I remind myself that these are action movies, BIG action movies that were made to be blockbusters. That means that any creativity was checked by money driven motives of studios and all the guys upstairs. They're made to appeal to the mass of moviegoers—the least common denominator effect—and that means that none of them will stray very far from the "proper" lines that define what these types of movies are supposed to deliver. Movies like The Deer Hunter or Lost in Translation are some of the best you'll see, but they're not nearly as popular or "successful" because a majority presume to judge those as slow and boring. So although it makes me mad that Superman and other movies will never live up to their potential, I try hard to forgive and forget the reasons why.

Superman is good, not quite as good as my wife thinks, but it is still a movie worth watching more than once. The animation and effects are great, but the sad thing is that they overrule the story and the execution thereof with the special effects, which is the way it should be. Kevin Spacey is usually great, and he was this time, too. Kate Bosworth shouldn't be Lois Lane. The movie is overly sentimental in parts, and I didn't really enjoy the Richard White slant to the story. Other than these criticisms, I really enjoyed Superman Returns and recommend all to see it (8/10). The special effects, despite what I said, are wonderful; it's simply nice to see Superman flying around again; and hearing the music from the 1978 Superman might just give you chills if you enjoyed Christopher Reeve's stint as the Man of Steel.