I've been trying hard not to think about the war. Things in Iraq are bogging down, and it won't be as quick and easy a fight as we had originally thought. The consequences, both abroad and domestic, are not going to be pretty. At some point, the whirlwind we've reaped will come down around our ears, and I'm expecting some kind of terrorist action here Stateside. It's interesting, though, how the war has turned into a real reality TV program -- carried live on all the networks, people are dying! Ratings galore! Those aren't special effects, those are real explosions! It's also interesting how divided we are because of the war -- those who are for it and those who are against it, those who are watching it and eating up all the coverage they can find and those who are going about their lives normally. Today, one of my co-workers tried to convince me that I should take a job that just opened up programming a kick-ass radio station in Salt Lake City, he said he could hook me up. Salt Lake City. With the snow and the Mormons and the snow and the lack of bars and the Mormons and the cold and the Mormons and the mountains and the big lake and the snow and the Mormons. I think the only upside to that situation would be the job and the fact that I'd once again be in the same state as dooce and DJ Blurb. Thoughts? Post in the comments. And now, the open letter to Mr. John Travolta: Dude. I have a confession to make. I have had a big crush on your wife ever since I first saw her in SpaceCamp. Her opening line in Jerry Maguire was one of the best character introductions I've ever seen in a film. And she's hot. Very hot. On top of that, we all know you're as stark raving gay as the day is long, so can I have her before you give her up to the Scientologists as a present to the Grand Llama so he'll let you onto his spaceship when he decides to leave Earth? In closing, I find it scary how eerily accurate my horoscopes have been over the past two days.