Since I have received my official notification from the Federal Office of the Executive Cluebat (motto: "We can beat sense into anyone") that the actual beginning of this war means that the purpose of most anti-war statements - "don't go to war!" - has been rendered null and void, it seems that we must find something else to talk about.

Failing that, this is what you get.

So far, Operation Couch Potato Hypnosis appears to be working well. How much time did you spend on your couch, hypnotized by the rumbling minutiae of the Great Iraqi Invasion? Minutes? Hours? It should be noted that those who set up time zones put great thought and effort into their planning. Think of how annoying it would be if Americans actually had to stay up until the wee hours of the morning just to get their fill of war images.Now, with the help of time zones, the happy capitalists can conveniently tune into the war during their lunch breaks, and after consuming their utterly-nutritious TV dinners. Fun for the whole family! Now you, too, can explain to your children why those nasty protesters write phrases like "Yankee Go Home" and "American Capitalist Pigs" on their big white signs.

Moving on...

After gorging our fill on Operation Couch Potato Hypnosis, spouse and I began to watch the first installation of Children of Dune. We were in far better shape than most who tuned in to the miniseries, having both read the books a few years back. Therefore, we could completely ignore the attempts at plot and just enjoy the eye candy.

For lo, the eye candy was there, and it was beautiful to behold. I must confess that, ever since reading the first four Dune books a few years ago, that I have always harbored a secret suspicion that Duncan Idaho had to be quite possibly the most scrumptious thing in the Dune-iverse.

Forget those genetically enhanced and Mentat-trained prophets. Everyone else who had read the books could argue over the appropriateness of various casting, and I wouldn't make a peep - as long as whoever played Duncan Idaho was at least slightly toe-curlingly hot in that dark and broody sort of way.

I was pleased. Then again, I'm the kind of bizarre person that can totally get the hots for characters in a book. That's either the sign of a frighteningly vivid imagination or a sure case for antipsychotics.

Oop...I believe I'm getting a transmission in from the Benign Feline Overlords. The message is garbled, but it sounds like a chorus of cats demanding to be petted. The current Desktop Adoration Queue is at zero cats, but it's possible that my Overlords have discovered a way to demand adoration even when they're not in the room with me.

A very disturbing development, this.

Hmm. The message appears to have changed. It appears to be a message of peace and contentment, and it comes with images. I can only assume this means that the Great Overlords intend to let me live another day.