We are the hollow men...

...Head piece filled with straw. It seems, that this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a remake of "Road House."
I remember so very little, but I remember this. I was young, a naif with dark hair and dark eyes and an old soul and I came upon something...something glorious. It was Saturday and it was on the Superstation. I did not know the ways of the world then and I do not know them entirely now, but I saw Patrick Swayze with God's Own Haircut and that man was kicking ass at an improbably redneck fantasy land called simply "Road House." A blind boy played the (electric, white-people) blues and women walked around in bikinis for reasons we are not meant to understand in our works and our days here on our poor Earth, but a shadow of the ideal realm of "Road House". Oh, to be at the Double Deuce Club (with it's double entendre name, ha! such wit) in the heady days of 1989. Should one not ask to wander the agora while in Pericles' Athens, would ye not tarry with Voltaire at the court of Frederick, or take the ferry to old Manhattan with Walt Whitman his eyes a-twinkle?
Of course one should, and so too should you try to catch Road House if it's on cable anytime soon...unless something better is on, like Seinfeld re-runs, then just watch those.