So, has anyone seen the movie "We Were Soldiers"? Tart, Druzba and I went to the theatre tonight to take a gander at this, another war movie in a long line of war movies (all trying to be "Saving Private Ryan", and all released in the aftermath of Sept. 11th but after waiting just long enough to make us patriotic instead of hysterical). Anyway, it was a decent flick -- nothing too impressive, although blood did hit the camera lens more than once, which always makes for a better war movie. The most enjoyable thing about it, though, has to be the Vietnamese colonel, or at least the way American filmmakers portrayed him.

How little credit can we give this guy? He somehow managed to burrow an entire army into a mountain: feat number one. Then he craftily lures the dumb American tough guys within a mile of his home base and brutally attacks them: feat number two. And through the more than 2 hours of film, he defends the mountain, advances on the Americans, and comes within a hair's breadth of slaughtering them despite their impressive helicopters, artillery and remote missile launchings. And yet, how do we show him?

"Quick, Colonel! The American helicopter soldiers are coming!"
"Yes, get ready."

That's it. No "What are their coordinates? How many troops?" Just helicopter soldiers are on the way.
Wait, there's more... way more.

Americans: "We need illumination at 150 Alpha Bravo Charlie company platoon leader command post LZ 5."
Vietnamese: "We will flank them: go!"
Americans: "Reinforcements are necessary in location LZ Delta Charlie Tango 163 East 45th Parallel."
Vietnamese: "Let us catch them by their belt buckle!"

Is this all we think they know about commanding ground troops? Belt buckles? And we LOST this war?
Ok... and did you notice the discrepancies in their cartography techniques? While the Americans, who just entered this area a day ago, have detailed topographical maps complete with tiny American and Vietnamese flags to locate the position of troops, the Vietnamese, who have been living in the mountain long enough to build the elaborate tunnel system with electric wiring, have a rough piece of parchment with X's and O's drawn on it, and little arrows, all resembling a football play FAR more than actual troop maneuvers. The map? A rough, oval drawing that is the mountain, and a dotted line which MIGHT be the Creek Bed they keep referring to. Interesting. Again: and we LOST this war?

I think we might need to review our take on prejudice in movie making. Just a tad.

So, I have about 3 readers of this blog, including Druzba, Tart and Jessie (friends and relatives, all), so this is probably either old hat, or you're surfing the web, looking for Jennifer Aniston sites and somehow JamBar came up as a result, and therefore you are so far from being interested in my personal life that you are contemplating picking your nose rather than reading this... BUT in case you are interested, here's a thought: DO NOT, no matter how you may be cajoled, implored or otherwise coerced, take your car to the Prompto in Portland, Maine. Don't get me wrong. I love Prompto. Being a girl with an artsy-fartsy boyfriend (thus negating the possibility that either of us could even FIND the oil filter, let alone change it), Prompto is a God-send full of greasy, underpaid men who are willing to spend 8 hours of their lives in a pit in the floor looking up at oil-dripping vehicles. But the one in Portland is evil.

I own a brand-spanking new Honda Civic EX, which is the first new car I've ever had in my life, and which is still awaiting my first actual payment. Yet somehow, Prompto managed to leave the oil filter loose, allowing the entire quantity of oil contained in my car to dribble out the bottom, and they overfilled the anti-freeze by about 300%, causing it to burn and emit a lovely smell of roasted engine. Now my check engine light is on, and I have to take it to the dealership to be investigated. Cute, huh?

Of course, you may ALL bring your cars to the Prompto in Farmington. They fixed the filter, refilled the oil, issued a gift certificate and promptly (hee hee) reprimanded the other evil worker. They are cherubs of oil change heaven. Just DON'T, if you value your vehicle, go to Portland. Trust me. Please.