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An Urban Legend in His Own Mind

Remember that urban legend? The one about the guy who plants his butt down in a lawn chair with a shotgun, attaches weather balloons to the arm rests, and ascends into the Heavens above, only to find himself haplessly floating along at thirty thousand feet? It’s been kicking around for a while, with various incantations having him sighted by low-flying pilots, negotiating landings at LAX, folks scratching their heads in disbelief, even helping to steer him to a safe landing. I think some reports boast NASA listing him as an “official UFO” or some such thing (not to be confused with an “unofficial UFO” which is a slightly more “politically correct” term for the aliens who play cannasta on my front lawn.)

My friend Steve was IM-ing me the other day, asking my opinion on movies suitable for viewing. Since this was an oh-so-pressing issue, I decided to tackle it head first, and perform elaborate research on the world wide web. Ok, so I googled. I googled “movies” and found myself at movies.com or some such site. As luck, or lack of creativity, would have it, they’ve made a movie about this very story.

Danny Deckchair is now playing in a theater near you. Words cannot begin to describe how I feel about this cinematic triumph, which has perhaps made it once again socially acceptable to yell “Fire!” in a crowded theater. Phrases like, “Run! Run for your Lives!” and “Even porn would be better than this” will be used by critics everywhere to define this mega-movie, starring the likes of people who’ve never heard of you either. The mind boggles.


Danny is a cement-truck driver with a bad girlfriend, who manages to screw up his holiday plans. Furious, Danny plots to escape his suburban prison by attaching helium balloons to a deck chair in hopes of flying away. Surprisingly, his plan works, and he soon finds himself in a neighboring town.

is from the official “blurb” about the movie, not to be confused with the “unofficial blurb” which consists of a five minute symphony of groans and gastrointestinal noises, which shall be left for bloggers with audio. Hey, at least *I* don’t waste film like that, ok?

But, what if there’s something to this Danny Deckchair? What if Danny’s really onto something? What if we all took our little helium helicopters up into the stratosphere, only to find ourselves dive-bombing the suburban Hell’s in which we live like some sort of pidgin race run amok? Hmmm. Going up anybody? Take that you metrosexual yuppie-wanna-be. I think I’ll shoot down my not-so-big balloons and land over here this time. The world’s got to be a better place when you have a shot at flopping down into something better, right?

Until next time…


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