Imagine the following. You are driving down a road. It doesn’t matter where or for what purpose. Let’s just say you are on your way to TCBY because soft-serve is so much better than ice cream. The traffic and road conditions are normal. You chat with your friend in the passenger seat on a myriad of subjects, from the sexual orientation of the Mario brothers to the fate of Boba Fett after he fell into the Sarlacc pit. There is a lull in the conversation and you enjoy the cool breeze rolling in through your open window as you turn onto a faster paced avenue. Your friend turns to look at you with a slightly menacing grin on his face before he asks, “Do you want to know what it’s like when worlds collide?”

Colin once asked me this under similar circumstances. I wasn’t ready to find out then. Now, almost a decade later, I still don’t know what happens when worlds collide.

Colin’s post yesterday was nothing but defamation and slander. Yes, I have an iPhone and a MacBook, and my girlfriend has an iPod and a PowerBook, but it is hardly a shrine. The only one that calls attention to my Apple products is Colin himself. I believe he has a deep seeded attraction to the machines and is just too stubborn to realize it. When I pull out my phone to check the time, or make a call, it is him who zooms in and out and flips it in a mocking fashion. I am discreet and he is obnoxious. For someone that spends far more time clicking away at his phone than me, Colin has an awful lot to say.

Our personalities are often pitted against one another. His stubbornes and mine are two beasts that cannot be tamed, and sometimes our horns just lock. I have often said that he is either the dumbest smart person I know, or the smartest dumb person I know. Our buffling has only lead to a serious dispute once, but we found the cure to our hate in the most curious place.

The incident took place during our college years. Something had happened and we were both rather furious and were not speaking. Somehow we found ourselves in the same room, with everyone else gone. And a movie was just beginning on the television. If it was being broadcasted, or was a DVD, I do not know; perhaps a higher power had divined it into existence. With nothing better to do, we began to watch.

By the time the end credits rolled on Chasing Amy, our dispute had come to end. I believe the film has calming and healing powers that can sooth even the most stubborn souls. I cannot tell you what the problem had been, because I honestly cannot remember. The film had wiped it all away. I can barely tell you what the movie was even about, outside of bisexuality. It was like we were put into a trance, and when someone snapped his fingers an hour and a half later, all our hate had faded into nothingness. I just pray that if we ever need it again, Chasing Amy will still have the power to heal. Or else Kid C will get a good taste of the bottom of my boot. Marcus Fenix style. Que the rock riff.

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