Notwithstanding Trillium's opposition, I bought a copy of "Iron Man" at Costco on Wednesday. We watched it last Friday night. Just for the record, as far as I can tell, there is absolutely no connection between the title character and myself, except for the shrapnel pieces driving toward the vital organs, particularly the heart. Instead of a hole in my chest into which Pepper Potts can stuff her little hand, it is in my arm. Whether Nurse Chappell stuffed her little hand into the hole made to extract my blood is beyond my ken, inasmuch as I invariably close my eyes whenever one of those little steel pointy things gets within a two or three meters from me. Alas, I am not a super-hero, a terrible self-realization.