When I was a child, my parents used to pack up the car twice a summer and drive to upstate New York.

I'm not talking about New York city, which is maybe seven hours from here, either.

I'm talking about getting up at o'dark-thirty and driving all the way to Plattsburg, New York, which is about ten miles from the Canadian border. It is about 800 miles, the way my parents went, which while it may be slightly shorter to drive through New Jersey... well, let's just say that New Jersey has its own issues and move right along, shall we?

We stopped for breakfast in Maryland, just off Route 15. My parents stopped every two hours for bathroom breaks and to change drivers. I sat in the backseat. When I was eight or so, my mother taught me about mile markers and what they meant. So that I didn't have to ask "how much farther?" because I could do the math myself.

My grandparent's house is 8 miles off of Interstate 87, mile marker 142. My parent's old house in Louisa was 8 miles off Interstate 64, mile marker 142. I always found that oddly fascinating.

I bring this up because I want to give you a brief comparison. I know what it's like to be bored. To have nothing to do and no room to do it in.

I was reminded of this today, sitting in the theater, watching K-19, observing Harrison Ford pretend to have a Russian accent. Nothing to do, and no room to do it in.

About halfway through this badly paced, extremely dull film, I leaned over and whispered to my husband, "I'm bored."

Thirty minutes later, when action is finally starting, I leaned over and whispered "Great. Now I'm bored and I'm nauseated."

I have seen this movie, and I have seen it done better. It was called Das Boot. I have seen this movie before, done somewhat better and it was called Hunt for Red October. I have seen this movie done badly, and it was called Crimson Tide.

"Are we there yet? How much further?"