About 15 years ago, sitting in a tent in the front yard of my house in West Vancouver, I bet my friend Brent Bradshaw that there wouldn’t be a Terminator sequel in the next ten years. What was I on? Was I too young to recognize the den of iniquity that is the modern film industry? The first one was made in 1984, and I thought I was in the clear until, in Biology 12, Brent demanded his $20 for Arnold’s reprisal of the role. Bastard. Now, 13 years after Terminator 2, we’ve got Terminator 3, Rise of the Machines. Fortunately, I was wise enough not to bet on a second sequel. Mind you, if we’d retained the ten year restriction, I would’ve won. I doubt that it will be a very good film, but I wanted to impart the anecdote.