When I was in high school, I watched a lot of B-grade science fiction movies on late-night cable. These movies virtually promised me that by this point in my life I would be driving an armored dune buggy through a post-apocalyptic aftermath that looks a lot like the area around Barstow, escaping from mohawked cannibals as I search for more fuel. Where is the world that I was promised? I have the dune buggy. I've been working on the grizzled and slightly sinister looks and hairstyle that the lead male requires. But no dice. Instead, I am forced to spend the best years of my life paying off my Ford Focus and eating breakfast burritos on the way to my job talking on the phone in a cloth-covered office cubicle.