Hey, if certain cable channels can have a week of rabid James Bond euphoria, so can we!

With our favorite super spy about to enjoy his latest release, ‘Quantum of Solace,‘ on Blu-ray and DVD on March 24, we thought it would be fun to build up to it with our personal favorite James Bond movie moments. As we aren’t alone in our Bond fanaticism, I hope all of our readers chime in and leave comments about their favorite movies, scenes, villains, women, gadgets and more. In the meantime, here’s my Bond fantasy.

Since I was in the first grade (I’m now 33, so you do the math), I have wanted to be like James Bond.

By the time I was 9, I wanted a license to kill and a semi-automatic slung under my arm. (Both of which are really useful at age 9.) When I was 10, I wanted an Aston Martin roadster armed with machine guns and taillights for creating oil slicks and smoke screens. (Okay. So my parents would have been total sticks-in-the-mud about not letting me drive it until I was 16.) When I was 11, I wanted a watch with a laser beam in it. (C’mon, who doesn’t want one of those?) And by the time I hit puberty, I really wanted the ability to seduce every beautiful woman I met. (Funny how things don’t change much over the years.)

So far, I’m batting 0 for 4. True, I could have gotten a concealed weapons permit when I lived in Montana more easily than I could have gotten a pack of gum, but the license to kill was a bit more difficult to come by. The Ruby Sipper, my trusty ‘06 Honda Insight hybrid, has been great, but I just can’t afford the .303 Browning upgrade. However, my watch does have a little light in it, and I’m pretty excited about that. As for the women, well, who has time to seduce every beauty?

So, with the release of “Quantum of Solace,” Bond’s 23rd movie (Sean Connery IS James Bond, so I count “Never Say Never Again” but not the earlier “Casino Royale“), I decided that this time I want my own theme music to follow me everywhere I go.

Have you ever noticed that no matter where Bond goes, there is always music following him? James can’t take a leak without Monty Norman’s edgy guitar getting the audience psyched up about Bond evacuating his bladder. That solo guitar riff is so good that I can’t keep myself from cheering on Bond’s urinary abilities.

Where does one get theme music to follow them? Years ago, a woman I knew said all I had to do was fill out a form at the Post Office. Sadly, the Post Office is always out of these forms. It is very frustrating.

Theme music would make tasks such as going to the grocery store much more exciting. Just imagine:

The Ruby Sipper and I roll up to the store. As I open the car door, the solo guitar starts subtly and grows louder as I approach the grocery store entrance.

Before crossing the threshold, I draw my semi-automatic finger gun and slink through the automated doors, looking for lurking hitmen. Silently and deftly, I work my way toward my mission objective: a 40-ounce jar of Skippy peanut butter.

The riff is played faster, as I clear aisle after aisle.

I crouch to peer around the last corner and spy the creamy goodness I desire. But wait! I’m spotted by a 9-year-old with his mother as I snag the Skippy. The whole Monty Norman Orchestra kicks in and the boy (who understands the value of a license to kill and shoulder-holstered pistols) opens fire with his finger gun. I return fire.

Me: I killed you first! I killed you first!

Boy: No way. You’re dead. I killed you like 10 times.

Me: Oh, yeah, I killed you infinity times. I win!

I run to the checkout counters. His frightened mother drags him to some distant corner of the store and calls for security.

I holster my finger gun while standing in line to pay for the peanut butter. I suavely smile and cock an eyebrow at the female checkout clerk.

Me: My name is Cerf…Nathaniel Cerf.

She: Yeah, great. Please swipe your card with the strip facing the other way. What type of bag do you want?

Me: Recycled plastic–not paper.

She: Whatever, dude. Stop looking at me like that.

Me: I was just…checking you out.

She: Security!

The music blasts as I race out of the store, hop into the Sipper and drive off into the sunset.

(Parts of this column were reproduced with permission from the Montana Kaimin, where Nathaniel was once an award-winning editorial writer.)