From my yahoo diary:
As the theme song goes: "Save me..." from watching any more Smallville. (and what is it with all the crap theme songs of late. Sheesh. Not all of us are into AM Rock, y'know. God love the Buffy theme, that's all I can say). Okay, I just don't get this. Buffy, yes, Roswell, yes, but Smallville was kinda leaving me cold, and the sidekicks were just sucking up screentime from the few guys I was interested in watching. My US e-pals have been raving over this, but I must remember these are the same people who think Peeps are fit for human consumption (I'd test mine on animals first but my animals won't eat them either).
So, anyway, thery're telling me this is the greatest thing since sliced bread (another US invention that is both bland and bad for you, do I detect a theme here?) and it just didn't grab me. Okay, yes, smouldering Lex is good. Being constantly interupted (as any time I set aside for viewing is destined to be) I walked back in to find Clark all dewey eyed and purring how much he needed to thank Lex for last night. For a moment I thought 'Oh yes? What did I miss?!', but then I remembered this was US telly and not UK telly so they probably just swapped sandwiches or something, certainly no swapping of bodily fluids of any kind would even have been hinted at. Sigh. Pout.
Ah, Clarke. There's problemo #1. Sure, he's sprung straight from the pages of Face Magazine, but, well, he's all pouting and whining and I dunno why his Dad just doesn't whump him one. Especially for destroying farm equipment in a fit of picque or even just mooching around after Lana and not doing anything of use on the property. Sheesh. Spoilt brat much? Okay, only child, but, well, really. Yeah, let's see JK lay down the law. In fact, lets just see more JK. I admit I started wandering off when his role was scaled back. Boring. Okay, yes I'm old enough and sad enough to be watching for JK. Heh, even sadder that I've been watching him in Dr Quinn while I was home sick, having found him while flicking channels. Oh yeah, oh baby. No man can still look that gorgeous, no way, I gotta get the name of his plastic surgeon...oops. I'll just kick these old Tiger Beats under the bed and pretend I just didn't out myself as having ever watched an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard. Heh. Actually, I don't think I have those old Tiger Beats anymore, sigh. I went looking out of curiosity the other week and there was gaping empty space under the bed (??!!). Must have gone west during one of my rare yet fiendish crap culls. Sigh. Pout. Whimper.
Lex I do like. He's the best actor in the piece, though that ain't hard and it's not a great achievement. To be above average in a sea of mediocrity is nothing special. And thanks to my gal pals I've only ever seen him in women's clothing before now, anyway. I do like the smouldering at CK though. Very nice. Lana needs to go find herself another meteorite. Seriously. Waste of space. Honestly, I liked Lois & Clark better. Their CK had a lot more heart and charm, and the plots were no more or less silly than the ones being served up on Smallville. It reminded me of Man From Atlantis, with one silly superpowered villian after another, not to mention a lack lustre lead, and comparisons like that are just not the sort of thing you want your audience to be thinking. Okay, I know, the desired demographic aren't supposed to be old enough to remember Man From Atlantis, but come back, Victor Buono, all is forgiven.
Sorry for the diary gap, but we had a little thing called ANZAC Day here, which is a public holiday. Think Remberance Day. It also used to be my Dad's birthday, which is why I couldn't watch Wed's Angel, it being the one where Kate's Dad gets killed. Normally I'm not bothered, but being tired and crampy and grumpy made it unpleasant to sit through, and it's not a great episode anyway, so I just curled up and sucumbed to my usual nightmares - no one is ever nice in my dreams. Didn't watch Angel on Tues, either. Ah, the sweet dreamless sleep of a mersyndol slumber.
Meant to spend yesterday being supremely lazy and catching up on all the tv I'd slept through (6FU, WW) but Drew called, inspite of having being run over by his dog, so off to lunch we went. Only Drew was grumpy because of yet another broken arm (I might be fat but at least my addiction to diary products stops me snapping like a dry twig) Susan was grumpy and I was grumpy and the Yum Cha was very average so that was unfortunate. Groovy little Persian cafe we found, though. No, I'm not saying where because I'm sick of those horrible inner city types crashing our fave spots and they had these cool glass vases for $20 instead of the $200 you'd pay in DJ's, and quince jam that looked like it had really been smuggled out of a warzone and goats milk and pumice and, I just love little shops like that. All dusty shelves and exotic tinned goods.
So, bearing in mind how well my grin and bear it effort with lunch went yesterday, I've decided to pass on a truly scrumptious offer of a house party tonight (qv any teen movie you care to mention). I guess I'm really getting old and frumpy because right now the appeal of snuggling up in bed with a hot milo and watching Patrick in Casualty is sending out a stronger siren call. I'm all partied out. In my defence, I really did put in a sterling effort to be lil miss party last weekend. Is it the weekend already? Gosh, where does the time go. Okay, so I spent half this week in a drugged sleep (the only way to deal with my yukky girl stuff), but, really.
I think I'm still sulking from the very full Amish-style shunning the slash gals gave me at the con, too. The whole deliberate back turning thing. No bother, I had my mates and new mates to talk to. But still...ouch. It's the worse thing you can do to a social creature like any of your greater primates, so they're just big meanies. Especially as I can't remember what I did to cause such offence in the first place.
My PC at work still sucks, still won't do anything it needs to do, I still hate this keyboard and I think I'll try, try to spend Saturday lounging about working on my Ezra fic. Decided the P stands for Patrick, after his father who was a rogue and a scoundrel. Actually, it was Henry Patrick but I'm being wicked but it's kinda fun and I did get my first copy of M7 for Pat, afterall. The rest of the boys were just a bonus.J