Not so breaking news but I was so relieved when I was reading my mail yesterday that I made audible noises, heard by a co-worker who was in at an obscenely early hour. I'd been told Angel was cancelled on the weekend by a cruel individual no doubt out for malicious sport, and I'd mourned quietly, only to discover yesterday that the opposite was true. I'm not too sure I'm happy about Joss' involvement though, as Angel is always best when he ignores it, in my own and very humble opinion.
From The WB newsletter:
>You asked to be the first to know about what's happening on The WB
>this fall, and we thought you'd be excited to hear that Angel will be
>returning for a fifth season and will remain in its current time slot
>on Wednesdays at 9/8c. James Marsters, a.k.a. "Spike," will be
>joining Angel's cast. Other "Buffy" regulars may also make guest
>appearances next season, while creator Joss Whedon plans to write
>several scripts and direct episodes of the show.
So anyways, it was a very, very wet and miserable and black morning with the rain just punching down and I thought of all mornings, don't fail me now little beacon light, so of course...
In much later than I'd hoped, completely soaked through to the bone, to sit huddled and chilled in freezing cold air conditioning, clutching a cup of hot tea tightly to warm my hands, I'm the very picture of misery from some Victorian novel.
I'm alone so I actually get some fic reading in, and, more importantly, fic writing. Ah, yes, that's what I need, a little bit of Buck to warm my soul. God, how I love him.
Now the sun, were there one beyond these coal black clouds and their weeping drapery, is over the yard arm and I'm feeling all fluey, though I suspect it's 90% sulking at this point, and getting cranky with the folks, righteously though. They've filled my once blissfully empty floor with wall to wall contractors and these people just do not know how to mix and play well with others. I mean sure I have my battles with my team-mates but these jerkoffs, ack. They take your printouts from the printer and never return them, they steal all your milk from the fridge, they drink all the water and never refill it. They steal pens and staplers and they use your phone without asking. They are simply, to quote a colleague, feral.
Because they don't have to live shoulder to shoulder with folks beyond their short term contracts they are entirely lacking in the rules of office conduct or have any inclination in applying them. They remind me of my middle class aquaintances who live in huge houses and have no concept of how to share a bathroom, bedroom, etc. Arrrgh. I shall strangle one of them and I shan't be able to claim PMS as a defence, nor sleep deprivation, as this obviously aging crone dozed off during Relic Hunter last night and only managed a few minutes of Farscape before sleeping entirely through Angel (not that I was worried for I have at least the Angel on a shiny silver platter, and very grateful I am, too). Ah well, it was a long weekend for someone who should have more sensibly have been in bed with her feet up and clutching a hot water bottle.
- "As against having beautiful workshops, studios, etc., one writes best in a cellar on a rainy day." —Van Wyck Brooks