Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Lost in a Sea of Flacitude?

Watched “Lost” (ABC) tonight, and goo, it scared me. I found myself sucking my thumb and pulling my dress over my head. I also begged my husband for another round of Eensy Weensy Spider, but he totally blew me off. Said I disgusted him. Whatever.

There’s one scene with an old guy and an orange peel that gave me shivers, and I don’t shiver easily, you know.

Something about the Orange Peel Man sets my nerves on the edge of madness. Oh, I’ll be watching him closely all right. He’s up to no good, that one.

Okay, I’m being a bit dramatic here, but I really enjoyed this first episode, and I’m so hoping that this show doesn’t slide into the dirty sea of flacitude and craicktropio, which, unfortunately, so many recent made-for-T.V. thriller-chillers have. They start out great, I look forward to more, and all I get for my enthusiasm is a big bucket of something horrible. A bucket of boring and cliché and fart-like sounds that haunt me in my sleep. I want nice buckets! Buckets of Heath candy bars and buckets of razor blades, ladybugs, daisies and tobacco. I want exciting buckets that sing me ballads in a beautiful Irish tenor, buckets that explain the meaning of life to me, then make me cannoli.

I want buckets of fear and dread, goosebumps and loose bowels..

So. We’ll see.

In other news, I’m still waiting on word from editors. Any word. Hell, I get so durned quaked up about such things. I think the worst. Think my subs get lost (which, dear Jesus, has happened), think the editors are passing my stories around during drunken slush laughathons, think the editors are being passive-aggressive by not responding because they hate my guts even though they don’t know me personally, have no reason to behave in a passive-aggressive manner, so they then hate themselves for acting irrationally, and just delete my submission with a huge sigh of relief, glad to be done with ass woman and her wicked, wicked ability to make people hate themselves from afar.


'Night, lovers.


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