Well, folks, yet another Monday. And they’re not even pretending to give us work today. But that’s all right, ‘cuz I didn’t do my acting homework over the weekend, so I did that today. But, before I get into the scintillating morning I spent…I have a confession to make.
I had trouble getting to sleep last night because my brain was just bopping around. Why? Over a stupid, stinking soap opera.
Paranormal soaps have been a guilty pleasure for years, probably because I grew up on Anne Rice and her crazy, crazy vampires (or the first couple, anyway. Louis is a wet blanket, and Lestat got too soppy after Rice fell in love with him. Then I lost track of all the others in the profusion that followed. But, anyway.). Let’s not forget Dark Shadows, either. I lived for being sick when I was little, partially for that show, partly for David the Gnome (*shrugs* Your guess is as good as mine.) Mostly, it was just to play hooky, but I digress. There’s Forever Knight, too, with its faaabulous villain and idiotic main character—but I believe you all get the point, and I’m feeling silly enough.
Anyway, so, remember a while back, when I mentioned a ghastly-stupid horror movie that I refused to incriminate myself about, but that had the fascinating eye scene? Well, I panned it in my ratings on Netflix, but, because I’d watched it, it made a recommendation based on it…and I decided to watch it. Again, no names to protect the innocent, or, at least, the simple-minded.
It’s dubbed a series on Netflix, but, really, that’s a misnomer, since every “season” is basically a 2-disc, 90+ minute movie that ends on a cliff-hanger (you can see where this is going). Anyway, I only get one disc a week now because of my crazy schedule, so I try to make them count. Last week, I watched disc one of “season 1” and was amused but didn’t think too much of it. It’s a well-worn plot: in the past, witch gets pissed at man she wants to marry for fooling around on her and sets up a curse on him. Loving couple in the present accidently set angry, cursed man free, shenanigans ensue, mostly of mistaken identity, “I’ve taken over your mind, so do my bidding”, etc., etc., variety until they realize there’s a curse on, and they have to break it. So far, so good.
Well, I wasn’t too impressed with the acting or the plotline (it’s pretty thinly veiled romance and romantic antics), but the characters were fun and I actually liked the way they were setting up the spookiness. Not that spooky, but fun effort.
So, I got disc two.
Oh. My. God. What happened in disc two?? It was like all hell burst loose! People get killed, reincarnated, mind controlled, freed, enslaved, and burned! Yikes! And the acting is just as bad (the villains, in fact, are particularly egregious, and the male one isn’t even all that good to look at)—but I love the characters. The main love interests are just so cute together that I found myself yelling at the screen, hiding my eyes, pleading for the guy to go back to the hospital because she can’t be dead… Ugh, so, so embarrassing. And the two most fleshed-out secondary characters—the girl confidant for the main guy, and the slightly skeezy guy who becomes the male villain’s Renfield very forcefully against his will—are really cool, too. I would use them in a story of my own, if I’d thought of them.
But I ask you all, why do I care so much?? Disc two ended with the super (sickeningly) cute couple back together, her back from the dead, celebrating with the confidant. Confidant leaves, they fall asleep…and villain makes Renfield bludgeon the guy and throw him over the side of the pier, all the while while he’s begging the guy not to make him do it. And I actually moped around the house after that! I ask you! I know the guy isn’t dead. He can’t be dead; there’d be no story. But, seriously why did I end up buying this thing hook, line, and sinker? The plot holes are so large, you can see the fluff poking out! There almost *is* no plot! I—etc., etc.
Anyway, I think it kept me from sleeping, trying to figure out how they would save him (they have to save him). I took one of those sleep aids because I could feel my brain churning—but it didn’t work. I just lay there, vibrating with tiredness (you know how you shake when you’re overtired?), and the “plot” just kept turning over in my head.
I have decided: next weekend, Witchblade. T’ain’t gonna be none’a this angsty crap with good ol’ Sarah. She kicks ass, takes names, never smiles except in an Ï’m a cop” way, and is always good for some cheesy fun. Or maybe Xena…I put the hateful, hateful disc in the “slow mailbox” (there are three mailboxes within a four-block radius of my housing complex, the “slow” one, the “fair” one, and the “regular” one), so they shouldn’t get the disc until Wednesday at the earliest, anyway. Plenty of time to change my queue. (No you may NOT get disc 1 of “season 2”! Bets on how long that lasts?)
But, actually, half of my amusement watching this show (see, it’s still on my mind, it won’t go away, and it’s not just the pretty pretty pictures) is watching me watching the show. It’s like watching a screamer watching a horror movie. I loooove screamers. You know the ones. They jump at every sound, their eyes go wide and stay wide as soon as the soundtrack starts, and they get so into it that they screEEeeam every time Bad Guy shows his cleaver. I, sadly, am not a screamer. I’ve made myself immune to all but the creepiest, sickest, or…clownfullest of horror movies. What does this have to do with a soap, I hear you ask? Well. You all know me. I would never be accused of being raunchy*, even on my loosest of days.
So, I’m watching this show, and I would literally have to turn away, talk to myself to drown out the (quite bad) dialogue), or dart glances and look away. It was MOST amusing, psychologically speaking. I wish I could have watched me more closely watching the show (is this making sense? I feel like I’m spouting psychobabble—ooh, that’d be a cool name for a band) because I think this would really help me get a handle on where my social freeze-ups are. I know for a fact that it kills me to watch people being embarrassed or belittled—to the point where I have to pause the movie, put down the book, and just walk away for a while. Once I’ve built up the distance from the character, then I can watch/read the scene, and, normally, I end up being surprised at how it just wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. Eventually, especially in disk two, I had to restrain myself from stopping the disc just so I could finish the blasted thing. But there was much talking to myself at inopportune moments”, looking away from the screen, and generally asking myself why I was watching this anyway? I haven’t had this much fun laughing at myself since MTV’s Undressed.
A-HEM. Anyway. Soaps bad, mindless-violence shows good, and I’m not getting season 2 this weekend. *nods vigorously*
So, let’s see…we last left off on Thursday, I believe. Yes…Well, not much to speak of on Friday at work. I finished up that stupid inventorying, then ambled over to acting school (leaving my NaNoWriMo bag with my jazz shoes in it on the metro. Sadness!!). Why, you might be asking, was I going to school on Friday? Well, every few weeks, we have a seminar from six to nine PM on Fridays. We haven’t had one on an SR night yet, so I haven’t broken it to the boys yet.** I’m sure that’ll go over well. But I wouldn’t be too, too late.
Anyway, this one was on Silent Film. And they did Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin and…”Fatty” Arbuckle (I think). Great stuff, but I was so tired—and the last Chaplin had no noise whatsoever, not even music, and it was so sad. In fact, most of it failed to make me laugh. We ended on this downer about a down-and-out guy (Chaplin) and his five-year-old (the to-be Uncle Fester, if you can believe it! From the TV show, though, not the movie) Well, I bolted out of there right at nine (wish I’d stayed to socialize, but it just didn’t dawn on me until it was too late), went home through the cool night air, dinked around on the ‘net for the first time all week, and passed out. Until 1 PM. Yikes!
I dinked around some more, then went for a looong run on Saturday. I made 20 miles! MCM, here I come! I finally feel like I can do an honest-to-God marathon. And I’ll find out if I’m right next month.
Well, I picked the perfect day. Not too hot, not too cold. But I started too late, so I ended up playing Wade through the Drunks in Georgetown, and that’s not even as fun as it sounds. I also got steamrolled by FK, so I spent the entire four+ hours on my recording device talking out my ideas. Now, if only I can figure out how to upload them to my computer. Since the Knidlet died a watery death, the device won’t interface with any of my other computers. Sadness. I still don’t have a plot, but I understand my “revamped” characters sooo much better now.
I limped home and took a nice, hot bath. I believe that’s the only reason why I’m still able to be upright today. Then, again, I passed out.
Sunday was an errandful day: dropping off library books, not going swimming (the body said NO), grocery shopping, making meals for the week. I also chatted with August from Carleton, who’s home convalescing from lasik surgery. That was interesting. I think I talked with him, maybe, once at Carleton, but he friended me on FB a year or so ago, and we’ve been stalwart companions in the battle against vampires and the powers of darkness (the games Vampire Wars and Castle Age, respectively)—and we comment on each others’pages, etc., etc. Anyway, he’d said he couldn’t see and was rather bored, so people should call him and alleviate his misery. I decided on a whim to do so, and we had a nice chat while I started making meals. It was a slightly odd feeling—we picked up where we’d left off on Facebook, but I had only ever talked to him in passing in person, and that was probably five, six years ago at this point. I’ve never had that happen before. Ah, the fascinations of the 21st century, eh?
So, yes. After the chat, I watched the soap opera disc, which I’m still not going to name on the grounds that I’ve already incriminated myself enough. I also researched a bit for the acting homework I’d neglected for today (ah, old patterns coming back), which was to look into the music mentioned in our creepy pedophile play (for today is script analysis *lets the anvils ring*) and tie it into the plot. Oh, poor Motown and bubblegum
*Ah, the asterisk. I can feel your all’s curiosity and interest at an asterisk by the term “raunchy” in PA’s LJ. As I’ve said in previous posts, I really do feel like I’m of two minds about things most of the time. There’s the me I present to the world, the sweet little nerdball, and then there’s the me freeloading in my cerebral cortex, kicked back with a Diet Coke, snarking and snickering at me. And I’m pretty sure she has the mind of a dirty old man—because she comes out with these things sometimes…
A-HEM. Anyway. But we don’t let her out of her box all that often, unless I’m in a Mood (then who knows what will happen). So, it’s safe to say that PA is to raunchy what ravens are to writing desks. (I STILL want a good explanation for ravens and writing desks. We’re working on it.)
**Little aside, so, my dad has discovered Google Chat and asked if I wanted to try it out one weekend. He told me proudly he’d even set up his USB microphone (he’s so cute!), and wouldn’t it be so neat to be able to see each other when we chatted? To which I unthinkingly replied, Öoh, I can pet the cat!” I don’t think that’s what he had in mind. Anyway, I told him that sounded like a great idea. I could use the mic I have for “when I game (or I might have said ‘run’) with the boys on Fridays”. Dad was very obviously a little uncomfortable. It was most amusing—and I didn’t even try to explain that that meant that we plotted out ways to shoot up the ‘plex together. Dad’s not a gamer, so that would have gone *whoosh* right over his head.
60s pop. You will never be the same again. Sadness. I *liked* some of those songs—and some are pure sap. But, now, they’re *all* going to be tainted.
And you all may have wondered about how my post got a little scrambled there. Well, I actually managed to *fill* one file on my AlphaSmart, and I write the asterisk sections as I think of them, so I just carried the rest on to another file. But day-am. I must have—ah—really written about that stupid soap, ‘cuz I’ve only ever filled up an entire file once, and that was for a story. Yikes. What does this mean, PA? It means get to the point and get ‘er done already!
Not much more to tell. After a *very* short night (nine days of this left before vacation nine days of this left before vacation nine days of thi left before vacation, but I’m not counting down at *all*), I got up, bicycled just a bit (legs said NO), and went to work. Aside from one casualty of a forgotten sandwich in the freezer—Stepmom’s idea to keep them fresh all week, and a very good one—I arrived a titch early and will leave promptly at 4:30. I have to stop by the post office on the way to school tonight. Another book sold on Amazon! Finally! Only a million more to go. But we’ll deal with that when I’m on vacation. Staycation. Whatever.
Well, you crazy people, you; I’m outta stories, and the clock done told me I’m outta time. Catch you folks on the flipside.