First, barring any major obstacles or acts of god, we'll be operating out of a new home base come this weekend. It's beautiful and charming, with lots of modern goodies (stainless steel and brushed nickel and frosted glass and miles of beautiful black granite) but not without charm (gently sloping ceilings, thick moulding, paneled doors, and huge picture windows), and it's the thought of all those lovely details that is getting me through the awkward "living out of boxes" stage. I hate packing.
After almost four years of playing in other people's universes, the original ideas have finally overtaken the fic bunnies. They'd been making a valiant effort, but were always outdone by the pretties (men of Supernatural, I'm looking at you). But times, they are a-changin'. Four spec pilots, two novels, one (nearly completed) novella, and a series with no set medium as of yet have all taken up residence in my head. As of now, only the biggest, baddest, most rabid bunnies have survived the attack (Walk the Edge, Palindrome, and the SPN gen of doom, most notably). The rest are curled in the fetal position somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain. I suspect that they'll all claw their way back at some point.
I blame K for this turn of events, as I blame K for everything.
Did I mention that I hate packing? Hate.
Chuck was forty-two minutes of sheer brilliance and utter hillarity (seriously - if The Bourne Identity had a love child with The 40-Year-Old Virgin, this show would be it), and I fear that Heroes will suffer by comparison. It could make even the best-written shows drop to not-so-lofty heights, and our little comic juggernaut has never really had it's writing to fall back on. Ah well. There's always the pretty.
In related news, I caught the first fourteen minutes of Pushing Daisies, and already I suspect that I will love it like no other. Damn you, glorious new shows! Prepare to be innundated, people - Lee Pace (who I didn't think could get any better after Soldier's Girl and Wonderfalls - hah! How naive I was.) is the Wentworth Miller of the 2007-08 television season. Mark my words. He's going to be everywhere.
Speaking of... saw a great interview with the Wentworth recently. Such a nice, intelligent, well-spoken guy. He'd come into the club with Amaury Nolasco back when they were still filming around these parts (oh Chicago days of yore...), and was always gracious and charismatic. I suppose it's too much to ask that that would actually translate to screen. Wentworth, honey, would it kill you to emote once in awhile? Who do you think you are, Tom Welling?
Somebody write me some Chlollie. With lots of snark and a bit of UST, heavy on the Bart and the boys of the JLA, if you please. And by boys, I mean Victor.
This layout is past its peak. It's really starting to work my nerves now. Mostly that damn footer I never fixed.
I'm entirely too amused by Nickelback's video for "Rockstar". It's rolling in cheese, yes, but it revels in the corniness and is therefore impossible to hate. Plus, it's like playing Celebrity Where's Waldo. And oh, the bad dubs. Lip-syncing is seriouz bizness! Just ask Britney.
I need a vacation.