|And Now For Something Completely Random|
|April 16, 2004|
I'm gonna be on TV! I'm gonna be on TV! I'm gonna be on TV!
I'm doing a little dance over here.
Okay, so TechTV is doing a behind-the-scenes look at Television Without Pity and they want to interview moi on the highs and lows of being a TWoP recapper. They'll be bringing a camera crew into our apartment to interview me and film me recapping Enterprise. I'm not exactly sure what that will entail -- perhaps showing my fingers tap-tap-tapping on the keys while the Symphony of Intense Snark plays on?
Oh, cheese and rice, I just realized something. If that IS what they want to do, my keyboard is going to need some plastic surgery! For some reason -- and this has never, EVER happened to me in all the years I've used and owned computers -- my "L" key is losing its "L." Right now, it's just a dash. What's up with that, anyway? Oh, lord. On closer look my "O" and "S" are also starting to ebb. Razzin-frazzin' iBook.
The guy I talked to said he wanted to film "any pre-show rituals" I might have. I started thinking out loud about how I do yoga to break through a creative block. "You don't really want them filming you doing yoga...do you?" my husband asked cautiously. No, I really don't because that could potentially be ugly. No one wants to see my Downward Dog except my cats. I must admit I am actually afraid of having them film how much I have to drink in order to slog through a recap -- I mean, our parents are going to see this!
But the kinda cool thing is that being on Tech TV will mark the first time I've ever been on television. Aaaand it might mark the last time. Ooh, unless I get a cooking show! An additional bit of cool is that Wil Wheaton is a sometime-regular on their shows. I mean, I think he sort of really dislikes me because of my Trekkies recap but still, TNG crush and all.
Now, if my three Star Trek crushes were to duke it out, who would win? Spock can logicize better than any of them but he's also got that super Vulcan strength going for him. Cpt. Quantum would just furrow everyone to death while making gazelle speeches that could quite effectively bury his competition in E-Z Cheez. Wesley would just save the day.
Of course, I don't know what that means in terms of being a champion, but I wouldn't mind watching.
The thing's going to air May 14th on Tech Live -- TechTV's news magazine -- so set your TiVo, TiFaux (tm Wing Chun), or, if you're like me, your doddering old VCR.
Now, since I've posted this, just watch them NOT use my footage.
In other news: who ever thought of turning a DVD OVER to watch it? Well, not me, which is pretty much why I ended up watching half of the second side of Netforce before I figured it out. Hey look, this movie actually has an opening title sequence -- who woulda thunk it?! After watching this, I'm convinced it's why Bakula snagged the role on Enterprise -- enough furrows to choke a targ in that one.
My newest Star Trek: The Original Series recap is up. Man, "Spock's Brain" SUCKED! Apparently it was written as a practical joke that Roddenberry took awful seriously. Awful.
I've been meaning and meaning and MEANING to post that Jackie kindly asked me to be a contributor to her food blog, The Daily Bread. I've been a slack-ass about it but I have posted a few things about Caffrey's, Syllabub, and having culinary wishlists.
We got a new shower head. Yet, there was really nothing wrong with our old shower head. A few months ago it had gotten choked up by mineral deposits, so our manager sent the handyman by to check it out. He fixed it and all was well. A few days ago our manager came by with a new shower head, apologizing that he took so long to deliver. This confused me because 1. since our old shower head got fixed, I figured that 2. he wouldn't have ordered us a new one. Regardless, we got a new one and the plumber installed it. The problem? Well, have you seen that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer gets blasted out of his shower by his new shower head? You have? Child's play compared to ours.
The most annoying thing isn't the bruises or multiple lacerations all over our bodies, it's the fact that it's now monsoon season in the bathroom. I step into the shower, shielding my eyes from the pins of mist, and begin to fight with the shower curtain in earnest. It flaps and smacks and sticks to any part of my body it can find. Since we don't always use that anti-mildew spray instantly upon exiting the shower, I feel the need to re-scrub down every body part the curtain touches. I've tried dousing the curtain with water and pressing it against the tub, hoping upon hope that surface tension will do its job. Unfortunately, the hurricane eddying around the bathroom -- rattling window panes, knocking towels down, and scaring the cats (previously devout participants in every single one of my shower rituals) into an undisclosed location with Dick Cheney -- slams the curtain back against me, my face, my legs, and my arms. Out comes the pumice scrub and bottle of bleach.
Case in point: tonight I tell Dr. Mathra that I'm going to take a shower. "Good luck," he tells me. Ha. Ha. Halfway through the shower, I reach for my shaving cream but the blast from the shower head blows some residual soap foam up from the drain and straight into my eye. Blinded, I grasp around for a towel and end up knocking my can of Skintimate onto the floor. One relatively unaffected eye fiercely open, I reach for the can and manage to sweep the ledge of shampoo, conditioner, Aveda shower gel ("Calming" shower my ass!), and Clinique scrub across the bathroom and into the hallway. "What are you DOING?" Dr. Mathra yells from his study. Slick and wet, I scramble after everything, still groping for a towel to sucour my burning eye. Just above my head, I see one. It's flapping wildly in El Niņo. I gather up one last burst of strength and reach for it. The rack falls on my head, but the crash is drowned out by the whipping wind. Suddenly, the tap turns off. All is quiet. "WHAT are you doing?" Dr. Mathra demands, standing over me.