The Andy Griffith Theme

--a) Arrested Development/Ron Howard tribute. b) Whistled compulsively on an episode of Scrubs. c) Brilliant and fun. Look it up on iTunes and listen to the 30-second clip!

Fill this out. I beg you. Right now, they only people I've asked are Frankie, my mother, and my li'l sister, and it looks pathetic.

I have no full-ass recap of the L Word for y'all, just a general hate-o-meter or something:

Bette: Hate less, because tried to sleep with a boy who slept with a boy who slept with a nun, in 1985, wearing a Flashdance outfit, do you GET IT?

Jenny: Hate less, because she sold out. Like, you'd think someone with her "artiste" vibe wouldn't stand for having her thinly-veiled novel turned into a vaguely-fictionalized memoir, but she acted like a real person and got excited by it.

Tina: Looked fat. And I can say that from a vantage point of having to had sit on my stomach for twenty minutes to get over my over-eating at dinner today.

Helena: Enjoys getting lesbo-kissed. Like, that smile. It's radiant. Maybe Ellen's Ex is just that good.

Alice: Magically got over her Dana-obsession, a) because she got vampire-laid (by NOSFERATU!) and b) because Dana had like her left pectoral removed.

Dana: had like her entire left pectoral removed, because of one of those lines on the earth. The Tropics... um... what was it?

Dana's Parents: idiots. Hey, 'member the first season where we found out her mom had lesbo-tendencies?

Shane: My mom reports my dad said, while he was sitting in front of the TV with the Sunday Times and definitely not watching, that he could see me with Shane in the future. I can't stop smiling at the prospect.

Carmen: Hee, she's all fiery and jealous and Latina.


On another TV note, AD ended. Um, on Fox. Or on TV, or in general. It was a great ending, and I totes cried. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see it till a day late, because some IDIOTS (wait, I forgot, they don't live next door when I'm online) in a band decided that 7-10 would be a perfect time for their Friday night band practice. Go get laid, idiots, like normal guys in bands. Don't hog my only access to a real TV.

On _another_ TV note, I can't stop singing the Scrubs theme. Or the a capella version here. Or any of the songs on this album (band mentioned last entry re: "Maniac."

On a non-TV note, my computer is so fucked up. My "R" key's top totally came apart, my "down" key disappeared like a month ago, and all the keys stick a little. Plus, both of my plugs are broken, so I only have an hour 19 left on this battery. Which, um, not good, because usually I'm online for like four more hours.

Dammit, I can't think of any non-TV notes.

Oh, on Saturday, I assembled a table. I've been saying "built," but really, I just drilled holes in the legs and screwed nuts (heh) into said holes, so it's assembly. And then I bonded with theaterfolks for a while. We talked about Superman, Batman, Aquaman, Director-of-the-play-I'm-stage-managing-Man, and bagels.

If I had a mantle, I'd mantle in the morning. I'd mantle in the evening...
What I meant to say was, Director-of-the-play-I'm-SMing lives in an on-campus unfurnished house, in which there's a bricked up fireplace with the mantle intact. He has framed posters for his previous four shows at Wes (he's a senior), and sometimes, during rehearsals, I zone out, and imagine what I'd put there. I think that picture of all of us dressed up like little whores for Rocky, this black-and-white photo of my block at home that Le gave me, and Harvey Keitel (he's not Mr. White anymore because I lost the lighter, two of the hands, one of the guns, and, most crucially, the sunglasses. Can't be a Reservoir Dog without sunglasses).

In conclusion, my toaster is very red and shiny.