In the words of St. Ignatius Loyola, “Dude.”
It’s Friday, which means it’s the weekend, and somehow, I have very little to say. I had a consulting job today with the firm I did freelance work with last month. I was expecting a two, two and a half hour job. It turned into six. Not bad, and I’ll be going back for a couple hours next week sometime. It’s all paid, which is nice, but it plays hell with my “regular” schedule, which consists of irregular writing and work time somehow stuffed into about ten hours.
I’m into Season 2 of Lost now, which is like watching Coyote Ugly set on Gilligan’s Island, without the stupid chuckles. Michelle Rodriguez is the stupid neanderthal-thing with breasts and it goes without saying that the show would be better off without her. Reports of her diva-like behaviour on set are interesting. Imagine the scene:
DIRECTOR: Alright, set up for two, let’s get ready people!
MICHELLE: Where’s my forehead enhancing cream?
PA: We used it to grease the dolly tracks.
MICHELLE: You die first.
[She proceeds to eat everyone on the cast and crew.]
Still, I loved the Season opener, and the stories have grown progressively darker. One of the best activities during a Lost episode is to guess parts of the plot, little details that the writers set up in the beginning and use as plot devices to drive thematic material. Our little trio (Joe, John, and I) of Lost enthusiasts have gotten pretty good at guessing at outcomes, and with our combined powers, expect to solve the mystery of the island by the end of this season. No website spoilers for us, thank you. We’re using our miiinnnndddd.
I think I had an idea for this post, but it sank into the quagmire of an early weekend. I’ll see you all Monday.