I've Been Blooded By My Bongo Rites

As I promised myself last month, I went out and bought Donkey Kong: Jungle Beat, and holy Christ in a Speedo, is it fun. I've bongoed the night away, and my arms and hands are throbbing from exertion. In fact, I doubt I'll be able to play tomorrow because my hands are sore from clapping and bongoing.

I aso picked up Alone in the Dark and The Barchester Chronicles on DVD. I had the latter on VHS, but my VCR got zapped by lightning last year, and I was unable to watch Part Two and the delectable Obadiah Slope nee Alan Rickman. He was thirty-six in the film, and so help me, he was gorgeous. Just looking at him in his vicar's rainment makes my panties combust. He is so very, very good at being so very, very bad.

My favorite line of Part One:

"But madam, she's lame; she needs spiritual guidance," Slope says after leching shamelessly at the wealthy invalid propped on the chaise lounge.

Oh, Alan, for that one line, I'll love you forever. I snorted water the first time I heard it. I'm sure pandora_nervosa knows to what I'm referring.

Other than that, everything is quiet here. It's half-past midnight here, and I've been up since half-past ten this morning, so I'm going to bed down for the night, I think. I've got ficcing planned for tomorrow if the weather cooperates(ha ha), and I want to watch Alone in the Dark. By all accounts, it's a staggering pile of drek, but I have a morbid fascination with atrocious horror movies, and I'm sure it will be a treat.

Them's Fightin' Words, Walmart Wanda

The rain has abated temporarily, but I have no doubt that it will return for an encore performance soon, so I'm going to sneak in an entry while the sneaking is good. Roomie stocked our larder earlier today, and since then, he's been watching ER. I never watched the show religiously, but I watched often enough to know the main characters. Romano and Weaver, the Militant Cripple Lesbian Femme Bot, still irk me to no end. So did Dr. Ross and Drs. Benton and Kovac. Come to think of it, Drs. Greene and Carter were the only ones who never made me want to track down the screenwriter and bludgeon them with their inexhaustible supply of wangst and drippy pathos. How the show has survived all these years is beyond me.

While at Borders yesterday, I heard the following:

"Twenty-eight dollars? I'd never spend that much on a book. I'd rather shop for clothes."

( Books Are Friends, Not Coasters or Handy Home Decor )