What the…?! Season 2 of The Vampire Diaries premiered last night?! Dude! At the risk of sounding geeky… okay, I’m PSYCHED.

At 1:15 p.m.:

OH. EM. GEE. Thank you, iTunes! Also, good LORD! That?! That was awesome.

Game on, indeed.

CHUCK! IS! BACK!

Yes! It is absolutely true. I mean, today is March 1, so, there you go. It IS March 1, right? RIGHT?!

Right.

I don’t want to come on too geeky, but… okay, I’m psyched!

Check it.

*happy dance*

Heh. Back up. Heh heh. Hee.

Ahem.

See, we have this long, steep and windy, ridiculous driveway. So there you go. Oh, you need more? Well, only one car fits in the carport, so we have to park single file. SINGLE FILE. I know, in this day and age! So sometimes– at the buttcrack o’ dawn, mind you– I need to back one car down the driveway so TGIM can take the other car to work. Aaaaand now I’m thinking “Back it up like a dump truck, baby!”, thanks a lot, GLEE! Damn Quinn Fabray and her Power Motto!

But I digress.

So, I have to back a car down the driveway. It takes half a mo, and is thusly absolutely no big deal. Me backing the car down, that is. Except sometimes it is because I am BUSY. Doing morning stuff. But whatever, because I am an awesome driver. And it’s usually just my cute little Miata, which I am super stellar at driving, thanks to all the mad maneuvering skillz I learned during those four years of navigating the Capital Beltway. So, I’m an awesome driver, that’s all I’m saying. A little aggressive sometimes, sure, but that’s called offensive driving! No, that can’t be right. I’m not a defensive driver, so… whatever the opposite is, that’s what I am. Not that TGIM would ever admit it. Because he is a guy and I am not and only men can be awesome aggressive drivers because it’s a GUY thing and I am simply reckless, apparently. Which is a LIE.

Are we clear?

So whatever. I may have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder when it comes to driving around TGIM. So, yesterday morning, when he had to leave and I was all, “I am BUSY! Doing morning stuff!” he went out, jumped in the Miata, and instead of backing all the way down the driveway, he backed just a short distance and a little off to the side, onto our grass. His big plan was to maneuver past the Miata in the Sequoia, then pull the Miata back into the carport for me.

Naturally, as I watched him doing this, I had guilt. Because maybe I wasn’t all that busy, okay? But I mentioned it was morning, right? Buttcrack o’ dawn, and whatnot? Don’t judge.

So I ran out to the still-running Miata, put ‘er in gear, let out the clutch, and… nothing. I mentioned the steep and windy ridiculousness of the driveway, didn’t I? So I wasn’t TOO worried that I seemed to be spinning my wheels but going no where. Which is redundant. I see that now. See, as I already mentioned, TGIM had parked half the car on the lawn, which happened to be covered with morning dew. But, as also previously mentioned, I am AWESOME. At the driving thing! And since my daddy taught me how to pull out of a dead stop on gravel hills in a manual transmission with minimal rollage, I was NOT going to let a small thing like wet grass under my rear wheel stop me from showing TGIM– who was watching from the other car– that I could DO THIS, thank you very much.

So, steep hill plus wet grass plus Cat with chip on shoulder apparently equals Bad. Because as I eased off the clutch– and nothing!– I may have instinctively gunned it a little, you know, to rip up the grass a bit and find some purchase underneath it. Which was a super good plan and was totally WORKING– vrOOOm… vrOOM!– until I heard yelling and felt someone pounding on the trunk of my car.

What the…?!

I ask you: What person, in his or her right mind, would run up behind ME, whilst I am totally busy rocking the clutch and showing the neighborhood how to get ‘er done?! VROOOM!

Well, TGIM will. Yup.

I stopped the car, pulled the emergency brake, opened my door to see what the HELL was going on, and THAT is when I totally had one of those TV moments. (Hoo boy! I bet you thought I’d never get here, eh? Is anyone still reading? Hello?) There stood TGIM, arms spread wide in an Oh-No-You-DI’NT gesture, looking alternately from me to his suit, which was plastered in wet grass, sod, a little mud, and other lawn bits. It was classic slapstick comedy– you know, something you see on TV or in a movie and laugh at but think could never ACTUALLY happen– but with very real, and no doubt costly, dry-cleaning repercussions.

I was horrified! So, naturally I started to giggle.

Then, “What are you DOING?!” TGIM asked. Not nicely either, which RUDE.

“What are YOU doing?!” was my obvious reply.

“You were tearing up the LAWN!”

I was all, “Um, yeah, but what were you thinking?! I’m driving here! I totally HAD this! You don’t just run up behind someone’s car while they are DRIVING and pound on the trunk! Because of a tiny strip of grass! GRASS! That’s craziness! You’re crazy!”

“But… you were tearing up the LAWN!” At my blank look, he added, “Why didn’t you just let the car roll a foot or two so the back wheel would be back on the pavement?”

I glanced back at our steep and windy ridiculous driveway, then back at TGIM. “Oh,” I replied. “That could work.”

And it did.

As we walked toward the house, me to finish getting ready and TGIM to change and rinse the lawn from his face, I had a sudden thought. “Hey… Maybe those crazy TV show moments really ARE set in reality.”

We were both laughing as we walked into the house.

“I just know things. In my mind.”
Kat Stratford

Stated quite seriously in response to Cameron, drunk on a teen cliche– in other words, because he was too stupid to know the watermelon was spiked– after he asks an intoxicated Kat how she KNOWS her sister probably wishes she were making out with him RIGHT NOW.

First of all, spiked watermelon?! Who DOES that?! Tampering with the melon and whatnot?! I am so out of the loop.

And B, shut it! My kiddos MAKE me watch “10 Things I Hate About You”! Based on the movie of the same name! Which I may or may not have loved way back when! Because of Julia Stiles and her pouty expressions and slouchy overalls! And Heath Ledger and his singing in the bleachers! And their cuteness! And Larry Miller! Because he’s funny! Whatever! It’s a FAMILY thing! I watch the show with the FAMILY!

Also, the actress’s delivery was HI-larious. And Gregory Peck’s grandson, who plays the Heath Ledger role, looks and sounds eerily like his grandaddy, who’s old-timey babe-a-licious!

Wait. That probably isn’t the cool thing to say anymore. Freak! I am so out of the loop.

First of all, RUDE. I was a joy as a child. My teachers all said so. I’ll bet. I’m pretty sure. Probably. I mean, I was friendly, yo? With all the conversation-making and storytelling? And super helpful, too, especially when we had substitutes. They didn’t even need their lesson plans with me around, I tell you what. I mean, I was more than happy to point out all the class rules and procedures and not a bit shy to correct any divergance from The Way Things Should Be. I was just THAT helpful. The subs all thought so. I’ll bet. Probably.

Second of all, I momentarily forgot what I was talking about.

So… the curse. Right. Rewind to Sunday night when my kiddos insisted I watch (i.e., forced me to sit through) some random show about these real-life kid ghost hunters– whose legitimacy I totally call into question, by the way. I mean, what parent is all, “Sure, honey! You can stay out ALL NIGHT at that reportedly haunted hotel with a few of your friends and some super expensive night vision equipment, web cams, EMF devices, flux capacitors… Go on! Scoot!” Hey, I’m just saying the premise is flawed, is all.

Anyway, toward the end of the show, the token scaredy-cat girl was all, “Oh my gosh! I was literally scared to death!” and I grinned to myself because I AM just that much of an English geek.

Turns out I wasn’t the only one enjoying a bit of a laugh at the expense of the silly, scaredy-cat girl, who, quite frankly, should rethink her career choice because ghosts and haunted places? They’re SCARY, okay? That’s kind of the point. THINK about it. I’m only saying.

But I digress.

Before I could use this moment as a Teaching Opportunity (I think we’ve established my inherent geekiness, so shut it), I heard giggles. A smothered chuckle. Then, “Well, not literally,” my 13-year-old son drawled.

“I know, right?!” agreed my 11-year-old daughter in her I Scoff At Your Supreme Ignorance voice.

My 10-year-old daughter, perhaps for my benefit, added scornfully, “Because she’s still ALIVE?!” She turned toward me. “Right, Momma?”

Struck as I was by the astonishing degree to which my English Geekiness has rubbed off on my kiddos, I could only nod. She, apparently assured by my arrested expression that she had indeed got the joke, turned back toward the TV.

I couldn’t contain a small snort of laughter and a rueful shake of the head as it struck me that, by golly, my mother’s curse? Totally upon me. And you know what?

I’m not even a little sorry.

That said, Angel Cohen over at Television Without Pity gives a compelling argument for why Chuck, a show on the bubble, should be renewed for a third season. And c’mon! This is Television Without Pity! As in “Spare the Snark, Spoil the Networks”! That is totally their motto! So there you go.

Wait. What does “on the bubble” mean? Well, I will tell you. No need to be pushy, there, hotshot. GOSH. See, a show that is “on the bubble” is a show that does a’ight for itself, but it hasn’t gotten the green light yet on a pick-up for next year, meaning that the outlook is, shall we say… uncertain. Like, the Chuck bubble o’ goodness could burst at any time! POP! Get it? Get it? Bubble? BURST? Because the show gets CANCELED? Which, BTW, would totally blow.

Oooh, pun SNAP!

So I have to concur with all the kudos for the well-written storylines (with adequate suspension of disbelief, naturally), the fabulous and quirky cast, the will-they-won’t-they angst of Chuck and Sarah’s relationship, the gruntiness of Special Agent Casey, the sweet bromance between Chuck and Morgan, and the pop-culture fun woven into every episode of Chuck. Oh, and Jeffster. Can’t forget the Jeffster! I mean, any show that can seamlessly weave “Africa” by Toto into an episode is aces in my book. Aces!

And does it need to be said that Zachary Levi (AKA: Chuck) is totally Nerdalicious? Because I will totally say it if it needs to be said. I will. Don’t think I won’t because you would be so wrong. He is Nerd-a-licious. And Yvonne Strahovski as Sarah? Come ON. Plus, we get to see Captain Awesome shirtless in practically every episode, which, AWESOME?!

I’m not going to lie.  Despite my best efforts to harden my heart, I will be genuinely crushed if they cancel Chuck, my favoritest show on TV.

Okay, as my choices of foreign punctuation are limited on my iPhone… Ich werde Deutsch jetzt sprechen! Or something!

Darn. My choices of conversational German phrases are even more limited than my iPhone’s foreign punctuation options, so FINE. I will stick with stupid English for now. Under protest! Because it’s STUPID.

I had a point earlier. I’d better start anew.

Oh! Yes. With the afreshness of blogging. Blog Skillz 101. I’m so totally focused now. See, I’m out of practice. You know, with the blogging? It used to be that I would see something, or hear a noise, or eat a yummy pastry of some sort, and BOOM! Blog idea! But the blogging senses? When they are neglected? Underused? Cast aside, if you will? They get rusty.

I know, right?! I totally thought it would be like riding a bike, you know? Just hop back on and pedal like crazy, and VROOOM! Off you go! A blur of blonde pigtails and pink pedal pushers, with sparkly iridescent ribbons dancing in the sunlight as they stream from the handlebars…

You know, like that.

But NO. It has to be DIFFICULT. Like, what do I write about? Why aren’t those moments jumping out at me? The blog moments? The ones that practically scream, “Blog me! Good LORD, what are you waiting for?!” and I’m like, “Okay! I will! Shut up now!” and they are all, “Fine!” and I’m like, “Fine!” and then we kiss and make up because, honestly, it’s silly to fight with those moments because they are only trying to HELP.

So I am going to have to consciously LOOK for those moments and practice BLOG writing (as opposed to the OTHER type of writing I do all day long, which, incidentally, is one of the main factors contributing to my blogging slackage… just so’s you know).

So, yeah. Basic Blog Skillz 101. If anyone has any suggestions for curriculum, please let me know. Except if you’re going to say AI recaps because WE ARE NOT SPEAKING. And I don’t have cable, but that is secondary to the We Broke Up thing. I might be amenable to Chuck recaps, though, because DUDE. The TWoP Chuck recaps? Suck. I know, right? It’s a major disappointment in my life. Right up there with the fact that I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier. AND I didn’t get accepted into the Evil League of Evil. HUGE disappointment there, obviously.

But I’ve registered for the class and I’m a totally quick study– and a bit of a kiss-ass, truth be told– so I should be fine! It should be fine.

Right?

So… when I say walk away from it all, I mean the web. The Blogosphere. To simply drift away from the Twitter and the Facebook. To walk away from the vidcast and the blog. It’s been a good run! Who knew back in 2004 that I would still be here, here in the Blogosphere, writing and filming and friending and tweeting? Who knew? Certainly not I. I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into, what I would learn and become, and sometimes… well, it feels like too much. See, I’ve gone and developed Expectations. And with Expectations comes Self Doubt. Envy. That big meanie, Judgy McJudgerpants. And I start to wonder stuff. Like, “Oh NO. What if I run fresh out of pithy thoughts? What if suddenly I’m pithyless? What then?” That is exactly the moment when I get the naggy, achy feeling, and there’s a part of me that wants to slip away. To go gentle into that good night.

And by “go gentle into that good night” I mean walk away. You know, from the web. Just to be clear. When I quote Dylan Thomas, I am speaking metaphorically. There is no need for intervention. ARE WE CLEAR?

I do understand that walking away from it all would be bittersweet. Bitter because I slightly neglected several well-loved hobbies to delve into the new ones, and where would that leave me if I turned away? But sweet, because I’ve made so many friends through all of it. See, this is why I am all about the milk chocolate. Bittersweet chocolate blows. Michael Scott had it right. “Why not just sweet? I mean, who are you helping?” And that’s what I keep asking myself. Who am I helping? Me? Who? And does it matter? Does it? With the gajillion bloggers out there, will anyone even notice if I fade away? I don’t know! But truthfully, I can’t help but think it hugely presumptuous of me to think anyone will. Notice, that is. Because, bold much? Honestly.

If I’m going to power through the Self Doubt and the Envy, and push aside the antics of one Mr. Judgy McJudgerpants, if I plan to rage, rage against the dying of the light, I guess I feel as if it should be worth it. I don’t want to be taken in again, as with American Idol, who strung me along for years and years before finally revealing itself as a sham and a liar and a time-suck of epic proportions! I should have learned after the Ruben-Clay fiasco of ’03, but no. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that relationship and where did it get me?! Huh?! Nowhere, bucko, that’s where! And I can’t get all those late-night hours spent dialing and voting and recapping BACK, no sir! That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to look back and be all, “Dude. Why did I hang on to that relationship with the web for so long? Good LORD. What was I THINKING?”

You see?

It’s a conundrum, I tell you what. And by “conundrum” I mean… conundrum. Just so we’re clear.

In other news, I am occasionally melodramatic and strange.

Because DUDE. Nathan Fillion is HI-larious (AND better than Neil) which is an inside joke if you are cool and have already memorized the lyrics of Commentary!: The Musical which is brilliant and funny and interesting and ultimately educational. Because of that bit about some writers’ strike that supposedly went on last year? I mean, who knew?! Also, when the writers asked Joss Whedon where he got the idea for the musical and he responded all gloom-and-doomy, “It came from PAIN…” and they were like, “Let’s not talk to Joss! He’s sad and confusing!” I just laughed and laughed! I had a coughing fit! From the laughter! Exacerbated by the tonsillitis and laryngitis, sure… but mostly I coughed from the laughter. It was gross. There was phlegm involved. It was a whole mucousy thing. I called my doctor.

Also most amusing for those in the online-video-world know, was Felicia Day‘s fanatical promotion of her series The Guild, the web series juggernaut with “dozens of loyal fans! baker’s dozens!…they come in thirteens,” (as Felicia sang in one of her songs), which I have spoken about before because I am IN the know. And then Felicia Day COMMENTED on my SITE so we are obviously almost BFFs now and I will probably have a lead role in Season 3… DANGIT! Lost my train of thought. It’s NOT about me, it’s about Commentary: The Musical! GOSH! So… Felicia Day… The Guild… ah, yes, the running joke of her shilling for The Guild on “someone else’s dime” that she manages to work into the lyrics of one of her songs. And just as everyone is telling her, “No one CARES, Fel-iii-ciiiaaa!” she quickly adds “CatchGuildFever!” before being cut off.

Oh. I could go on and on. I’d probably embarrass myself or something though, so I’ll just rein it in. Call it good. Be done with it. So… it is good, y’all. So, so good. Totally worth your money. Buy it today. Or not. I really don’t care. I don’t even get a $10 solo out of this post, so whatever. Do what you want. (Commentary!: The Musical. Tell your friends.)

And now I must rest. My head feels bobble-heady and my throat is achey. From the laughing. And from the tonsillitis and laryngitis, but mostly from the laughing.

That is all.

Break it down and behold!

Commentary!: The Musical

1. Commentary!
2. Strike!
3. Ten Dollar Solo — this one contains my new favorite lyric, “Suck it! I gave him 15!” from whence came my title.
4. I’m Better Than Neil
5. I Mean Art
6. I Don’t Do Songs
7. Nobody Wants to Be Moist
8. Ninja Ropes
9. It’s All About Me
10. Nobody’s Asian
11. Pick, Pick, Pick
12. Neil’s Turn
13. Commentary! Reprise
14. Steve’s Song

In response to Dorey’s unbelievably harsh “Have I ever done anything to give you the impression I wanted to marry you?” speech– which, Dorey, have you met Dylan McDermott?! Good LORD, woman! Are you INSANE?! He has, like, the DREAMIEST EYES ever! And the HAIR?! Hello?!– Allison turned to me, her misty eyes glittering behind her glasses.

“What?!” she cried. “She DID give him the impression she wanted to marry him! She DID! I mean, she kissed him”– she paused for emphasis– “ON! THE! LIPS! Like, mmmwah, mwahmm!”– here she made out with her hand a bit, which was a little disconcerting, let me tell you– “and she held his HAND, and… and… she went on a DATE with him!” She threw her arms in the air, obviously disgusted with Dorey’s loose moral standards. “Right, Momma? Right?!” she asked– rhetorically, I hope, because I was too busy trying not to giggle to answer– then she folded her arms across her chest with a little “hmmph!” and turned back to the movie.

Granted, the Dorey character does lose a little in translation, making this scene even harder to take, because, again, woman, do you not see the DREAMY EYES?! Come on! Plus, a single mom– not a widow, but a *gasp* divorcee!– trying to make it in the 1940′s business world was playing in an entirely different ballgame than today’s single working mom. Where Maureen O’Hara’s Doris was sympathetic as a realist trying to raise her daughter to accept the hard facts of life that would have been relevant to a single working mom at that time, modern Dorey’s mopeyness and glacial heart made me think, “Dude, a little Lexapro would be a Miracle on 34th Street for THAT lady, I tell you what.”

So, for a second I wasn’t sure if I should explain to my nine-year-old daughter that, in all honesty, smooching and hand-holding and dating aren’t quite the binding evidence of True Love she apparently thinks them to be, so TECHNICALLY the spurned luvah’s proposal was both arrogant and presumptuous (but, dreamy eyes?!), or if I should just let it go.

“I know, right?” I agreed, folding my arms across my chest in solidarity and cross disapproval. “Shocking.”

*ahem* I’m totally cool and collected and not out-of-control-excited AT ALL.

So… yes. The Evil League of Evil is finally accepting applications. Right? DUDE. I’m only saying!

Naturally I have had my application at the ready for MONTHS, so my “Horrible Evil Sidekick” video is up and Super Evil Chassy is ready to kick boo-TAY and take names and… other horrible, water-related evil stuff!

Thanks to Charlotte and Sue and my friend Jen for the heads-up. Apparently, my Dr. Horrible Newsletter announcing the opening with the ELE got lost in the email or something! Yo! What up, Dr. H?!

The following is my official application to the Evil League of Evil. I think it’s pretty solid this year.

Dear Evil League of Evil:

Here’s my application! I ain’t no stinkin’ henchman!

FYI: I can help with any kind of water-related evil. You know, with the evil goggles of watery evilness and whatnot? Water boarding, Chinese water torture, synchronized swimming… the works.

Hmmm… Was that too braggy?

In any event:

That’s it. Fingers crossed.

Little J getting what she deserves for daring to cross Queen Bee? QUEEN FREAKING BEE?! Super awesome.

Vanessa getting what she deserves for… well, just being totally annoying, not to mention wearing children’s art supplies as accessories and sporting the weed-WACK ‘do? All is right in the Gossip Girl World.

But Dan? Self-righteously and undeservedly lashing out at Serena? And essentially calling her a spoiled rich slut? One too many times, I might add? And telling her to own up to it? And totally unleashing the righteous fury of a Queen S scorned?! And getting the public humiliation smackdown his tortured, I’m-So-Misunderstood-and-Poor-and-Blah-Blah-Self-Righteous-Blahdy-Blah self so richly deserves?! From the newly reborn Serena who is now the scariest freaking badass ever?!

So! Freaking! AWESOME! You go, Badass Serena. But go easy on Blair, mm’kay? She’s had it rough, with her Lord totally doing it with his stepmom and all.

Oh, how I’ve missed you, oh television goodness. Promise to NEVER go away again.

That being said, when one does not want to venture too far from one’s… er, bedroom for fear of not being close enough to one’s… um, bedroom when it is necessary to USE said… okay, BATHROOM, fine! are you HAPPY?! GROSS!… then it should come as no surprise to me that I have finally given in to the machinations of fate which have been conspiring against me for years to further my already massive pop culture repertoire by finally giving in to the wily ways of those rascally kids from the O.C. And yet, here I am… surprised! Because did you HEAR me?! The O.C., people! Honestly! I never thought this day would come! I mean, I avoided this show for YEARS! Marissa Cooper who? Seth Cohen what? Summer who freaking cares? Ryan… yum?

Damn you, Hulu.com! DAMN YOU to HELL!

And yet… THANK YOU. Because hello? With the awesomeness?

I blame the illness. It’s the only explanation. I’m delirious. Right? RIGHT?! GAH!

Okay. So… anyone know when they are planning to post Season 2?

Anyone?

Great. Now I have thoughts.

Speaking of Dr. Horrible, if you haven’t seen Felicia “Penny” Day’s webisode series “The Guild” yet, you should totally check it out! (What? I wasn’t speaking of Dr. Horrible? Well, there’s a mad crazy switch.) It won the 2007 YouTube Video Award and e’rything! I’m spreading the love because I think it is hilarious so I want to share AND because I absolutely ADORE being the one that points out fun, pop-culturally-relevant stuff to people. It makes me feel happy and important. Sometimes, even, I get tingles. Tingles in happy and important places. So, you’re welcome.

Also, I am very weird.

Well CHECK IT OUT! I’m FAMOUS! SIX people have VOTED for me! SIX! As of RIGHT now! And only ONE of those was ME! FOOYAH!

Dude, I’m saying. Wonderflonium.com ROCKS, yo? Solid.

So, yeah… feel free to click over and vote for Super Evil Chassy’s quite compelling argument for a spot in the Evil League of Evil as Dr. Horrible’s Sidekick. And while you’re at it, head on over to YouTube and spread the love. Joss Whedon, I mean Dr. Horrible, MUST pick me! MEEEE!

The Horrible Evil Sidekick gig will be mine. Oh, yes. It WILL be mine.

Now excuse me. I need to go call everyone I know.

SIX. Woo!

Or, you know, refrain from composing a song to Dr. Horrible…

Shut up! It’s a sickness! Enjoy.

(This is also posted at YouTube, so feel free to click over and give me some luuuuv… or a video response! Whatev.)

Teaser from Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog on Vimeo.

Okay, so I have now seen all three Acts, and DUDE. I have Thoughts. Of course, my thoughts would be considered spoilers to any and all Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog virgins, so be warned. DO. NOT. CLICK. Unless you want to be spoiled. For real. Clicking equals No-No. Unless you’ve seen the whole thing, in which case, come on doooooown! (In other words, click on the “read more” hyperlink below… if you dare. Mwah ha ha.)

Okay, so here’s the thing. I should have expected it. I really should have. I have watched enough Whedon to know that he is allergic to The Happy. And I have to admit, at first– at very first!– I was disappointed. There I was, be-bopping along to the music– honestly, how many of use weren’t sucked into the campy goodness that was Acts 1 and 2?– then BOOM. Hello to the pain.

See, dude bends genres. Yep. That’s what he does. Thinks outside the box. So I’m thinking “romantic comedy with a twist.” Joss, on the other hand, had other plans. I mean, I get it now… in the end, Penny HAD to die. She couldn’t be secretly evil and kill Captain Hammer herself. She couldn’t stop Dr. Horrible from killing Captain Hammer and live happily ever after with him. It couldn’t have ended any of those ways because everybody watching already thought those would be the perfect ending. They were predictable. And the obvious ain’t how Whedon rolls, yo?

Still… right at the end there… who was waiting for Penny to shout out, “Billy! NO! Don’t do it!” as the music swelled? Who was sure that Dr. Horrible would realize he could be plain old Billy Buddy with the love of a good woman? Huh? Who?

*raises hand*

Stupid, I know. Of course, I realize now that what I was watching wasn’t a romantic comedy with a twist. Not at all. The story went from campy to heavy in less than 45 minutes because what I was watching was actually an origin story for a super villain. A super villain wannabe who loved a genuinely good-hearted girl who believed the world could be a beautiful place if you just had hope… and then she dies, and it’s Dr. Horrible’s fault (albeit inadvertently), and her last words cut him to the quick, extinguish all hope in his heart: “Don’t worry… Captain Hammer will save us.”

So Dr. Horrible really did end up in the Evil League of Evil. With Bad Horse, the Thoroughbred of Sin. And that? I was not expecting.

And that is why I love Joss Whedon.

Okay, I fully admit I had NO IDEA that Joss Whedon had gone live with his latest project (bad Joss Whedon fan! BAD!), Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, a three-episode internet musical starring the super awesome Neil Patrick Harris as a blogging, low-rent super villain named Dr. Horrible, who longs to gain entrance into the Evil League of Evil and talk to the pretty girl at the laundromat. Seriously. No clue.

But he did.

And I had NO IDEA that if I decided to watch said super villain internet musical while, say, riding the Metro into work this morning, there would be the possibility that I might, perhaps, nearly bust a gut laughing and freak out the very nice-seeming gentleman in the army uniform sitting next to me, who might then, maybe, swiftly move across the car from me and stealthily watch me for signs of The Crazy, fully intent on taking me DOWN if need be.

But I did.

But, c’mon. By the time Captain Hammer (played by the super awesome Nathan Fillion) jumped atop the wonderflonium-filled courier van that had been hijacked by Dr. Horrible’s Horrible Van Remote application on his iPhone, I was gone. I mean, a blogging, singing super villain?! With an iPhone?! Loaded with applications of super villain evil?! How genius is that?!

Hey. You know who’s an evil genius? Joss Whedon, that’s who! Honestly. What I wouldn’t give to work with that man!

Well, probably not my first born. Or my soul. Or, you know, anything remotely dear to me. But still! I would so love to hang with the man for a day. Pick his brain. Learn his process. See how he does it. Check for signs of soul-sellage, what with his evil genius and all. Maybe take him out for a beverage of some sort. You know, geeky stuff.

Enough with the sharing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to watch Act I, Episode I again while, perhaps, this time singing along. Because it’s Dr. Horrible’s SING-ALONG Blog, that’s why! Sheesh. Keep up.

As you were.

In any event, I thought I would share. Or, rather, re-share. Share again? Whatev. You know what I’m saying.

_______________________________

I have no desire to be enigmatic.

But it is a scary place, my mind. Crowded with jumbled imagery and intricate stories and trivial pop culture references, with nowhere to go. All of the craziness shuffles and scuffles to be forefront in my mind, to be most important. To be first. “Let me out!” it all screams, because it has to go somewhere, right?

Sometimes, when I read a book or I see a movie, I catch the mood of the piece, and I cannot shake it. I am there, and woe unto any who try to break in, to find me. I am in it, and only I can find my way back out. I am not even sure if that makes sense, but it is most definitely the case.

I mean, I know other people can read a book and put it down. Me? I read the fifth Harry Potter book in one night. ONE NIGHT! That freaking book is over 800 pages long! Honestly. It can take me literally hours to stop worrying about the characters in which I have invested my time. I feel their pain, their joy, their despair, their triumphs. If the book is particularly well-done, if the characters are alive, if the mood is fully realized, then it can take me hours to stop feeling the book. To let go of it.

Other people can watch a particularly riveting television show or movie and walk away thinking, “Huh. Good show! What’s for dinner?” Me? I become emotionally invested in the characters. I will obsess about their lives and the “what if’s” for days on end. Weeks, even. Now do not misunderstand. This is not to say I cannot separate the fictional characters from reality. No worries. I absolutely can. What I cannot do, not right away, anyway, is to stop thinking about their stories. Taking them in new directions. I will spend hours weaving new stories for them. Sometimes I even dream new stories. But Leonardo da Vinci said, The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake. Dude was a wise Renaissance man, yo?

Which leads me to this: when I write stories? Oh BOY. I am SO living them. And it is so exciting! I get to be someone else! Well, for a little while, anyway. I become Goddess of the Story Universe! Bow to me! Then, inevitably, my characters begin growing and acting out in ways I had not intended, and I just get to go with it, and it is GOOD. Of course, I think this is why I enjoy happy ending so much, formulaic cliche be damned. I need them, or I am lost. Then again, my endings are not always happy. And I absolutely hate that, because I ache for my characters. But I love it, too.

For a long time I thought this craziness had a name. I HAD to give it a name. I was surely bipolar. Manically depressed. Obviously. It was the only explanation for the mood swings, the black days, the deep-rooted dark despair that settled into my mind and would not let go. Right? And what sane, happy person loses herself in television and books? Huh? Normal people with three beautiful kids and TGIM don’t act this way, right? Am I RIGHT?! I hated my career choice, my living situation, my life, and I could not shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly WRONG with me, because everyone I knew insisted I should be happy, that I should be thankful, that I should just STOP wallowing and get on with living. And I wanted to. I WANTED TO. But I was stuck. So I turned to the happy pills. But the drugs? They did not help. Dispassionateness, for me, was not a cure. It was a bandage.

“You are just like my ex-husband,” my sister said to me. “You can be anything you want to be. Anything but happy.”

Oh, no she DIDN’T.

So I ripped it off that bandage. And I made CHANGES.

I found a job writing and quit my teaching job. I packed up and moved all the way across the United States, not sure when and if TGIM would follow, but sure it was the right thing to do. I began expressing the jumbled imagery, intricate ideas, and trivial pop culture references swirling about in my mind through the magical world of blogging. I made new friends. I discovered the words “job satisfaction” were not mutually exclusive. I pulled myself out of the rut of complacency and fear in which I was trapped and made some personally earth-shattering decisions regarding what I wanted out of life. And, yes, I hurt TGIM and others close to me in the process and, yes, almost lost everything. I know that. I OWN that. But these days? I’m starting to feel as if despite the excruciating pain I caused myself and others, I have gained everything.

TGIM thinks this is The Crazy in me. Sometimes he loves me for it, sometimes… not so much. Me? I am starting to believe The Crazy is simply the artistic temperament in me. And, slowly, oh so slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it, to hone it, to bend it to my infinite megalomaniacal will, mwah ha ha ha!…

Sorry.

The other day I stumbled across a quote by Edvard Munch, the artist formerly known as the man who painted The Scream. Okay, he is still known as that, I just like the allusion to Prince. Because Prince ROCKS. Anywhos, Munch wrote of the experience he had which triggered the creation of this masterpiece:

I was out walking with two friends – the sun began to set – suddenly the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence – there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city – my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed an endless scream passing through nature.

As I read this I realized, hey, sometimes I sense that Endless Scream, too. I hear it! I KNOW it. And, slowly, I am learning to embrace it. I am learning how to USE it. I know, I know. Inscrutable, much? Talk to my family. But, then again, if I did not see the world this way, if I did not feel the world this way, how could I write? And writing? Makes me feel complete. Utterly, dizzyingly complete.

Well, writing, and a big ol’ cinnamon cake donut. Yummmmmm.

Take that, big sister. I CAN be happy.

Nothing perks an injured gal up more than an email from her friendly neighborhood Sheriff Lamb (AKA: Michael Muhney of Veronica Mars fame)! Of course, until a few days ago I thought the email from Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, was simply the product of my Percocet-induced loopy-doopy mind, but NO! He really WROTE to me! Out of the BLUE! Because he’s AWESOME! I mean, he wrote to me while dandling his newborn baby on his KNEE! And I can’t believe I just used the word “DANDLING”! Because who SAYS that?!

Of course, the contents of said email are private and close to my heart, so BACK OFF.

Anyway, now I’m feeling a bit nostalgic, so I thought I would re-post my interview –okay, FINE, Paige was there, too, but whatever– with the most awesome Michael Muhney, who is obviously, like, my BFF now, right? Right? Oh, BTW, Paige, Sheriff Lamb, I mean Michael Muhney, says, “Hi.” But whatever. He still likes me best. Clearly.

**Aside to My BFF, Michael Muhney, Intended to Display My Self-Importance: Michael Muhney, you know I think you rock. And since you apparently know Joss FREAKING Whedon (squeeee!) well enough to have actual conversations with him… *just breathe… breathe…*… well, here’s hoping he realizes how rockin’ you are, too. **

Man. I don’t remember the video being THAT long. But still? AWESOME!

Also, don’t forget to check out my — I mean, OUR (my bad, Paige!)– special tribute to Sheriff Lamb, lovingly produced after his life was cut tragically short by the almighty crack of a baseball bat to the head.

So, apparently the Surprisingly Essential First Page contest judges have not watched enough American Idol to learn how to go about informing the public about the contestants’ elimination from a public contest. Right? All I’m saying is they obviously don’t have an appreciation for how awesomely the judges and my wee Ryan bring the UN!COMFORTABLE! to the elimination process. Like the time– during the Best. Results Show. EVER.– when my Ry-Ry was all “Chrisyouaregoinghometonight.” And Chris Daughtry was like, “What in the which where? WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?!” and Kat McPhee was trying to do the Snoopy Dance of Joy and cry at the same time, and Taylor Hicks (soooooulpatrooool) and Elliott Yamin were like “Yes!” (*fist pump*) “Wow, sorry, dude”? And Chris was pissed– like, seriously, he looked like he wanted to reach through the television and kill me dead– but it was just so AWESOME?! And now they use Chris’s song as the farewell (AKA: See Ya, Wouldn’t Wanna Be Ya) song and he is totally kicking ass with his very own band which he named after his very own self so it all worked out in the end? You know?

Because, honestly… how fun was THIS?! No fun at ALL, that’s how fun! We put ourselves out there, lay it all on the line, and what do we get? Nothing! A big ZIP. Nada. Zilch. ZIPPO. What about the bottom three? And the agony of staying in the bottom three until “after the break”? And where was the anxiety? The tears? The almost unbearable stress? The gratuitous “You look great tonight” and “You moved me”? The thinly veiled homophobic posturing? HUH?! Seriously. I’m saying.

But I have to give the judges their props, yo? 675 entries? Hey, I mean, Simon, Paula, and Randy get a gagillion contestants or whatever, so they could be all like, “Oooh, ‘wah!’ 675 entries? Bitch, please.” But there’s THREE of them– not just two, right?– so there you go.

But whatever. I’m not discouraged. No worries. As God is my witness, if Chris Daughtry can headline his own personal shouty band, I can get myself published.

So it’s all good.

Cat, OUT.

Man. I love validation. What can I say? I’m needy like that.

So to practice setting up bins and entering in and out points I decided to make a sort of faux-promo for CBS’s fall sleeper hit Moonlight, my most favoritest underdog show of the season. Admittedly, I intitially watched out of love for all things Jason Dohring (Team Logan!)– and truthfully, I was not initially impressed, but I powered through (Team Logan!)– and I have to admit, by episode 4, “Fever”… yeah, it was all about Alex O’Laughlin. Oh, yes it was.

See, he’s my new TV boyfriend. He does this thing with his eyebrow…

But that is neither here nor there! (I was just saying.) The show–which is rooted in a sort of modern-day noir–continues to improve exponentially from week to week, and my favorite aspect is that there aren’t any demons or magic or curses… just Mick St. John, a P.I. in L.A. who is out there solving cases, kicking bad-guy ass, dealing with his issues, and, oh yeah, who just happens to be a vampire.

Right, then. There are no bells and whistles here, no awesome effects or transitions, just clips from the show set to a wicked good song: Ecstasy by Black Lab. So… enjoy! Or not. Whatevah.