In Monday's jarring light, I see my Saturday post is not quite the intended nuanced essay on how some science fiction and fantasy films and television series are really fables for adults, not children, and their marketers should not shy away from their intention and proudly sell them as such. And I didn't quite do justice to Mr. Eros's smart post about DP and its connection to adult "fairy tales" and much-needed escapism, for lack of a better word right now.
Anyway, dropping in to say that the cable company finally fessed up about the on-and-off service interruptions since monsoon Sunday; they'll be digging up a pole and the fiberopticwhatever around it up the street come Wednesday. So getting this post in before that deal goes down. I'll try to polish a couple of tag-filler posts that have been languishing in this blog's draft ghetto, but not sure if they'll ever be ready for prime time. The cable mess should take till next Sunday or Monday to clean up, per the Road Runner drone, but I'm not holding my breath. So I'll post before that only if a cable service miracle happens and service is back up before that, or if I can make quality time with the laptop at Starbucks -- and if the homeless regulars panhandling for latte change will let me.
In the meantime, feast your eyes on -- or turn away from -- a beautiful trainwreck called Till in an epic moment of turning on many a straight man fan in spite of themselves:
Just look at some of the facial expressions of the men in the audience. When I watched this played at a party, I'll never forget the hardcore kitty-loving jock who drunkenly blurted out: "FUCK, if I go to prison I'm HIS BITCH!" And then the look of terror as he looked around to see if anyone heard him above the blasting sound system.