Perforated Lines (you can't resist 'em!)

 a lovely bungalow
-- Thursday, September 23, 1999 --



10:34 a.m./10:26 p.m. I had the best of intentions today. I've gotten part of my office back together and I wanted to check the scanner to make sure all the plugs were right, and let me tell you, if you want to have a happy life, get a Mac, folks. Get a Mac. Sturdy. Dependable. You just have to know who's boss.

Anyway, I'm not drinking coffee because I have an infection. Thus, I have no brain. I sat in front of the machine today and said, "Yeeup." Scanner tests out. Looked at some more pretty pictures -- and wandered off.

Painted several chairs and wandered back. I've taken to putting a piece of that pretty blue masking tape on my arm to remind me what I was going for when I got up, with difficulty because my back is aching ... but by the time I get into the next room I get distracted by a plant that needs trimming and watering, and then I fill a gallon jug of water at the sink, wondering really, what if Y2K really is as bad as people are predicting ... I use about 4 gallons every time I go around and water the flowers, and why is it that every single time I grab the full jug and take a step away from the sink, one drop of cold water always hits me slpat right on the top of my foot where it's tender and ticklish? Happens every time.

And why am I wearing this splotch of blue tape on my arm? O, I miss coffee. How many days until I wake up?


Had a great time watching the Thursday TV shows. The ladies on Friends are less scraggly than last year, and they must have hired a hair stylist. Or at least scrabbled around and found a comb. It's been sad watching them go from perfectly normal looking girls in the first season to muscled-armed starved haggy tightness. I know it's a hard job, but this season they look as if they know there's an end to it. They don't look as angry.

For the whole first year I thought the line in the song was, "It's like you're always sucking second beer," instead of "stuck in second gear." I thought second beer was some kind of cheap knockoff stuff.

Remember all the other ensemble casts? In their big moment in prime time they hated their jobs and made sure they told the interviewer how much. Then a year after the show is off the air, who will hire any of the people from thirty something? Or Northern Exposure? And commercials don't count.

And then there's Action, which I wish were broad, but which is somewhat true to life. I know a lot of these people, these caricatures. I know a screenwriter who actually wears a beret and a long scarf. I know that cold, cold smile, those hearty empty hugs.

I like to laugh, even when it hurts. I love to watch the superb physical comedy of Niles Crane, the lovely badinage of the old drawing-room comedy that is Frasier. Actually, the TV is still blaring away as I type, but I adamantly don't bother with the stupid true-life "dramas" that always have the one irritating robotic female who is never, ever wrong.

This character has done more to set back the cause of women than almost any other. Just as every sitcom has to have the woman who sounds like a helium-sucking rodent and the dumb guy who walks into walls, each and every action drama has to have the know-it-all (pretty) smart-talking (short skirt) fast-thinking (tight shirt) abrasive woman.

Every single show. If it's sci-fi, she shouts out the code, pulls off her helmet, and out tumbles her hair. If it's a courtroom, she slings out the summation, pulls off a pinstriped jacket, and out tumbles her breasts. If it's a hospital drama, she snips out the offending tumor, pulls off her scrubs, and ...

... except for Scully, who may not have invented the character, but who certainly can snap on the latex without any criticism from me. Love Scully. Really love Mulder.


Now, I know I came in here for a reason ... oh yeah ... to start a list for the Home Despot. I'm out of blue tape.

Tomorrow? Don't forget.


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