Okay, daytime TV has officially turned against me.

With a vengeance no less.

Exhibit A: Showtime, in its less than infinite wisdom, is airing a monstrosity of crap. Offensive to women and literature afficionados everywhere. A 2003 remake of Pride & Prejudice that does not include Colin Firth, Richard Armitage, or Laurence Olivier and is literally set in the now of stupid house parties and retarded roommates. Naturally, I recoiled in horror.

Continued my channel surfing with muttered invectives against the world today--I mean, I'm unemployed and any jackanapes who can skim can remake classics, what is the world coming to?!

And I stumbled onto Exhibit B with no warning.

Ever had a childhood movie that qualified as your worst nightmare? For some, it's Poltergeist. For me, it's ORCA. And it's on TNT today! Now! I nearly shrieked when I saw the title and the foamy bloody water as the 'killer' whale attacked a shark. Luckily it was only the beginning and not before the whale went on a vendetta. To this day, I would never ever live in one of those houses on slats on the shore. No way, not even if it's living with Richard Armitage and he promises to wear a cravat every day.

I'm afraid to see what's behind door number three.

Birth of a Blog

So for months now I've been fiddling with this dream of a blog--uniting my friends across the world into some utopic (like Faulkner, I may have just conjugated my own word) global community and posting pretty pretty pictures of myself for all to see. And yet, always always putting it off, waiting for that special occasion. (Ask me how long I've had a bottle of FREE champagne in my fridge and you'll understand my yen for that mythic special occasion.) But the wait is finally over. You may ask, pray tell, why today of days?

Well, it all started with a smudgy laser printer, a couple of copies, the ineptitude of man and machine, and a question. How are we doing at FedEx/Kinkos? Well FEK (Irish for fuck--tres appropos), you suck the big donkey. And now the internet knows. So there. Actually, I had rehearsed a longer rant on the drive home but behold the restorative powers of a mocha mint frappucino. The inarticulate rage may have well been a symptom of low blood sugar. Yogurt for lunch just ain't right.

I realize this is hardly an auspicious beginning. It's still a beginning--where's that bubbly?