Scooter's not getting any jail time. Paris Hilton did more time than he for her
first trip to the pokey. She probably paid more in fines, too. Please, someone grow a pair and impeach Bush already?
*
I feel defeated by my apartment. Being the only one here for any significant time last week (one roommate
never being around, the other being elsewhere occupied and lodged), I figured I should just take out the garbages and such. I was in such a weary mood, I was perfectly resigned to a bunch of chores, so I did that and the dishes and scooping litters, and what not. I also changed the two lightbulbs that had been burnt out for a while in the hall and living room. I was a bit worried about putting in a 75 Watt bulb in the hallway, since the electrician who came a dog's age ago said I ought to use only 60W, but I figure we so rarely use that light, it'll be okay. I put the sole remaining 60W bulb in the living room fixture, then I settled in with a) painkillers for the headache, and b) soda (for much the same reason; caffeine withdrawal = not my friend) and treated myself to an episode of
Doctor Who.
The episode ended. The light bulb popped. The
new one. I just...I just wanted to cry. The wiring in this place
defeats me. When the electrician came, he indicated that what he thought was the root problem of us burning through light bulbs so quickly was that there was some heat-absorbing/resistant/insulating material missing from the fixture in the living room. He also said that because we were using 75W bulbs, they were getting hotter and thus popping faster. I switched to 60W bulbs and hoped that would be the end of it. Then this bulb popped no more than two months after the electrician came and I wondered. Then its replacement popped,
and I knew this wasn't fixed.
I called the building manager immediately instead of doing a run-around through the management company or the perfectly useless (for this purpose) super. He was very nice about it, but he wouldn't sit and take the call at 8 pm. So I have to call back tomorrow during business hours. I hung up, agreed to do so, and just collapsed, ready to bawl my eyes out for no reason other than I thought I'd made a bunch of progress on stuff tonight and one fucking light bulb utterly vanquished me.
Again.*
Doctor Who, by the by, was
dreadful. New York accents are
bad enough where you find them. Doing
bad New York accents should be a crime punishable by death. Plus "Daleks in Manhattan" really takes all the
mystery out of the episode, thanks. I'm usually jovially blind enough to the obvious that I never know what's going to happen in an episode of this show, but I spent the entire time wanting to smack the Doctor, Martha, and anyone else who spoke--mostly for their accents, but also because they were all so stupid. Episode is called "Daleks in Manhattan," and I'm supposed to have any suspense as to what creature the Doctor will--eventually, with much time lapsing--discover to be behind the recent shenanigans? Please. Concepts other than the not-surprise villain were okay, but the dialogue could cause a statue to roll its pupil-less eyes.
I made a plan, now that the third new season is over in the UK, to stretch out the season that I'm backlogged on so I don't spend all summer and fall waiting for Christmas like I did last year. I heard this season got really good towards the end, too, which is why I'm picking it up again and trying to slog through the crap to get there. But the crap is
so bad--"Love & Monsters" bad; "Fear Her" bad--that I don't think I'm going to have any difficulty taking my time with this. Which is amazing considering that I got through all of the second season in one and a half days. And the show is suffering for the utter lack of chemistry between the Doctor and Martha. Out of nowhere, random side heroine decides that she sees Martha making googly eyes at the Doctor. I think
Mickey made for more convincing googly eyeing, 'cause I sure ain't seen any of the like from Martha. Certainly
nothing like ANY OTHER SINGLE COMPANION I'VE EVER SEEN (including those from Classic
Who). She doesn't have visible emotions that I've seen. She smiles and goes, "ooh this is keen!" Or she doesn't. It shouldn't be that a pop-star-turned-actress can show this girl up, but she is no Billie Piper.
There was one thing to be salvaged from the travesty of that "I know you loooooooove him!" conversation though. Martha denies that the Doctor would ever be hers, and the random side heroine goes, "I shoulda realized: he's into musical theater, huh? What a waste."
Never let it be said those Brits can't be clever with a euphemism :)