I know I'm really late to the bandwagon on this Dexter phenomenon, so maybe the rest of you can help me out on this. If I need to stop the DVD after every episode before the end credits music rolls and that creepy string part comes in... If watching the first season finale tonight got my heart rate up more noticeably than my 30 minutes on the elliptical earlier today... Basically, if I am a big old 'fraidy cat who can't believe she even started watching an entire series about a serial killer... well, should I even queue up the remaining seasons in my Netflix list? Given some of the decisions I've made in my life (dating ones, in particular), clearly I am some kind of masochist, so perhaps now that I've started I may as well proceed. But season one wrapped up so nicely--a neatly contained story all on its own. Maybe that's enough? It probably gets better, but does it also get creepier? I live alone, you see. And there is no boy here at the moment in whose armpit I can bury my face (which is the only way I got through the final scenes of The Ring, mind you). So... I'm uncertain. Advice (sans spoilers, please), anyone?
Moving on to things that are too ridiculous to scare me, do you remember when I took a stab at writing a script for the Angry Alien 30-Second Bunny Theater production of Twilight? (Do you also remember that somebody was supposed to remind me to go look for that production in a couple months? No? Hrm. Then perhaps that's why I had to remember to look for it myself today!) Anyway, it is there now! Whee! And shockingly, my version is not so far off from their end result. Go ahead and go watch it. I'll wait.
Good stuff, no? Yes, friends, the Internet is filled with all manner of wonderful things. Also, all manner of frighteningly hideous and laughable things... like these pants, which have showed up in a sidebar ad beside my email at least five times in the past two days. I know that supposedly Gmail targets the ads its users see based on the content of their messages. I use Yahoo, however, which I can only hope and assume is not so meddling or advanced, because while I have typed the words "Roller skating always = fun" in an email recently, I am quite certain I've typed nothing along the lines of "let's all zip our shiny pants up to our sternum and party like it's 1978." Seriously, we may not all agree on much, but can we all agree the shiny, skin-tight, high-waist disco pant is a terrible idea? I thought so. Thank you. Ah, American Apparel. The great unifier in its absurdity. Naturally, I would expect nothing less from the people who brought us the return of hypercolor and the brilliant skirt-as-dress plan. (Note: If you're clicking through on that last link, go right ahead and skip to #2 of that post.)
To prove that I do still leave my house on occasion for entertainment that isn't displayed on a screen, I should tell you that I went to the Central library last night to hear David Plotz talk about his new book, Good Book, based on the Slate series he wrote detailing the "bizarre, hilarious, disturbing, marvelous, and inspiring things [he] learned when [he] read every single word of the Bible." OK, that Slate series was housed on a screen, of course, but Plotz's appearance at the library wasn't, so the first sentence of this paragraph still stands. I haven't actually read the related Blogging the Bible series, but I very much enjoyed Plotz's talk. And now I am curious to read the Book of Ruth, which is, apparently, like a subcompact Jane Austen novel, a perfect story that encapsulates everything that matters in life and yet can be read in ten minutes flat. I'm also curious just what sort of jabs Elijah made to have Plotz deem him the original insult comic. Plotz's experiment in general is an intriguing and tempting one, and maybe I should try it myself, but he also assured us that if we don't know the Bible very well, his book is a useful and entertaining substitute, so perhaps I'll just read his instead.
My library venture entertained me even before the main event got on stage, though. I seated myself directly behind and to the right of a quiet-looking, 30-ish nerd/hipster hybrid with short dark hair, a scruffy beard, and black-rimmed glasses. He scribbled something in his Moleskine, and a few minutes later, looked up and then shifted himself to let another library patron slide past him into the row. I looked at the two of them sitting on either side in front of me and had to stop myself from laughing out loud, wondering if either man realized they were, essentially, the exact same man. Short dark hair, scruffy beard, black-rimmed glasses. Charcoal pants. One in a muted-tone sweater, one in a similarly colored hoodie. Both jotting notes in tiny books. I surveyed the rest of the crowd. Quiet-looking, dark-haired, bespectacled men were everywhere. Not a one of them wearing a color more vibrant than maroon. A while ago, my friend Carrie wrote about searching for Cafe Boy. I didn't realize Library Lecture Boy was just as specific a type. Usually, he is even my type (minus the quiet part, I suppose, though in a library, quiet is to be expected, of course). In case you are wondering, though, no, I didn't actually talk to any of the Library Lecture Boys. It may have been a "kid in a candy store" sort of scenario, but this kid has a stomach ache, so I'm steering clear.