I spent part of the morning over at latsyrk's place watching Terry Pratchett's The Hogfather on DVD. (It's a European DVD so I can't borrow it. Excellent production values and the voice of Death is WONDERFUL.)

It occurs to me that in my general lack of interest in vampires, I make an exception for Pratchett's. I like the Black Ribboners. And the ones in Carpe Jugulum interest me because they are such overweeningly self-satisfied prats, who get theirs thanks to Granny Weatherwax. (BEST supernatural character--except for Death--EVER.)

"You can't let an old lady go off by herself to face monsters!"
"Why should we care what happens to monsters?"

Heh.

Come to think of it, part of the reason I have a soft spot for werewolves is probably that in my mind they're all more or less Angua. Goodness knows I don't read urban fanstasies with werewolves in them, so any interest I have in them is in the werewolves who live inside my head. And, you know, turn up playing guitar in pictures where my red-eye reducer has failed...

Is there any way we can get some kind of restraining order that forbids Will Farrell and John C Reilly from making any more movies together, EVER? Because individually those guys are both funny. Together, they've already come up with Talledega Nights, the least funny comedy I have seen in years. And every time that ad for Step Brothers comes on TV I want to kill myself with a hammer.

It's not that I am too intellectual for the movie, either. Like Detritus I get progressively stupider as the weather gets hotter, as witnessed by the fact that CBC is running The Tudors this summer but during its time slot I prefer to be on Global watching Wipeout, easily the dumbest show on TV. I say that with love, mind you. I didn't think I would like it because I don't dig shows where people get hurt, especially not when I am in chronic pain myself. But the obstacle courses in Wipeout are heavily padded, everyone wears protective gear and falls into water, and last Tuesday one of the obstacles involved trying not to fall into a pit of bubbles by running in a wetsuit and flippers along a treadmill littered with inflatable pool-toy animals. I laughed until I nearly herniated another disc. It's like the whole thing was devised by third-graders after too many bowls of Cocoa Puffs. That's some good TV, there!