I Heart Pacey Whitter

Could be good this time, although I'm sure that's been said before...

-Mornings are a difficult time for me. There have been several stages of my life where I lived in perpetual fear that rising before noon would mean my inevitable transformation into dust. I’ve tried coffee, cold showers, hot showers, exercising (huge failure there!), eating immediately, random snooze alarm patterns… all have met with failure.

But all is not lost; I’ve found something that reaches deep within me and strikes a chord that reverberates through out my soul. And I’m not proud of this, but:
On channel 65, at 9 and 10am, Dawson’s Creek is on. Now many are aware of my affinity for Felicity (read: Ben on Felicity) but the WB managed to create another angst-ridden-highschool/college gem for me, in the midst of that golden era in the mid to late 90’s.


*I literally have this DVD in my backpack right now. Yesterday I carted around a picture of a girl, today it's Season One. Admittedly, it's a slow winter...

“The Creek” opens with a song that cleverly sings, over and over, do-do-do-do-doh, do-do-do-do-doh… And then some awful lyrics about a woman with a baby, in a war, being all wet, and something about “wearing shrapnel in his skin.” (I could be waaaaaay off here-sometimes my lyric interpretation can be just that). But either way, this show somehow pulls me out of my waking slumber and fills me with incredible hope for the future... And damn right-I don't want to wait! I want to know right now how will it be!!! (John, you were right all along about what an amazing show it is-I'm sorry man. I'm so sorry.)

Then there is the ride to school...

-So I ride this bus to campus in the morning which is comically (read: absurdly) called “Blue Bird.” Let me assure you, there is nothing blue or birdlike about this relic. A more appropriate title for the beast would be “Crimson Sloth.” And to add insult to injury, the lighting is usually awful, and I cringe often.



-Last night I suffered from one of my more severe laughing attacks (the likes of which are usually reserved for "dropping meatballs") during this production. My repeated outbursts wouldn't be so bad if not for the fact that the play was more of a drama than a comedy. I think... This guy had a fake hand and leg, and a glass eye--and was making weird noises while looking at a bomb, and then his coat touched my leg, and SOMEONE wasn't helping matters much...I literally had tears rolling down my face and was sweating terribly...meanwhile this tiny room is silently glaring at me...it was comedy at its finest (finest of course meaning mediocrity)...