« Sex bomb! Sex bomb! You're a sex bomb! | Main | In summer they'd go southernmost »

Wednesday, April 04, 2001

No I don't listen to their wasted lines, got my eyes wide open and I see the signs.

Oh my! Spring has sprung and here's me still clinging to sweaters and a giant bepocketed parka. I've been away for months now, mulling over my Grand Unified Theory of Pop (I'm still working on it, all I know for sure is that it almost certainly involves Tracey Ullman, Cathy Dennis, S Club 7, a beryllium ion and a small glass tube filled with cyanide), touring across Greater Britain (photos available), and hatching a secret plan to make Popular an interesting show again.

In other WB related news, I spent nearly a week in catatonic hybernation after Cute Dean and Rory broke up; rocking back and forth with my knees clutched to my chest. The bf had to forcefeed me matzoh crackers to keep me from swallowing my tongue. What can I say? All my base are belong to Lorelei Gilmore.

Since the WB is currently in Rerunville, I have an estimated 2 weeks to get some work done on this site before the crises begin anew. On the off chance that anyone reads this, please know that I am going to take down the Popular pages (since I never finished putting them all up anyway, and they take up too much space) until I can find enough space for all the soundclips -- I actually DO have clips of the entire first season and I think those of us who fondly remember those halcyon days will eventually want to hear them. I also plan on blogging regularly again since the number of my internet correspondents has dwindled down to, oh, just about zero.

4th Mix DDR will soon be mine; Jeb is my new obsession; lunch is calling me from downstairs. Write me, I'm bored. Sayonara.

Posted at 03:17 PM

Comments

Post a comment

Name:


Email Address:


URL:


Enter Security Code Number:


Comments:


Remember info?