So last night was mostly a night of sloth. Talked to the folks, read a serious chunk of Wonder Boys, and then watched the pilot for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. See, SpikeTV finally remembered that it owns the rights to one of the best TV series ever. They've decided to celebrate this fact with a week-long marathon -- nine hours a day for five days.
Me TiVo, she cannae take ennymore, keptin!
I'm recording only my favorite episodes from the first two seasons (which is essentially what the marathon consists of) but this is very stupid of me, because after this week our pal Spike will be airing the entire series in order, one a day until the end of time. So I'm jumping ahead in a big way, and perhaps I shouldn't watch any of the marathon episodes, and should instead be a patient young woman and watch what they air in the weeks following. (Being careful, of course, to avoid the crappy episodes scattered liberally through the years.)
Or maybe I should go home tonight and watch the first mirror universe episode.
I like that notion quite a good deal more.
In celebration of the DS9 orgy that will soon be my life, I deleted my West Wing season pass. We had some good times, but I've seen the first four seasons in their entirity now, and have little interest in the fifth.
And last night... It was really something. To see those characters and those relationships again. The bad acting and hair and costumes washed right over me, and all of a sudden I was thirteen again, crouched beneath the TV in my parents' room, staring up in awe, hoping upon hope that this new series would be something that was all mine.
Thus was born a fangirl.
It's nice to have her back for a visit, now and again.