Posted on Friday 30 November 2007

Why Don’t Ya Come Up and See Me Some Time, Federal Agent?
Hello lovelies! Was your Thanksgiving adequately gluttonous? I discovered a marvelous recipe for something called the Perfect Turkey (a Wild Turkey Manhattan with both sweet and dry vermouth), and it kicked off my holiday season just right. And here it is, the weekend all over again. I’m already feeling pretty festive, so I’m thinking I’ll probably don a fuzzy sweater, whip up a batch of nog, and stay in with the Grinch and Charlie Brown this weekend, if you know what I mean. But if you find yourself in a setting that requires more by way of repartee, here’s my take on the news of the week.
- Rumbles of hope emanated from Strike Land on Thursday when the producers presented the WGA negotiators with new terms that address, among other things, some of the issues with Internet royalties. The WGA asked to have until December 4 to mull it over. There are reports of cautious optimism, gleeful reticence, suspicious titillation and other not particularly informative feelings from Hollywood tonight. In a statement, a spokesperson for the American Motion Picture and Television Producers said, “The development of a new offer has surely caused everyone involved to be suffused with a particularly subtle brand of effusive evasiveness. Without a doubt, we are moving toward further action that could possibly result in consequences with either positive or negative results, depending on the tide, what we’ve all had for breakfast, and whether or not we’re having a good hair day.” In other words, this might be great news, or it might be nothing, and there is absolutely no way to tell.
- It’s November 28, 1999. I’m glued to the TV watching the Millennium crossover episode of The X-Files. I know, everybody knows, since the buzz has been coming hot and fast, that Mulder and Scully were finally going to score some hot lip-locking action. It wouldn’t be like the episode from the previous season where the smooch didn’t count because it took place in some kind of alternate reality on a boat. This would be for real, and all our lustful vicarious dreams would finally be realized. Except that they totally wussed out and just made it a stupid little midnight at New Year’s kiss that didn’t mean anything. Assholes. I’m not sure I ever forgave them. Fast forward seven years, 364 days. With just a hint of that former obsessive gleam in my eye, and the strange realization that I apparently have some kind of televised FBI agent fetish, I tuned in to see Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan play a little tonsil hockey on Bones. Sure, it wasn’t an X-Files level of anticipation, but I’ve watched the show since the beginning, and as unrepentant shipper, I was more than ready for some action. And you know what? Those Fox cretins fooled me again. This time they did it with a stupid little Christmas under the mistletoe kiss that didn’t mean anything. Welcome to Gullibleville, population me. But I’ve got to admit, while it wasn’t as hot as the pervert in me clearly desires, it wasn’t a bad kiss; there was even gum swapping. So maybe I squealed a little. And clapped my hands. And rewound it three times. I’m a fool for the FBI (Federal Bureau of Intimacy, natch.)





















For a hilarious and in-depth recap of this week’s episode, head over to my pal
“Burn Victim″
“Cougars”
“Back From Vacation”
“My Growing Pains”

