Godspell broke me. Within minutes. Not only had I apparently repressed the entire story but I’d also completely repressed just how bad the movie is. Even with judicious fastforwarding I believe I was only able to watch a total of 10 minutes before stuffing it back into the netflix envelope while uttering exorcism-worthy invocations.

Thanks to a reminder from the Bunny, I remembered to watch Threshold, which I didn’t think was too bad. I do hold it responsible for the incredibly vivid dreams I had of remarkably fastmoving, sword-wielding babies chasing me.

I don’t understand why TV critics are giving ABC’s Lost sole credit for spawning the spate of sci-fi shows this season. Lost may have provided evidence the shows are still viable, but I think the X-Files deserves a at least a small nod for proving marketability in the government conspiracy, alien-invasion, blue lighting and fog genre.

Godspell’s badness at least compelled me to turn off the TV and pick back up Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. The Bunny has wisely counselled me not to attempt a trip to the 9:30 Club on a Friday night while on crutches. (Have I mentioned the crutches a hundred times yet? I sprained my ankle – doing laundry. Seriously.) Consequently, Husband took his AstroKnotics bandmate to see Southern Culture on the Skids in my place. While I sat home.

*deep pathetic sigh*

OK, yeah, so it was my idea to stay home, but that’s not the point…