through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered . . .

I felt like iconning, so I sorted through the exceedingly random collection of images I have and made a few icons. Have them! Nothing special here, just cropping and bordering and the occasional smidgen of text, so no need to credit. And thanks to foozled_up for keeping me from just chucking my computer right out the window when PhotoShop wasn't playing nice.

( a bit of the Tigers, Torchwood, Gossip Girl, Sarah Jane Adventures, Doctor Who, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and technically Supernatural. Eleven total. )

HELP. I'm doing this CD-ROM thing for my Spanish lab (by which I mean "I'm mostly ignoring it like usual because all it does is drive me insane") and the video clip I just watched features a guy who looks like the lovechild of Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Javier Bardem. Which, since those two pretty much ARE each other (check out my icon; that is, in fact, Javier, not Jeff, getting sexed by Josh Brolin), is extra trippy. I really wish I could screencap this shit for you guys.

So . . . it's not wrong to start laughing during yet another Jeffrey Dean Morgan death scene because freaking Snow Patrol kicked in, is it? Because HAHAHAHA oh man. That storyline went down the tubes in a hurry.

The good news is, I only have the episode with Meredith's near-death experience left and then I am done with Grey's Anatomy. Sorry if you're a fan, but oh my god. A little drama goes a LONG WAY. Piling on the drama just makes me laugh, and killing off the heart patient with a random stroke after a successful transplant, which I cannot believe I just typed, and then cuing up "Chasing Cars" is an extremely hilarious way to kick off my birthday. Thanks, Grey's Anatomy!

And I am thinking that Izzie dodged a bullet here, because holy shit, if Denny's that pushy when he's near death, imagine how would have been healthy.

Reasons to see PS I Love You:

* Blithe subversion of an expected cliché at the end. It was great. I laughed.

* Excellent use of - of all the bands you'd expect in a romantic comedy! - Flogging Molly.

* Jeffrey Dean Morgan. With an Irish accent. Getting naked for the camera. I am reconsidering the "probably wouldn't sleep with him" thing. I mean, as if his voice wasn't sexy enough. I about spontaneously combusted.

Reasons not to see PS I Love You:

* If you don't like crying in a theatre. Because you will. Yes, even you.

* It is slowly paced and a good twenty minutes too long.

* Not enough of Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Though at least he doesn't die.

. . . yeah, I've got it bad.

Anyway. I liked the movie well enough and didn't feel like the vast, vast amounts of screentime not containing Jeffrey Dean Morgan were a waste of time. Coming from me, a staunch disliker of the romance genre, that is high praise indeed. There was good stuff in it, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ending, but I have a feeling that in a week I'm not going to remember much of it except the accent and the ass shot. And the guitar. Mrf.

Yay, my internet is working!

I hadn't bothered to try it, since the modem was doing the weird flashy things with the lights that it was doing before, but the wireless I was poaching crapped out, so I figured it was worth a shot, and - once I reset it and it was connected to my computer, it worked. Oops. I wonder how long I was stealing wireless unnecessarily. Ah, well. I'd feel stupid and vaguely guilty, but I just can't feel badly for people who don't password protect their wireless. It's like leaving the door hanging open with your expensive electronics in clear view. Darwinism in its more subtle, no-one-actually-dies form. If anyone reading this has wireless? Lock it down. Otherwise, you are wide open to the opportunists who will happily take advantage of you.

I must now return to the episode of Sliders with Jeffrey Dean Morgan that serendipitously showed up on my flist just as I was starting to wonder how to catch up on the career of an actor who's mostly been working in television. The character is evil and thuggish and in black leather, guys. Every time I think I've got my sexuality figured out (in its current incarnation: guys are pretty to look at, but I would rather touch the girls), someone like Jeffrey Dean Morgan shows up to confuse me all over again. I don't think I'd sleep with him, though. Just, you know, stare at him and listen to him talk with that growly voice of his and go into a happy trance.

. . . and thus endeth the paragraph of More Than You Probably Wanted to Know.