Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Dark Shadows again

Sorry, but I haven't had the time to watch anything other than a few episodes of Dark Shadows. I've been busy terrorizing New York City. Needless to say, I love every single thing about Manhattan. It's a fantastic city, and I'm fantastic in it. Unfortunately, I do have one complaint. I am accustomed to a certain level of luxury and opulence, and I instructed my executive assistants to acquire lodging in the Upper East Side. They did find some lodging, however I did not double check the accommodations myself to insure accuracy. I shouldn't have to do these things. I don't pay my indentured servants a pittance just so I go around and do their work for them. I just don't pay them, and then I shove them down an open elevator shaft. So, I did not stay at the Hotel Plaza Athenee, or the Pierre, or the Sherry-Netherland like I usually do. I stayed at the Comfort Inn on the Upper West Side, like a filthy commoner, in a tiny room so small I flushed the toilet and knocked over a bedside lamp. Actually, I'm surprised there was a lamp, as the room was so sparse you would expect that the only illumination would come from a flaming oil-drum surrounded by hobos warming their cans of franks and beans. I might as well have just slept on an open grate or out in the wilderness, or as I like to call it, Central Park. I honestly don't know why they left all that ugly open scrubland right there in the middle of the city like that. They should pave it and build some more coffee shops. Due to 'circumstances beyond my control', which is a euphemism for Mrs. Deathrage; I somehow found myself in that hideous tree-filled nightmare with no coffee. For reasons I'll never fathom, she likes to occasionally be amongst trees. When I finally wandered out into sunlit civilization near 62nd and 5th Avenue (and the only way I knew it was civilization is because I deliriously staggered past Barneys), I realized I had to walk an eternity or nearly two blocks before I found coffee and it wasn't fresh-brewed. It was dishwateresque swill being kept warm from a carafe of some sort in a dungeon-like convenience store from the 16th century. It was barbaric, like suddenly finding oneself in some barren, barista-free hinterland. It was either drink or die, and I drank; but I most certainly did not enjoy it. Someone should give me a medal of some sort for bravery in the face of adversity and survival in the harshest of elements. A short time later, I acquired a latte and some bombolinos, which are filled Italian doughnuts, and it raised the levels of caffeine and sugar and fanciness in my bloodstream back up to the usual amount which would probably kill someone who has not trained like I have to travel in extreme locales. I will tell more about my New York City adventures in a rant to be published at a later date.

Anyway, back to Dark Shadows. Maggie Evans still thinks she's Josette Collins, and she wanders around in a nightgown and melodramatically calls out one of her names while clutching a music box. It's annoying. And she eavesdrops on Barnabas as he tells his henchman Willie about his plans for Maggie/Josette and how he has a brand new coffin for her. She leans against a 'brick wall', which is evidently not secured and it wobbles to and fro. Sweet. I watched Dark Shadows on Netflix.

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