waste of tape

Recent discussion of scrumptious Welshman Ioan Gruffudd has led to the addition of all 8 Horatio Hornblower discs as well as King Arthur (which shames me in no small manner), inflating my already bulging Netflix queue to grand total of 323.  Sometimes, when I look at my Netflix page, my eyeballs twitch a little with the full comprehension (I almost chose to say “apperception” in this instance, which would have branded me now and forever as an asshat, one presumes) of the daunting task ahead of me.  Most of the time, however, I just drool and sing the Netflix song.  I won’t get into the full version, for I think we can all agree that at least some small portion of my lunacy should remain veiled, but it’s a modified version of Ode To Joy. 

Netflix is, without a doubt the single greatest thing in this world that cannot be eaten, by me, and I haven’t even tried that yet, so I’m not ruling it out at this point.  The service has every DVD you could possibly want that isn’t pornography—from obscure Fulci flicks to Nova specials to awesome classics to that one movie that no one else has seen but me to everything that son of a bitch Berlanti has ever done.  They even have things I haven’t thought about in years, like The Celluloid Closet, which I remember watching on HBO in like the 9th grade and being TOTALLY BLOWN AWAY because it was a) the first real example of film criticism  and b) the first ever example of gender/sexuality theory that I had ever seen.  I, of course, attended a total bleeding heart commie hippie lefty pinko Les Miz performing future President producing school, so there was much weeping and patronizing liberal head shaking at the injustice of it all.  Naturally, upon a second viewing 10 years later, in a post Will & Grace world, my reaction was more of a “Well, doi.”

Liz pointed out the second awesomest thing about The Netflix:  the Friends option.  You can choose to be “Friends” with a fellow subscriber and they do-up this awesome little page for each of your friends that lets you see what they have checked out, portions of their queue and all of their film ratings and reviews.  It’s pretty sweet, once you get past the fact that other people will now know that at present, you have rented King Arthur and Creepshow.  “But seriously, you guys, I just had Metropolis, I swear, and I’m sure whatever is next in line is worth a damn…oh, it’s White Palace?  Guess not.  Dammit.”  Also, you’re going to have to try not to take it personally when EVERYBODY loved I Heart Huckabees but you and you just can’t understand why because that movie was the suckiest of the suckfests.  If you want to be my Netflix friend, you should totally request it—I use my old email address for it: demondoyle@hotmail.com. 

Tune in tomorrow for my America’s Next Top Model elimination countdown.  Despite my recent failure, I am going to take a shot at predicting the order of eliminations for the rest of the season.  Oh, yeah.