Disproportional Excitement!

People who are way more observant than I've ever been may have noticed that now there's a subscription button in the sidebar. So now I can lurk about in the blog reader of your choice, ready to ponder how Buffy was able to fight vampires in leather pants at a moment's notice! Yay!


Seriously, though. Leather pants just seem awfully restrictive for that sort of thing.

I say this with love. Nitpicky, judgmental love.

Over the weekend, after spending an afternoon picking raspberries (which is an awfully WASPy activity for someone who meets none of the criteria) my husband and I settled in for our own personal four-episode Buffy mini-marathon. Now we're in the middle of season three (which is an amazing season) and um...isn't Angel's cemetery-adjacent, semi-derelict death mansion awfully...well-appointed? In episode three the place had nothing but some manacles on a sconce (which, P.S., seriously? You've been locking up a werewolf for half a year, and you thought some decorative iron work was a good place to tether your feral ex?), and an Angel-shaped char mark on the ground.

I let it slide when, in the next episode, he suddenly had pants. Maybe Buffy got them for him. Maybe a crisp pair of trousers is the first step on the path to civilization. Maybe you just can't have David Boreanaz running around ass-out on network television. Whatever the reason, I was okay with the clothes. But then, three episodes after he got dropped out of some mysterious hell-place, the guy has a freaking sectional sofa. And it's nice! It's all nice, and modern, and crisp, with beige cushions that you would think might not be the best idea in a graveyard, but whatever, it's a really nice sofa. My sofa is a hand-me-down from my husband's grandmother, and it looks like a hand-me-down from someone's grandmother. Even friends of mine who have notably nicer furniture than mine don't have a sofa that nice - where did Mr. Broody No-Job get the money for that?

For an evil vampire, I get it. You steal from the people you kill, then invest in companies that rip off old ladies or make cosmetics out of baby seal tears. But when you turn over a new leaf aren't you supposed to give all of your ill-gotten gains to under-privileged school children, leaving you to glance sadly about your spartan hovel and contemplate the torment you've visited on those around you? It kind of harms your broody emo street cred when you're mourning all the terrible deeds lurking in your past on some freshly delivered fine home furnishings.

Oh- and the thing with the hairspray? Fantastic!

My deep and abiding love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer is well documented, by which I mean "is on my Facebook page." I love the show, I love the comics, and at some point I'll probably start a semi-tragic collection of Buffy-related memorabilia and novelty items. Last night, that love was tested like never before.

Last night, I watched the Buffy movie for the first time in seven years.

Oh y'all. Have you watched this movie lately? It's ridiculous. Like super-ridiculous. Paul Rubens spends like, 30 minutes dying. Someone apparently decided that really slow front walkovers were totally practical moves when fighting for your life. Oh, and the vampires fly. Well, more accurately, the float. Not in fights. Mostly just to freak people out. Or help with awesome jump-shots.

I just want to make sure you caught that last part: a vampire uses his super-powers to play varsity basketball. Against Ben Affleck. Which is neither here nor there, but it seemed worth mentioning.

You need to go watch this movie. Right now.

If you won't do it for me, do it for Kristy Swanson.

Let's just get this out of the way now...

I'm a nerd. And I need you to understand that I don't mean this in the everyone's-a-nerd-about-something way. You know the people who are like "Oh, I'm such a fashion nerd - I can't bear to leave the house without looking head-to-toe trendy and gorgeous!"? I'm not that girl. (sidebar: that little punctuation party back there can't possibly be correct, but I lack the drive to figure out how to do it properly. I just wanted you to know that I know it's jacked up.) I'm not the person whose nerdy confessions are actually things that make me seem super-cool. I'm the girl whose glasses broke in the middle freshman year, and who hence had to spend months with a broken-off paper clip and a piece of safety pin standing in for the screws.

I'm that kind of nerd.

And at night, right before my I drift off into nerdy dreams about being The Doctor's new companion, and getting to save the world in the season finale Rose Tyler or Donna Noble style (no offense to Martha Jones, but come on - Rose manipulated the space-time continuum, Martha told a story.) I ask the universe for one thing: That Alyson Hannigan work with Joss Whedon again.

It's not that I don't like her on How I Met Your Mother. I think it's a great show, and I think every member of the core cast is integral. But there's got to be a good chunk of time between the filming of seasons, and that would be an excellent time to knock out some sort of Joss Whedon project about a strong, complex, female lead who does...something. To be honest, I don't even care what it is that the character does. She could be an ass-kicking sanitation worker; as long as it's Alyson Hannigan and Joss Whedon, I'm there.

I understand that there may be doubters out there - on HIMYM her character has been mostly centered on comedy (with the exception of the end of season 1) - but have you seen the last chunk of Season 6 of Buffy? Because that needs to happen for you right now. Alyson Hannigan needs to kick ass Joss Whedon style again. The world needs Alyson Hannigan to kick ass Joss Whedon style again. And if it could be alongside Amy Acker and Gina Torres, even better.

Oh, and Alan Tudyk.


Sorry. I'm done now. I promise next time I'm geek out less in my post.
Unless it's after I've seen this week's Doctor Who, in which case all bets are off.