I can't believe the guy who plays Stringer is British. That's like finding out that Dan Marino is actually a snapping turtle.
The prodigal slothra returns! My lack of internet juice has kept me out of the blogging game, and my ethernet wire's still dead, but I should be back up like Bacon in Flatliners before you can say "Shizzam Bangles."
Hey speaking of wires, I ploughed through the third season of The Wire in two days this week. By the end, when Stringer gets capped by Omar and Brother Mouzon, I was might as well have been a junkie in Baltimore Robbing Tom Breihan's parents and tagging after Bubbles like the kid from Kids. I was immersed like I was Echo the Dolphin. (Speaking of everyone's favorite Voice rap blogger, I recently found out that he's 6' 11". Not so recently, I found out that he needs to stop using adjectives like "gorgeous" and "syrupy" when describing music. Indeed, Hemingway's ghost and the adjective police need to SWAT that boy). Even though the Wire isn't even the best police procedure drama set in Baltimore, it's probably the second best show on TV now (gotta give the edge to Deadwood). While it never quite acheives the level of cinematic perfection that it's HBO siblings sometimes do, it's more fun to watch in a lot of ways, and in its treatment of the Drug trade, portraying it as the complex business operation it is, is thrillingly new ground (no matter what the Puppy says, Belly doens't quite do it, although I havn't seen Killa Season, so maybe I shouldn't be making jumping to conclusions). After watching all three seasons of The Wire this summer, I realized that the chances of me ever watching an episode of Law and Order again are about the same as the chances of my ascendancy to the throne of England.
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