I feel as though gradients and drop shadows are becoming the mauve bricks and glass blocks of current web design.
I can often remember the small-talk long after I've forgotten who I made the small-talk with.
Wendy's: There's already a term for what a Frosty is (besides chocolate-malted slurry): soft-serve. "Soquid" merely recalls benthic organisms, a prospect even more unappetizing than your late-night pick-up menu. And then there's "fpoon," which is not only derivative of "spork," but also a speech impediment. Your ads are as dumb as Donald Trump's apprentices. But since I was suitably bored/incensed to blurb them, well done.
Call me a nerd, but the electromagnetic hijinks on last night's Lost season finale rocked my termination shock. A much better capper than last year's.
Alias' rushed-yet-protracted series finale, on the other hand, was unfortunately as lame as a sigh, although the high body count was just a bit ballsy. Or a copout.
And maybe let's talk about Mischa Barton's final exit on The TiVo-makes-me-watch-it O.C. Has anyone expired on television in recent memory with less conviction? Her amateurish fade had all the hallmarks of a small child feigning sickness so his mommy doesn't make him go to school. Bleh. At this rate, bring back Oliver.
I had the comment spam threshold configured a bit overzealously. More comments should actually post through now. Assuming you fuggers post comments. Fuggers.
Last night's Alias plus Lost equals bloodbath. Holy cow.