My hand smells like it. Burnt hair, that is. Probably because I absentmindedly set some tissues on fire and as I realized that I shouldn’t have done that inside, and on my hurried trek outside, the flaming Kleenexes singed much of the hair off of my right hand and left me a yelping, running towards the door mess.
End of story. Very interesting, I know.
Hurree, hurrah, my video (Cameras A-E. The site is kind of buggy, so I’m not even going to bother linking to it) has won the Where Were You When Cloverfield Attacked Contest (quite a mouthful, but then again so is pudding and everybody likes that)! Thanks to everyone who voted for it, and thanks to Mr. Matt Reeves for selecting it out of the final 3.
Now, what to spend the money on. College? Or thousands of cans of baked beans?
Laura Boddington as UnGeorge
Laura Boddington, I searched and searched yet could not find an address to send you fan mail. Either the internet has simply failed me (a frequent occurrence, to be sure), or you don’t have enough people willing to send you fan mail to establish a P.O. Box specifically for it. I certainly hope it is the former. You deserve it.
Anyway, in the absence of a fan mail address, I’ll have to gush about you on my blog. It’s not the ideal solution, as I was hoping to send you a personal letter that perhaps you’d read it at home curled up on your… um… well, if I knew what type of furniture you had, I’d probably know where to send this letter (the return address on the restraining order), but reading it in privacy and perhaps sending back a signed photo of yourself or perhaps a packet of lemonade Kool Aid to show your gratitude. (Why lemonade Kool Aid? I like lemonade, and I don’t have the resources to make it from real lemons. Also, the store is a brisk walk away, and I am thirsty for lemonade right now) The best I can hope is that either you, one of your numerous friends, or your agent Googles your name and discovers this post, and passes it along to you (unless you were the one to find it, and then there would not need to be any passing on. Presumably. I certainly hope you haven’t split your body into many pieces and scattered them about the world to be combined later into a doomsday device, as then your roles in TV and films would stop, except perhaps in Indiana Jones 5. Man, I have no idea what I’m talking about)
So why am I this swept away with you, Laura Boddington? To be sure, I’ve not seen all of your film and TV roles, but in those that I have you’ve simply stolen the scene. And with the scene, you nabbed a bit of my heart. Naturally, this eventually led to me only having half a heart, so it was a good thing when I watched all of Dead Like Me season one in a day and the rest of my heart was whisked away to Laura Boddingtonland.
Laura Boddington as herself (Laura Boddington)
I don’t know much more about you, other than what Wikipedia tells me in a bored tone of voice, like the clinically depressed librarian it is. You were born 1980, London. You then moved to Canada, so we can presume that you’re a masochist (ha ha! Just kidding, Canadians who own sharp garden implements/ guns), and you are 5′4″ with brown hair and blue eyes. You are a member of some boring organizations.
Anyway, Laura Boddington, I just thought I’d pass along my thanks for bringing a little bit of screen presence (however you-blink-and-you’ve-missed-it it may be) into everything you do, including the godawful bucket full of sick that was the 2002 remake of Carrie.
I hate people whose laughs can be spelled out “cahool”.
EDIT: Also, “mmmhm”