What a long, sad trip it's been

Stopping off in Dunkin Donuts this morning, I was greeted by a life-sized cardboard standee of Chris Evans as Captain America, followed by promos for the new Captain America Cherry Coolatta and the Captain America Limited-Edition Star-Spangled Donut and I thought, Dear Lord, thank you so much for not letting Jensen get this part. Because seriously -- how much life-sized, star-spangled, cherried Jensen could a girl be expected to endure?

Actually, I can't imagine that Jensen really pursued the part. From what I heard, the money was surprisingly low, and if the first film is a success, the actor will be locked into a franchise of two or three additional films that he couldn't get out of. It sounds like Jensen has a considerably better thing going with SPN, which is where I'd much rather see him, instead of propped up against the wall at Dunkin Donuts shilling neon cherry slush and fried greaseballs.

You know I really do rather love him. Eeek. When on earth am I going to outgrow falling for imaginary people?

It's not March 1st yet here but it will be soon, and this March 1st is Jensen's thirty-third birthday and so this is his "Jesus Year."

Every time I hear about someone turning thirty-three, I have to tell the Jesus Year story. Back in my Catholic school days, I distinctly recall a religion class where some kid asked the teacher what age we would be in heaven and she said with no hesitation, "Thirty-three. Because that's how old Jesus was when he died."

I was only seven years old or so (and already inexplicably imbued with a terror of getting old), so the thought of being the decrepit age of thirty-three for all eternity really horrified me, which is probably why I never forgot the story. I remember staring at the teacher and thinking that she must be around thirty-three and this was what she was going to be stuck looking like in heaven -- in retrospect, I know the woman must have been at least fifty.

Many years later I casually mentioned to a friend that in heaven we'd all be thirty-three and he burst out laughing and asked me if that was some crazy Catholic thing (he was a transplanted Southerner and hadn't known too many Catholics growing up, so he thought we were all very exotic). He was the one who coined the term "Jesus Year." The story obviously made a big impression on him too because he went on to repeat it to other people, including other Catholics, who all told him they'd never heard of such a thing. So apparently, that teacher of mine was the nuttiest nun in all of Christendom and may very well have made up the whole story on the spot, probably to shut us up.

Now that I am a good ten years past my own Jesus Year, I think that nun was on to something because thirty-three is seriously not a bad year in which to spend eternity. Unless you've really abused yourself, most of us look pretty damn good at thirty-three -- we've outgrown the physical indignities of adolescence and have yet to begin noticing the encroaching decay of age. I recall having a fair amount of youthful vigor at that age, at least, I could still do things like drink, smoke and stay up late (often all three) without feeling (or looking) like an animated corpse the next day. I think thirty-five was the real beginning of the end and don't even get me started on the precipitous decline that began almost literally on the day I turned forty. I can now say that I would have absolutely no problem with being eternally thirty-three years old.

So anyway, take a good look at Jensen (difficult, I know) because this is his Jesus Year and what he looks like now is what he'll look like forever in the world without end, amen.

I, for one, am very glad to hear that Jensen has backpedaled on his now-infamous comments about the direction of Season Six.

I have labored mightily to gain mastery over my crush on Jensen Ackles. I have managed to do so primarily by telling myself that pretty though he might be, he's probably as dull as a slice of Wonder Bread. Then out of nowhere, there was suddenly this new incarnation of Jensen Ackles. Feisty!Jensen! Rebel!Jensen! Shitstirring!Fanboy!Jensen! fighting for his character and the show! Defying the powers that be! Boldly airing dirty laundry in public! Good God! This Jensen challenged all my previous assumptions about Jensen! Who was this beautiful man with the moxie and the passion and the using words like "chagrin"?!

I'm aware that all of this may have been part of an incredibly deft strategy to exert influence over Sera Gamble, which would make him rather alarmingly clever on top of being passionate about his work and of course, stunning to look at. But I prefer to go with the interpretation that Jensen is back on message and is once again the good boy. Now all I need are some shots of him at a golf tournament, preferably wearing an argyle sweater-vest while his apple-cheeked wife sits in the stands looking like she came straight from a Young Republicans of America fundraiser. Then I'll be good to go.

(h/t to mangokulfi for pointing me to agt_spooky's transcript)

Dear Flisters,

Please to be stop posting that vid of Jensen playing guitar and singing with Jason Manns at the Jus in Bello con in Rome. Because if I see it on my flist one more time...I'm gonna HAVE to click it. And then there won't be any more Oselle. There'll just be some fetal creature rocking in the corner babbling, "Beautiful adorable beautiful adorable..."

Seriously, WTF. Every pic I've seen from that con he just looks fucking radiant. I've never seen him look that happy or relaxed at any con, or that bloody stunning. I'd say, what is up with him, looking so extra-radiant and all, but I guess being young and rich and loving your work and being in love and getting paid six figures to spend a springtime weekend IN FUCKING ROME and be adored by pretty Italian girls is enough to make anyone radiant. I sure wouldn't know.

And I had no idea SPN was so big in Italy. How is it possible that this show continues to have such poor ratings when it's a bonafide worldwide phenomenon?

Sigh,
Oselle

I don't know if you're watching Caprica, but one thing I love about it is the "holoband" technology (no real spoilers here, for your spoilerphobes).

The holoband is a pair of lightweight spectacles that allow the wearer to enter a fully-realized virtual world. The things you experience while wearing the holoband are as real to you as anything you'd experience in real life -- but your body stays exactly where you left it, sitting there in the real world in your spectacles.

I tell you: this technology would destroy humanity, or at least, that portion of humanity that could afford holobands. Because seriously...why would you ever take them off?

There are existing virtual realities in holoband world -- the heroines of the show congregate at a no-holds-barred den of hedonism called V-Club, where literally, any sort of pleasure or vice can be indulged in with no consequences to your physical self. But you can also create your own customized virtual reality. So again...why would you ever want to come back here?

In my holoband world, J.K. Rowling never existed and I wrote the Harry Potter novels. Publicly stating that I'm a huge fan of Supernatural, Eric Kripke & Co. trip over themselves to beg such a renowned artist to pen a few episodes for them. I do this pro bono because I'm such a fan. Of course, I'm brought on as executive producer because my creative vision and ideas for the show are so exceptional. I elevate the show to one of the most acclaimed series on television, thereby helping Jensen Ackles win his first Emmy. My exquisite intelligence, creative genius, radiant-yet-pensive beauty (I'm much better looking in holoband world, natch) and Emmy-winning scripts make Jensen dump that faux redhead and fall madly in love with me. At this moment, we'd be enjoying a luxurious, clothing-optional honeymoon on a private island in the Bahamas after a wedding that was so stunningly beautiful and romantic, the angels themselves came down from heaven to attend.

Now tell me...why would I ever take off the holoband?

I've been trying to take a vacation from my laptop only to log on today to add some songs to my iPod (if you're interested, Foo Fighters "Learn to Fly" and finally broke down and got Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" because it's pretty much a must-have by this point, isn't it? I think it's going to replace the national anthem soon.) So anyway, logged on and just decided to take a wee skip over to LJ and boy am I glad because apparently, The Lovely Mr. Ackles HAZ NEW HAIR.

To be honest, I don't know what all the fuss is about because it's not the first time we've seen him with longer hair during summer hiatus, is it? I feel like it's not. Or perhaps I'm just recalling my own beloved J2 fic in which I clearly wrote that "Jensen's hair grew out over the summer and is long enough for Jared to run his hand through." BWHAHAHA, I totally called it, beetches!

For the record...I like him with his shorter hair. His Dean hair. It's more flattering because there's nothing to distract one's eye from the sculpted perfection of his glorious face. Of course it doesn't matter what I think, or what you think, the only thing that matters is that Jared likes it. I mean, Jensen.

Say, speaking of Jared, I'm starting to think these two are in some sort of contest to out-scruff each other...and I think Jensen's winning. Don't get me wrong, the guy's gorgeous but the whole dirty-hair-unshaven look is just...what is with these beautiful men who walk around looking like this? Dude...you're stunning. Embrace it. I don't want Jensen going the Robert Pattinson route. That guy looks like he lives in a dumpster, for crying out loud.

I'll give Jensen a pass though because I heard he'd had some sort of eye surgery and his face looks a little swollen, maybe he wasn't feeling so hot (N'AWWWWWWWWW!). I wonder if it was just laser surgery? I didn't think that was supposed to leave blood in your eye, though. My eye was bloody just like that after I hilariously slammed my head on the dresser last month. Of course, on Jensen it looks good. On me? Not so much.

Okay so, to summarize: scruffy hair, too much stubble, puffy face, bloody eyeball. Still beautiful.

Shit.