The following is an excerpt from Black Eyes of Boston, an article on MSN Entertainment about Bostonians who give the town a bad name:

I've saved the worst for last. In the long and distinguished line of actors who have seen their careers crash and burn due to horrific role choices, Ben Affleck tops a list where the second-place finisher isn't even in the same solar system. At one time, he and his talented buddy Matt Damon were the toast of Boston, after winning the Oscar for penning "Good Will Hunting." But now, Ben has managed to fall so far from A-list celebrity status, he finds himself playing celebrity poker and competing for Hollywood roles with Steve Guttenberg and the guy who played Turbo in the "Breakin'" movies.

Through quirky, challenging roles, Damon seems genuinely sincere in exploring the craft of acting. Affleck takes such mind-numbing roles that they couldn't entertain a group of chimpanzees after they ate a batch of pot brownies. And I don't care how much fame or fortune he acquires, to me, Affleck was the clown in high school who joined the drama club in an attempt to make out with the chick who lacked confidence but appreciated theater.

The guy is a complete sham. He touts himself as a maniacal Red Sox fan, but I'd be willing to bet that before he became famous, Affleck never stepped foot in Fenway Park more than 10 times. Sure, when playoff time comes around, he escorts J.Lo or Jennifer Garner to their box seats wearing a glove, hoping to catch a foul ball and carrying on like a diehard, but true citizens of Red Sox nation know that deep down, Ben would rather be back at the Ritz Carlton catching the last 15 minutes of "JAG" and making an appointment to have his chest waxed.

Man, he drives me nuts.

Beautifully said, Chris Coakley - you have a way with words. You forgot, however, to add onto the long list of Affleck's major flaws -- HE RUINED MY SHOW!!

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This week on Alias – whoa baby. Two whole hours.*

*Yah… more like a whole sixty minutes – but hey – that ain’t bad.

OMG.

Irina is ALIVE???

/gasp

Yeah… we might have known that was gonna happen for oh – since we heard she was dead. But that’s okay, because it still rocks my socks. Lena Olin, you are a goddess. Nobody does it better. This woman is the mostest uberist in the world. Hullo… is she not sexy?

And well, Jack… I’m glad they’re working so well together, you know, considering that he murdered her with a direct shot in la cabeza. (Side note – Dear Editors, please do not show me the warped and bloody face of a dead woman, who I happen to adore, sinking into a murky blue swimming pool. Sincerely, Devoted Fan.) But, dear god… the makeout? Nuh uh. Jack’s cool and all – but not when it comes to the lubbin. Save that for the dvd deleted scenes so the Jack/Irina Shippers can have their fun, but please don’t subject the rest of us to that. It’s like watching Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton kiss. Who wants to see that?

/gag

Hmm. Was it just me, or did Syddie seem to be wearing a lot of buttoned up jackets? And was her “sexy dress” something similar to what I wore my first day of kindergarten? Hello? No more blue rubber dresses in the future. Just empire-waisted baby doll fluff. Gah.

[Tangent/]

If this certain woman, who we shall call… Trixie… ruins my show, there will be hell to pay. Just because Hairy McSkeeze happened to somehow convince her he was more than an halfwitted turkey does not mean my world should come crashing down. Season five is gonna be a lot of Michael Vartan looking depressed and close-ups of Trixie’s desk bound upper body – and I’m not going to approve. If the next season even remotely reeks of crap I am going to her Westwood estate and when I leave there will be eggs on her siding. Or maybe toilet paper in her trees. It will be something mildly destructive – I just haven’t quite worked it out yet.

[/Tangent]

He proposed and she said “ask on the beach”??? That’s not what you say when Michael Vartan offers you a ring, woman! You say, “Ohmygodme? Areyouaskingme? Areyousureyouhavetherightwoman? Evenifyoudont-YES! THEANSWERISYESDEARGODYESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!”

Duh.

Uh, the “rough” scene was so absolutely hilarious that it’s all I can do not to run back into the living room, rewind the VCR and watch that scene over and over and over and over… It was the first time in a long time that there has been real S/V Shipperdom and I speak for my fellow Shippers when I say – Thank you JJ. And thank you JG for actually looking remotely attracted to MV. Just for that moment. Next time, please try and apply a little of that to the proposal scene. Let’s make it believable people.

Another little note to the powers that be. PTB, who exactly is in charge of casting this thang? ‘Cause, while I congratulate them on Michael Vartan… isn’t the Derevko clan supposed to be Russian? So, uh… why is Elena Hispanic? And uh… why is Nadia? How on earth did the whitest man on the planet and a Russian princess combine to make a Latina? EH? And what’s with the Hispanic aunt? Is there something to that or were you too busy patting yourself on the back for snagging JG to realize that there was more casting to be done?

Not that I’m really complaining, because Mia Maestro is the best thing to happen to that show since… well… since they got rid of Whoren.

Next week on Alias – something’s gonna happen.

I predict:

The giant ball o’ sci fi is going to look even more unrealistic and be even less logical than it did this week.

Lena Olin will be dead sexy. And dead. Yes, I think she’s going to really die. But this time, instead of it being a – “I killed your mother during the summer break because Lena Olin wouldn’t renew her contract” – type of kill, it will be one of those dramatic encounters where Irina will throw herself in front of the bullet that is meant for Nadia… the one that comes from Sydney’s gun. Yup, that’s what I think.

Arvin will reveal that he’s not really turned eeevil… that it was “the only way” he could disable the device. He had to convince Elena that he was on her side. Sure Arvie. Sure.

Vaughn will take Syddie to the beach and she will SAY YES DAMNIT.

If she doesn’t – I will.

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“Twenty-seven five. Jesus Christ! Who cares about twenty-seven five? What happens at twenty-seven five doesn’t affect me.”

--

He sits parked across the street, staring blankly at her empty vehicle. He followed her there two hours ago, watched her get out, slip into the house and disappear.

Maybe it’s her girlfriend’s house. Yeah, that’s it. Just two girls in there, sipping on margaritas and talking about shopping. Silly of him to think otherwise.

But then – why did she tell him she was going to her mother’s?

The house is dark, with the exception of a small flickering spotlight illuminating the address. Twenty-seven five. The large black letters cast shadows across the faded beige siding, creating an eerie feeling deep inside him.

He rolls his window down, anxious to hear the sound of giggling and laughing… or a blender crushing ice.

His ears are met only with the sound of a quiet evening in a quiet neighborhood. Crickets chirp and children laugh in the distance. The peacefulness of it all seems to mock him.

He is anything but peaceful.

His stomach churns as he steps out of the car. The sound of the door closing echoes through the empty street, bouncing off two-car garages and alerting the sleeping masses to his presence. Stealth was never his forte.

Putting one foot in front of the other takes all his concentration as he slowly makes his way across the street and onto the walk. His conscience and his will continue an internal struggle. His heart clenches under the stress.

He halts his movements as he steps onto the porch. He could simply ring the doorbell. But then… he doesn’t want to interrupt her evening with his silly and completely unfounded concerns. No, he will just peek in the window, see her watching one of those stupid romantic comedies she’s so crazy about and drive back home. Simple enough.

The first window looks into the living room. Okay, so maybe she isn't watching a movie. There are still plenty of other things that girlfriends do together on an uneventful Tuesday night.

The second is the window above the kitchen sink. Well, of course they wouldn’t be in there. He wouldn’t expect them to. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.

The third window is the one that shatters his heart. In the north east corner of house twenty-seven five lies the master bedroom. And in the master bedroom lies his wife.

He watches the pair only for a moment before turning and retreating to his car. The door that so deafeningly closed now soundlessly opens to envelope him.

He sinks into the worn leather seat and puts his keys in the ignition. Across the street, the small spotlight finally flickers out, swallowing the numbers in darkness and burning them into his mind.

Twenty-seven five…

--

…or something like that.

I was walking down the streets of Studio City yesterday when I passed a forty-something man in worn clothes. He carried what seemed to be all his belongings and a heaping helping of emotional baggage. He repeated the words like a broken record:

“Twenty-seven five. Jesus Christ! Who cares about twenty-seven five? What happens at twenty-seven five doesn’t affect me.”

Every time he repeated himself, he said it with more emotion and more pain. It really was quite sad… and of course… I had to wonder what did happen at twenty-seven five…

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[Allie and Ryan are sitting at their respective computers… not two feet apart… and rather than speaking to each other –they’re typing]

Ryan: man this tool is totally spamming ooc
Allie: ya no kidding. rtfm already
Ryan no joke
Ryan: OMG
Allie: what?
Ryan: lol
Allie: wassap
Ryan: check out this toon.
Allie: brt
Ryan: hurry up.
Allie: bite mah. i’m omw.
Ryan: bah
Allie: kk which one? the swashy?
Ryan: no the de
Allie: wth? total twink.
Ryan: ya think?
Allie: pristine imbued steel on a 20 sk? totally.
Ryan: what a tool.
Allie: well he may be l33t but he’ll never be as uber as lady.
Ryan: uhuh
Allie: ladyfire ubertank PWNS
Ryan: lady = n00b
Allie: stfu
Ryan: lae would kill lady in pvp
Allie: my juggernaught > wood elf zerk
Ryan: uhuh
Allie: /sigh
Ryan: wheres dav?
Allie: otm from RV
Ryan: kewl. lets farm
Allie: nah nek harvests suck. shrubs the only nodes worth more than one cp
Ryan: wanna xp?
Allie: hey lets kite this dood. i need to get better at ranged
Ryan: kk. don’t forget to lotto you plooter. i still need my l&l.
Allie: hey I gotta afk. af on lae
Ryan: kk
Allie: ty
Ryan: np
Allie: watch that mob, i’m kos
Ryan: lmfao you got bigger concerns than aggro. imma drop you off a n’marr’s
Allie: yah rt. we’ve got no sow. i’ll be back before you get there.
Ryan: heh

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