So the latest “must-see-but you can’t if you don’t have the secret decoder ring nanny, nanny boo-boo” event has come and gone and Lord knows what we will be subjected to in the coming months as bits and bobs of the second film of The Hobbit trilogy are dangled before us like the proverbial carrot. Yes, my friend Velvet of Morrighan’s Muse, Pavlov’s dogs have been located, and we, apparently, are the salivating pack. We may hate ourselves in the morning, but we will feverishly do our best to gobble up every morsel we can glean of whatever they throw at us tonight.
You know what? I don’t really care about elves (sorry, never consumed by ardor for Legolas, too pretty for my tastes, and now Thranduil has pissed me off seriously by getting in my dwarf king’s personal space) or dragons (even if voiced by a talented actor who looks inexplicably like an otter and speaks the Queen’s English quite beautifully). I am awake again in the wee hours and in pain. Listening to the wind still roaring a bit outside, I am eating marshmallows, of all things (at least they are fat-free), my heating pad back on, seeking some sort of relief.
Lots of emotions running through me right now. I am angry at my body for letting me down yet again, and a bit miffed with Warner Brothers for what I perceive is greed and a certain lack of respect for fans, and feeling oddly defensive of my Thorin/RA and irrationally angry at the thought of Bard or Thranduil or anyone else stealing his magnificent thunder. Call me crazy–you wouldn’t be the first–but that’s the way I feel.
So let’s look at Thorin, shall we? Maybe this will take me to my happy place. If nothing else, it will give you something nice to swoon/chuckle over.
Update: Apparently Warner Brothers has hired lawyers to go against screen shots taken of the Hobbit Live Event. Hearing thsi, I have even less love for them. Now they’ll come up with a Super Duper Extra Extended Edition with actual DNA of the cast members to help pay the exorbitant lawyer fees. Give me a freakin’ break . . .