The other day, I read an interview with the good weasel (David Tennant for those not in the know) who talked about how he did not want to “grow old” playing Doctor Who. “I don’t want to do it when I’m old and 42,” he said. (Grumble, grumble, since when, Doctor Weasel, is 42 old?!? Who you calling old, you weasel boy?!? Grumble, grumble. Just wait ’till you start to fall apart, you punky time traveling goon. Ah yes, kids these days, ah to be young and 902 again.)
In other “but when he was good he was very, very good” David Tennant news, the other day I “unbooped” a showing of “Masterpiece Theater” from the throngs of soon-to-be-deleted TiVo crap heap. I was so excited, expecting to witness some highfalutin thespian masterpiece, you know, something along the lines of Jane Eyre or Sense and Sensibility. But, no, I didn’t actually get that. No, no, no, no, no no. What did I get instead of the chi-chi high-end of drama I was so expecting? Casanova featuring none other than the good weasel himself. Ah yes, there he was, traipsing around Venice in puffy-sleeved silk shirts and elaborate brocade dinner jackets, tromping over Venetian bridges while wooing women of various persuasions (and states of matrimony mind you.)
The movie did make me miss Venice (oh how I miss Venice, especially now, what with the floods and all) but, even more impressive, yeowza, did he prove that weasels can be spectacular. Even I, queen of all things snark, must bow and admit defeat to the great happy-go-lucky frisky yungin of a Casanova. Yes, snowflakes, I, “she who does not typically notice such things” must now admit, he was really freaking HOT in that movie. So, here I am, proclaiming in this, a public forum, that, for a man who’s such a weasel, he’s really hot stuff.
Oh, be still my heart. Is it hot in here, or is it just me?
All that and I’m so jealous too. I bet he had a load of fun filming that flick in Venice, what with all of those elaborate costumes, running around the city of canals like that, thumping like a bunny amidst all that cool architecture.
Until next time…
Wow – I can’t wait until I’m “old and 42″…(in about 4 1/2 months!) Grrrr.
Ah yes, to be a ripe young 902 again.
Seriously though, he’s not that young. Calling people our age “old.” What gives?
Look on the bright side. We’re all too old to worry about premature aging now. :~)