Hee. I'm imagining the title shouted out in that WWF announcers voice.
A bit of background:
I'm an inveterate magazine subscriptionolic (Hello, my name is...) always in search of the better mag. I've swashbuckled through subscriptions to House Beautiful (too 'foo-foo'); flirted with Southern Living (too 'Feeoo- feeoo'); had an on-again-off-again relationship with Better Homes and Gardens (come on: Upscale and out of my league / or Homey and Familiar; pick one, please?); picked up an occasional Family Circle, Redbook, and Ladies Home Journal -- I've had a LOT of one-night (magazine) stands... (blush)
Currently I'm brushing off the advances of a BH&G subscrip renewal and letting it run out, am happily nesting with Real Simple, and have just let Good Housekeeping back into my life. (I know, I know -- Three Main Mags? -- but the BH&G will run out eventually...won't it?)
So, I crack open my brand new Good Housekeeping August issue, and start thumbing through it. I'm enjoying the pictures of clothes I could actually, maybe afford without a major credit check, recipes for which I might actually be able to find the ingredients in my small town grocery, and pretty, pretty landscaping ideas I will dream about but never do (although I could, as GH is very true to the middling classes who can't afford a landscaper ...on retainer.)
Then I flip a page and a picture of a man from my past is looking penetratingly back at me... And all of a sudden, it's ten years ago, and I'm just getting my husband hooked on the show to end all shows...and the Major Motion Picture is about to debut...and I'm so EXCITED!
That's right. Duchovny is BACK, baby. X-Files: I Want to Believe is scheduled for a July 25th release, and I'm SO THERE!
Anyone in my company longer than 10 minutes KNOWS that I'm an X-Files nutjob. And although, for me, the show ended at the final episode of season 7 when Scully said, "I'm ...pregnant." and I've been telling my husband "Aggh. It's no big deal..." about the new movie? Secretly, I am a big, quivering mass of icannotWAIT! to see it.
But I digress. I'm happily reading along...happy to see that DD seems to have gotten a little ...ahem... humbler in recent years (yeah, I thought he became an arrogant ass at the tail end of the X-Files' run, So?), happy that he and Tea Leoni are still (seemingly) happily married(why? I dunno... just am.) when I stumble upon an innocent looking little digit next to his name that was just sort of unobtrusively slipped in there: his age; given as 43.
"Harrunh?" Scooby said in my head. I could have sworn (on a stack o Bibles) that he was older than me. Like....big-brother-older. Like 4 or 5 years... which would put him (Sooorry, DD's publicist-who-probably-wants-him-to-appear-to-be-younger-and-hotter-now-that-he-has-a-new-movie-that-they-hope-turns-into-a-franchise coming out) at 48 or 49 years old.
Look, I know it's a Hollywood disease the symptoms of which cause stars to undergo the knife, lie like rugs about 'extended vacations' to cover surgically-induced absenses and become drug addicts to try to keep up with the Jones for youth and beauty...
But seriously. I -- and any X-Filian worth their salt KNOWS DD was born in 1960. And any Truly FoxMad fan knows his b-day is coming up very soon. (August 7th, she said smugly.)
Okay. I'll come clean. I ran to my laptop (because the battery -- it's second one -- is shot and I can't actually use it on my lap) and looked him up on imdb...and WHEW. His correct birth year was there in his bio, plain as day.
I'm pleased. Because I always liked ol' Spooky Mulder (and the guy who played him) and the thought that the character who's Holy Grail is The Truth, lies about his age...?
to quote a dear voice in my head, "Harrunh?"
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