Smallville Torch — Season One

Getting to Know You: Alexander

By Chloe Sullivan

Round two. Me and Luthor Jr. The first time I sat down to interview Mr. Luthor, I found myself swan diving out of his third story window before I had a chance to get him on tape. Mr. Luthor was kind enough to grant me another interview op now that my wounds have healed. This time around though, Lex got a little camera shy and also made me promise not to ask him about anything involving LuthorCorp. So there are no revelations about Level 3 here–I’m sorry to disappoint. But, I did get to learn a little more about the enigma that is Alexander (that’s right) Luthor.

CHLOE: Is Lex short for something?

LEX: Actually it’s Alexander.

CHLOE: After Alexander the Great?

LEX: I’ve heard that version before.

CHLOE: That’s fitting in a kind of freaky way. Tell me about your childhood–what should I know about your parents?

LEX: As far as my father is concerned, feel free to call his office. They’ll send you his official biography–I think they can send a CD-ROM version now.

CHLOE: And your mother?

LEX: My mom died when I was 13. Fortunately, a child is the sum of both parents. My mother was the one who taught me there are many ways to see the world.

CHLOE: You seem very fond of her.

LEX: I was, and I am.

CHLOE: Could you talk about your educational background?

LEX: Throw a dart at a map of Europe, I was probably there. I spent semesters in Gastaad, Vienna, Paris, eventually graduating from Oxford. My father insisted I have a well-rounded educational background.

CHLOE: Was it?

LEX: I can say “vodka gimlet” in six languages. That’s a joke, of course. (pretends to look at a fake camera) Lex Luthor does not support underage drinking. (back to me) In truth, schools “educate,” but I’ve found that life experience is perhaps as important to a learned mind.

CHLOE: What are your ambitions?

LEX: When I was six, I made the mistake of saying “fireman” to my father. I’ve found that ambitions and goals can change with circumstance. For the first time, I feel like I have a home here in Smallville, true friends. If I have an ambition, it’s to hold on to that.

CHLOE: That’s very cool. Thank you, Mr. Luthor.

LEX: It’s Lex to you, Ms. Sullivan.

MISS CHLOE’S HORROR-SCOPE

By Chloe Sullivan

If you’ve ever watched TV for more than five minutes, then you’ve no doubt seen ads for a psychic hotline. We’ve all seen them, and we’ve even been tempted to call for a “free” reading, giving us complete, intimate, private (and of course accurate) details of not only our own lives but also the lives of everyone we know. “He’s cheatin’ on you, honey!”

The testimonials of satisfied “customers” are usually enough to get many people to call in, but many more do not, certain that it’s a fraud. My point this week is not to prove whether such hotlines are real or not. The Federal Trade Commission is already knee deep in that. Instead, I am here to discuss why I’m glad we can’t read one anothers’ minds.

Like many girls, I have often looked at that boy across the classroom and wondered what he was thinking right then. Does he like me? My thoughts would then transition to the wonderful prom date he and I were destined to have, only to derail my mental express train when I remember he only has eyes for someone else, not your local intrepid reporter. But while wishing that I could read HIS thoughts, I never thought about the consequences if he could read MY thoughts. I’d be mortified!

For over a century, scientists have been trying to determine if a person can read another’s mind. No conclusive answers or evidence have been found. Some offer a spiritual explanation, while others say the ability is instinctive. I think neither is the answer. In my research on the subject, I came to the conclusion that mind reading is more about the perception of the individual. I had an experience in which a little kid watched me look longingly at a boy. Because the youngster knew me, he was able to make specific comments on what I was thinking, claiming it was mind reading. I then did what any healthy, normal person would do: deny it, privately freak out and try not to think about the subject again.

As much as I would love to blame meteor rocks for this paranormal ability, I can’t. It’s simply the power of observation. But how that boy knew the DETAILS of my prom fantasy is beyond me. Perhaps the power is out there. But I know I don’t have it. The only thing I can tell you about my future is that if anyone else could read my crafty little mind all the time, I’d be terrified.