Happy Friday! Let's all put our silk pajammers on and creep into the weekend.
Oh-ah, oh-ah, oh-ah.
This morning, I was running super late. I grabbed my stuff, got my coat, and hurried out the door. As I walked down my front stairs to the sidewalk, there, on the bottom of the stoop, on sidewalk level, was a pair of Nike sneakers. I could tell that they had been worn, but they were still pretty nice. The style was a little bit Grandpa-ish. They were perfectly placed, side by side, at the bottom of my outside stairs. Facing my house. I was in such a rush I just walked by them, looking over my shoulder as I walked away, thinking "is someone coming back for those?" It felt like a scene in an arty movie. Like there was some sort of meaning there that was just beyond my understanding.
This weekend, it was time for me to put on my Christmas pants. I mean this in a figurative sense of course, because I don't own pants (well, I have one pair of jeans), although what would Christmas pants look like? I am thinking either a bedazzled Christmas scene sort of like a Christmas sweater, or maybe they are red velvet with white bottoms like Santa pants? Either way, I donned them this weekend, figuratively.
First up, Nordic Boy, Biogirl, Biogirl's dude, and I went to dinner at a fancy restaurant that was lovely, but I must be old and crusty because all I could think when I was in there was THIS IS TOO LOUD. It wasn't like we went to a club or something- it was a wine bar. But the way the room was set up caused the sound to bounce off the walls everywhere. So we ate and drank and yelled at each other, which I guess a lot of people do for the holidays anyway, so Merry Yelly Christmas.
After we got shouty with our Chardonnay, we went to this garden in the burbs that does a crazy ass Griswald style light display every year. There is no other way to describe it other than amazingly gaudy. It is a spectacle of gaudy. There was a chimpanzee made entirely of Christmas lights, you guys. Because, why? No one knows.
Saturday evening the four of us met up for dinner (this time at a delicious and appropriately-volumed establishment) and ate a gorgeous meal. We followed this by seeing some musical theater. Oliver! to be exact. I had never seen that show before, although I did have good nostalgic feelings about it because when I was a kid I was in this fancy choir and every year when the latest auditionees got the news that they had made it into the choir, we sang them "Consider Yourself" from Oliver! to welcome them. Is that not the most twee thing you have ever heard? I know. Anyway, I had good feelings about it going in. But you guys. That show is super weird! I mean, it opens with workhouse orphans who are starving, and they sing a chipper song about food. It's like We're starving! (jazz hands) Misery! (shuffle ball change) Life sucks! (But at least we are cute). On the up side, the lady who played Nancy had some powerful pipes so she blew the roof off for a minute there.
The final highlight of the weekend was hanging out with our dear Delium. Love that guy.
Weekend round up, over and out.
To me, grief is like a fog. For the past six months, it's been hard to focus, concentrate, see things in front of me. I would listen to my friends and family talk, and I would hear them, but it was like I was underwater. I can hear you, but there is a roar in my ears, a scrim between us. I am trying to listen, I hope you know I'm trying to listen. I did all the normal things, I went to work, I met friends for dinner, I smiled, and the smiles were genuine, but they were labored, under that thick, blankety fog. I've wondered, these past months, what the purpose of this fog is, where it comes from in the brain. It's effect, it seems to me, is to make one feel a bit numb, which makes sense, I guess. I can see why a little emotional anasthetic might be helpful in times like these. "Can people tell that I'm having trouble?" I would ask Nordic Boy. "No, I don't think so. I can't believe you're pulling it off, but you seem ok out there." I went to work, I kept up with people, with things. When I was particularly spaced out, Nordic Boy would catch my eye and just look at me with that lovely groundedness of his and it would help me re-focus. Being a cheerful girl by nature, this sadness felt confusing to me. What do I do here? How do I do this? I was lucky enough to have a dad for my whole life who was truly unconditional, who did nothing for me except love and support me, who gave me the gift of understanding, from how he treated me, what simple, uncomplicated, open, supportive love was. He loved me, and that was all, no qualifiers, no hard parts, no hidden hurts. It sounds stupid, maybe, but I felt frustrated for feeling so sad, for not being able to live in the gratitude of it and feel thankful after he died. I wanted to think "thank you, thank you, thank you for that love," but instead all I could think was "this sucks, this is devastating, how am I going to do this without you?" My attempts to reach through the fog to people in my life have been less successful than I would have wanted, but I'm starting to feel resolved about that. Sometimes we don't get what we need from people and sometimes we do- that's the way life goes and there's no use fighting it. And that doesn't mean we're not loved. That fog is a powerful thing whether you're in it looking out or outside looking in.
When I smile at that Nordic Boy, it feels like a real smile, a joyful smile, a me smile, and there is no fog between us.
Hey you want to talk about my hair some more? Because we're gonna. So, I recovered from bad Haircuttageddon 2013 and I went to Michigan to visit my mom. While there all sorts of things happened, and one of them was that I took a box of my Dad's things and mailed the box back to Seattle. When I packed it, I thought, hey, as long as I am mailing this box, if there is room in here I might as well pack some of my heavier items that would have gone in my suitcase, because Nordic Boy and I packed super tight (one week, one small carry on suitcase between the two of us LIGHT PACKERS AWARD) so why not take advantage of this mailed box and stuff some shit in there, thus alleviating the suitcase burden? I put in a book, and my boots, and a sweater, and my hair dryer. I was not thinking about the fact that it would take a week to get to Seattle. More than a week because of the holiday, actually. Which left me Hairdryerless In Seattle. Which meant that even though I had a good haircut again, I now had ugly non-blowdried hair for days.
I am so sorry to discover this about myself. That I am such an effing pain in my own ass about my hair. But I am so vain that that song is totally about me, you guys. Ugh. WORST.
I am vain, but not vain enough to go out and buy another hair dryer for a week and a half, so that says something, I guess. I will say that I did a happy jig when that damn box was delivered today though.
You know what else happened? I was paying my automo-bills (Destiny's Child, wut wut) over the weekend and I discovered that while we were in Michigan someone here in Seattle was running amok with our credit card number. SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH OF AMOK. It's that sort of discovery that makes you not worry about your hair for a minute. It seems like our credit card people are going to be cool about it, but that was a jolt to the old ticker, I tell you.
Oh yeah, and there was that whole Giving of the Thanky Feelings Day that happened too. We had Delium and Biogirl over for the vittle times for that. The rest of the weekend was spent going to a movie (Hunka Hunka Burning Shirtless Thor 2), snuggling up at home, and turning up the furnace.
I solemnly lemon pledge to you that we will not talk about my hair again for a very long time.
I love looking at the rows and rows of my dad's books, and I love even more that I know which ones were his favorites.
We're in Michigan for the week to visit with my mom (how weird to not say "mom and dad" there) and help her hunker down for the winter months ahead. We have been taking her car in for maintenance, raking leaves, pruning trees, getting firewood ready, cleaning house, changing furnace filters, fixing little things around the house, etc. She still has lots of things that were in both her and my dad's names so we're helping her get everything into her name, and we're supporting her as she starts the gradual process of getting rid of my dad's stuff. Today we went through his closet.
So I called my salon and told them that my last cut was jacked up, and they totally redid it for free! I have now been suitably coiffed. The lady who initially gave me the bad shear job was not the lady I went back to, but she saw me when I walked in. Yeah, look at me, lady. I had to demand a re-cut. I felt a little bit bad about it for some reason, until the lady who did my re-cut sat me down and heartily agreed that I had a shit-do that was akin to Marcia Brady so I felt validated. And then she did the re-cut and made me feel re-cute. I know it is shallow but man I feel better now.
In other news I was out to dinner the other night and Tavi Gevinson was at the table next to me. I am not a celebrity gawker because please. But in that case all I can say is that I was happy that I was wearing a cute outfit. Because I care what Tavi Gevinson thinks of my outfit, apparently? And I think that Tavi Gevinson was looking at me, for some reason? It all made total sense in my head at the time. (This was post re-cute, just in case you were wondering).
Our power went out on Friday night, which was weird because it wasn't storming or windy or anything. Apparently it was just a breaker issue or something. It happened right as we were leaving the house to go out to meet some friends and our entire neighborhood was out and this may sound strange but when you live in a city things never really get truly dark outside. There are always lots of lights from houses and streetlights and such. When the power goes out, it is DARK. It was pretty creepy really. (Hey guys! I just wrote the sentence "what the power goes out, it is dark." Like a freaking genius). We drove to the nearest area where power was still on which is a retail area near my house-- like less than a mile away and the traffic was horrible. Not just horrible. HAH-Ribble. Then when we got there the entire neighborhood had shown up at the restaurant we wanted to go to, and things were crowded. When snow days and power outages happen and you get to stay home it is cozy and fun. When it happens and you have to get somewhere and fight crowds of people to do anything, it is stoopid awful. When the power is out...stay home, is the lesson.
That is all I got. My pajamas calleth.
So, I got a haircut that I hate, you guys. I think it is totally fixable, so do I just go to a new person and tell them to fix it? Or do I go back to the person who messed my shit up and tell her that I need her to do it again? Do people do that? What is the equivalent of sending back the dish to the chef here? Tell me what to do.
This week we literally broke some ground in order to get ready for figuring out how to make our yard look better, which is on our list of house projects for 2014. Our house used to have oil heating, and we have since converted to gas, and since our upcoming yard project will require lots of digging, regrading, tilling, and all around general dirt-moving, we decided to get our old oil tank removed rather than just decommissioning it. So this week, that happened. I left Nordic Boy in charge of taking pictures of the process but, although he is awesome in many ways, that guy suuuuuuucks at documenting stuff. He forgets, or if he remembers, he takes a hasty snap that doesn't really show much. He is way more into the doing than the memorializing, which when I step back and look at it is way healthier just in terms of living life, but I WANT PHOTOS. Anyway. There are no photos of this to share, which you are probably thinking "fine by me because basically it would be a photo of a hole in the dirt" which YES, but the oil tank was actually kind of interesting looking. It looked like a baby submarine from the 50s. OMG WHAT IF IT WAS A BABY SUBMARINE FROM THE 50s? A crew of babies that look like Don Draper, swilling martinis and cruising around underground?
I like to give myself things to have nightmares about.
I feel like I haven't talked the pop cultures in a while. So many things. Let's just pick a few.
World War Z
I think I may be getting over saturated with zombies (which is exactly how zombies kill you! In a swarm! Only mine is a metaphoric swarm. So meta). Basically there are two things about zombie type movies that need to be there for me: one, the zombies have to be scary, or at least creepy. Two, the sense of what people do when society breaks down has to be interesting. I thought this movie started out really strong- there is a visceral panic that gets going pretty quickly right from the start. But the zombies never got scary, and after the first bit of the movie I wasn't getting much in the way of societal breakdown either. And the ending was pretty flaccid. (Is there a more gross word than flaccid? Sorry about that). But, it was fine.
I can't say that I enjoy watching a depressing documentary, but I want to know about these things that have happened, are happening. I am not a person who would rather not know. I think it's important to know. This one follows prostitutes in three different parts of the world: Thailand, India, and Mexico. It is unflinching to say the least. There isn't much here in the way of showing agency for the women and girls involved, and maybe the argument being made is that there isn't any. The vignettes focus on the day to day workings and do not touch on the larger societal issues or the problem of sex tourism or global trafficking or anything like that. It's just these women going through their day.
Comedians of Comedy: The Movie
This is a road movie that follows Patton Oswalt, Maria Bamford, Zach Galifinakis and others on a comedy tour in the mid-2000s. Every one of those people is exactly as you would imagine them to be behind the scenes. Just, exactly.
Aziz Ansari: Buried Alive
The best part of this comedy special is when Aziz does a back and forth with a couple in the audience about how they got engaged. I love it when performers can talk to an audience member and it comes off as authentic and funny.
Ultimate comfort movie, dudes. I know that Ingrid Bergman is a little annoying sometimes ("You'll have to do the thinking for BOTH OF US...") and the Sam stuff makes me a little squirmy, but Humphrey Bogart is such a badass, I love it. I love how contradictory he is. So world-weary all the time, and yet somehow he still manages to be suave. I mean, he looks wrung OUT. Also, he is a scrawny fellow when you really look at him, but who seems tougher than that guy? I just find him so unexpected. Love.
IS BACK. Holy smokes that show is risickulous. There really is no excuse for it. And I am watching it. And you guys, when Jake said "I play second fiddle to no one," weren't we all thinking GO NOEL! LESSONS LEARNED FROM FELICITY! Just me? Oh.
I really want this show to be better, and I think it might get there. I remember not thinking Parks and Rec was that great in the beginning too. Sometimes shows need to find their footing and that takes a minute. Three things I love: deadpan Andre Braugher, goofy Joe Lo Truglio, and weirdo Chelsea Peretti. The thing that is bringing me down the most is Andy Samberg's character. I think it's possible to do cocky and funny (see: Joel McHale in Community), but that is not coming together yet.
I am a little behind on this one, but I just have to say that I am so glad that Sarah Silverman showed up on this show because it was getting a bit much with all the crazy ladies. I mean, since Pamela left has there been a non-hysterical weirdo lady on there at all? Sarah Silverman just seems cool, funny, and not a nutcase. Is that too much to ask, Louie? I love you, but come on now.
I gots to go, peoples. I shall do the book items next time. Before I go, one last pop culture item. Did you guys see the Gap ads featuring Waris Ahluwalia? Can I just say that, if you would have told me when I was a kid that someone like that would be on a Gap ad, it would have blown my freaking mind. It makes me glad to see it, but it makes 13-year-old me so happy. I know, it's Gap, who cares. But still, representation matters.
It is that time of year where people are writing a novel in a month for NaNoWriMo, and other people are writing a blog post every day for a month for NaBloPoMo, and other people are doing a Photo A Day Challenge for the month, and still others are reading as many novels as they can in a month for NaNoReMo. I toyed with doing each of these things but ha ha who am I kidding? I am not going to do any of these things let us be real just for one moment please. But maybe I can step up the blog a little bit? Like maybe more than once every couple of weeks? Expectations. Set them low, is what I am saying.
This weekend I went further into a hole of non-peoplehood. I didn't intend for it to happen. I started out my weekend by attending a dance performance with Nordic Boy and Delium which was pretty good, but not great. It was one of these companies where they are so into the theatricality of the show (crazy costumes! weirdo lighting! mondo sets!) that they kind of skimp a little bit on the dancing. Which, I get that those other things are cool too. I am just partial to lots of dance content. Plus, the theater that we were at was trying to burn us alive, they had the heat turned on way past original recipe and up to extra crispy. I am never hot, but I thought I was going to turn into librarian jerky by the end of that dang show. After the show ended and the lights went up Nordic Boy looked at me and said "WHOO IT IS LIKE KENNY ROGERS ROASTERS UP IN HERE" and the people in the row next to us stared at us but we didn't care because we were melting.
The following day there was a windstorm and branches were falling off trees and power was out all over the place. Nordic Boy got called to work and this is where I fell into a black hole of no-people-ness. It was a sad sort of day. Nordic Boy did get home and we just sort of curled up for the rest of the night and that was fine by me. I swear to you it is very easy for me to go to a place where I think that I could live pretty good in a bubble with just that dude and me and be just fine not seeing any other face ever again. He is just so effing sweet to me I can't help it. I become crazy live-in-a-survivalist-compound lady. I get this feeling a lot more since my dad is gone. I kind of don't want to be a part of the world, in a way, I guess. Let me just live in my cocoon of uncomplicated love and I'm good. I guess that is a normal feeling at a time such as this, right?
Anyway, we stayed in and watched Casablanca and played cards and made food. Our power stayed on too, which was nice. I mean, I am all for being in a bunker, but I want full amenities too. Let's not get crazy now.
The rest of the weekend was spent in each other's company just like that, joined at the hipbone. I still feel so sad a lot of the time, even though I pretend not to be mostly. With that dude of mine though, I still look at him and smile, like, from my soul. It's kind of the only thing right now.
Walked in the rain with my dude today. The view from our walk looked like this. Sometimes it's good to remember that it's not raining everywhere.
30-40 mile gusts of wind in my city today, most of my area has a power outage, my dude got stuck at work, it is cold and grey, and the streets are ghostly empty.
I bundled up, went for a two hour walk, and didn't see a soul. Put the latest Daughter album into my ears, thought about my dad, let the tears blow right off my eyeballs into the wind, and tried to remember myself.
Shallows, by Daughter
It is fall and even though we live in a house on a small urban-sized lot, we thankfully have a lot of trees, both in our yard as well as in the neighborhood as a whole. We may get a lot of rain in Seattle but the upside is that green things will grow, and grow, and often cannot be stopped from growing. During this time of year, when the leaves fall and our yards and sidewalks are covered in gorgeous reds, yellows, and oranges, this is the time of year that most assuredly, most viciously, drives my next door neighbor BAT POO POO NUTBALLS inside, although she is too mild mannered to show it.
For the most part, I love my next door neighbor, Maria. Maria is a sweet, kind elderly lady who wears smart hats and waves hello whenever I walk by. The only thing about Maria is that she is kind of obsessed with having a perfect yard. You should see it. You could eat off that shit. She sweeps her sidewalk and porch every day, often more than once a day. She has a landscaper come and make sure everything is trimmed, clipped, mowed, shaped, licked, frosted, cherry on top, amen. I have seen Maria literally move small rocks into more of a uniform line on her ground. To be honest I am quite jealous of that dang yard. Ours is horrible next to hers, and I know that has to pain her something terrible. We often have construction scraps and dirt heaps and all sorts of renovation ugliness everywhere, and we have not invested one bit of attention to our yard because of it. It really is terrible, and I feel bad for Maria about it. I only can say in our defense that some day, I know, for sure, that we will have a passable yard too, once we get to that project on the project list. That day, however, is not today. And it burns Maria to a crisp, I just know it. How do I know it? Because this is what she does. She comes out of her house, and she sweeps the leaves on her porch, collects them, and puts them in a yard waste bag. Then she sweeps off her sidewalk, collects the leaves, and puts them in a yard waste bag. Then she sweeps our sidewalk, collects the leaves, and piles them onto the bottom of our entry stairs. And then she sweeps a little ways down our street, and collects the leaves, and piles those onto the bottom of our entry stairs. So. When we come home after work, our side of the street will be totally pristine, except for the fact that there will be a pile of leaves, sometimes as many as 5 steps deep of our entryway, piled up, waiting for us. If you try to walk through it (which is mostly what we do because we have just gotten home from work and it is dark), you cannot judge where the steps are and so you are likely to misjudge and maybe if your name is ME and you tend to be wearing heels you may or may not completely or almost completely bite it which is a hell of a way to be greeted by your front steps each day. I do not know what Maria is saying to us with this gesture. Is she genuinely trying to be helpful? Here, I have swept up all of the leaves and made a lovely pile so as to make it easy for you to collect and put in your own goddamn yard waste you effing slovenly hovel-owning kids. Or is Maria trying to murder us via our own detritus? You will not sweep your shit up so you must DIE, DIE, DIE! I do not know.
The days are getting noticeably shorter- I leave for work when it's still dark outside. It's getting rainier now too, which means that I have entered the Cozy Times. The Cozy Times are like the End Times, in that they both require hunkering down and hoarding food items and eschewing sociability because Going Outside Times are over. I have always been particularly prone to succumbing fully to the Cozy Times, what with my love for reading and blankets and watching the teevee and having good companionship in that dude that seems to be living with me, so I have to make sure I put some things on my calendar here and there so as not to completely submerge for too long. The problem I foresee with this as time goes on is that as we fix up our house more and more, it only feeds the Cozy Times monster. Our house is getting a little bit nicer and so why would we ever leave it again? I am asking.
After a Friday night dinner out with friends (where I ordered a drink called "Bollywood 411" which, I don't know, cute or ridiculous?), a Saturday at Delium's house where Nordic Boy inducted everyone into the society of how to install ductwork (get it I said inducted about ducting haaaa), we woke up on Sunday, went out for a quick breakfast (at a place where the waitstaff were Halloween costumed as the 4 ladies from The Golden Girls- our waiter was Dorothy) and then hightailed it home and vowed to not break the homebound coziness seal for the rest of the day. We read, we watched movies, Delium stopped by, I baked, Nordic Boy cooked a delicious three-course Indian dinner, we changed our sheets to flannel, we talked and talked. Why do I need to leave my house again? There's a world out there to see and experience? And other people? Are you sure? It seems pretty good in here.
For all your passive aggressive baking needs.
"I'm baking cupcakes. IF YOU CARE."
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The week and the month went where now? Sheeeeeeeeit.
Lightning round of what I've been doing: I got a bad haircut, I did budget stuff at work one day that caused me to dream IN MATH that night, a hipster hit on me (maybe for my bad haircut? A possible hipster siren song) but I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, I bought plane tickets to Michigan that cost me lots of hundies, and my city has been totally engulfed in thick spooky fog.
That is all. Another week down the drain.
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It was my birthday last week. The first birthday of my whole life without my dad. As the day approached, I felt more and more dread about it, and honestly I just didn't even want it to happen. People had started to ask me about what I would like to do this year, and my responses ranged from "whateverIdon'tknowIjust...[trailing off]" to "NOT FEELING IT DO NOT TALK ABOUT IT" to "nothing. I guess? I don't know. Something?" It was a lovely soup of confusing messages. Luckily, I have people in my life who know how to cut through the baloney talk (I am currently fluent in baloney talk) and know that it really doesn't matter what the venue- a party, a quiet evening, a home-cooked meal- what I really needed was a reminder that I am loved. Nordic Boy and the gang proceeded to ignore my weird mumblings and be bossy about the whole thing and orchestrated several birthday activities for me. Thank goodness. Here are some of the things that got cooked up.
A small group of my favorite Seattle pals gathered up for a fancy meal in a fancy restaurant. We got a private room in the back (sitting in the back rooms of restaurants feels like the mafia, only without the impending threat of violence), and ate up. The restaurant could not have been more tasty and the people running that restaurant were de-fricking-lightful. They gave us free bottles of Prosecco all around and the best, most warm service. Afterwards we went back to my house and we had cupcakes and there were presents and everyone sang to me and is there anything more awkward than having the birthday song being sung to you, but I loved it because what are friends for if not to embarrass you with their love for you.
My friends Alli and Map, in their lifelong tradition of showing up at my door whenever I need them no matter what, both flew to Seattle for a long weekend which was so, so lovely of them. I love those girls so much, I can't even tell you. I boohoo-ed a little bit with Alli the first day that she arrived, just talking about all my FEEEEEEEELINGS, but then Friday and Saturday I did not get teary once, you guys. The thing is that I have gotten weepy at least once a day, every day, for the past 5 months. A non-crying day is kind of a big deal these days, and those girls made it happen. How? Example: there was a point in the weekend where one of them yelled out in confusion "What the FUCK is a pudenda and do I have one?" and how can you be sad when that is being yelled at you? You cannot.
Nordic Boy took me out to dinner one night and to a ballet show afterward. The show was three pieces by Twyla Tharp and one of them is a classic of hers that is set to a series of Frank Sinatra songs. Those songs are so common to our ears because Sinatra is so iconic and they are everywhere- in movies, in ads, whatever-- it's almost like I don't really hear the songs anymore. The show made me really listen to a lot of it in a way I hadn't for a while, and hey, news flash, they are pretty much great songs. I am just only now discovering this, because I am super ahead of the times. I was watching the ballet, and the song "Strangers in the Night" came on, and is there a song that seems more corny than that song? But dudes. It is not corny, is what I sat there and realized. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was the dance, maybe it was the night, maybe it is the mood I have been in. It made me think about how well I am loved. I looked over at Nordic Boy. He was already looking at me.
(If you want to give it a listen).
A couple of days ago, I got to ride a ferry for my work day because I got to go present my knowledges to another library system (what? I KNOW THINGS) and wow was it a gorgeous, splendiferous day to ride around on a boat. I love you, Seattle!
And then, the day after, and each day since then, someone turned the lights out in Seattle. And turned on a wind machine. And a sideways rain faucet too. It happened overnight. I am less enamoured with you, Seattle!
Thankfully, we have our teevee set to keep us warm. New fall shows! Returning fall shows! It's all very exciting for a girl such as myself. Here are some early teevee thoughts, most of which are too early to really draw any conclusions because most tv shows, by their format, need time to grow a little, so judging now seems a little unfair. But don't worry, that shall not stop me.
This show always pains me a little bit because the jokes! Mostly great! (Winston saying "I know everyone's going through a lot, but I think it's time for me to start a puzzle" is sort of the highlight of my week) but they throw in those hipster-racist jokes every once in a while that make me NUTS. I was afraid that after that horrendous Indian wedding episode that I was never going to be able to look at this show ever again, but my love for Nick and Winston has carried me forward. Schmidt is sort of dead to me, since they mostly make him do that icky stuff, and it was bad enough that they had Cece falling for him despite his inability to stop rapid fire racist stuff at her, but now he's got another lady who's totally into him? Ugh. Stop that story line, New Girl. It's gross.
I know I just talked about this but I was super wrong about it. I said that reality shows, including this one, are about nothing. And then I watched Season 2 where Sister Wives had episodes about having to flee the state because of the legality of their family structure, and an episode about how their kids socialize with kids outside their faith, and an episode about sexual expectations for the teens in the family. It was actually more than a giant polygamist family going to the grocery store every episode. They're exploring bigger things. Sorry, Sister Wives.
The Mindy Project
Every single time I see James Franco in something, I think: oh. He's actually really good at this! I always forget that. I guess it's because of the persona that people always talk about, but I have total actor amnesia with him every time. It's like when I hear a Kanye West song and I think: oh yeah. He can make music, aside from being a jackass. NOW I remember. I thought Franco was really funny in The Mindy Project, and I hope he keeps showing up.
The Michael J. Fox Show
I really hope this stays good. I thought the pilot was good, and who doesn't love Alex P. Keaton? We need him in our lives, yes? Plus Marie from Breaking Bad! And Bunk from The Wire! Being very un-Marie-like and un-Bunk-like, thank goodness, because that would be weird.
Considering the decidedly spooky weather we have been having, I was super ready to be into this. I am going to stick with it a while longer, but so far...the EXPOSITION IS KILLING ME. So much explaining! If you can't tell your story through the action, and the story is complicated, it is excruciating. "I have found a clue in the note that was left here, and the note says that there were demons who fought with witches, but when the witches fought back, there was an energy force that was created whereby the demons need to be using a steel blade in order to kill others, but they can't be killed with a steel blade, they can only be killed with a medallion, which was created by a holy order, and the holy order has hidden the medallion..." Oh my gahhhhh. That's not anywhere near the actual storyline, but there are paragraphs of dialogue like that. SHUT UP AND GET CHASED BY HEADLESS MAN, PLEASE.
We all knew that Stephan from Pretty In Pink would grow up to be a terrorist, right? I've only seen one of these, and it's pretty silly, but James Spader gets to be creepy and weird, which all we have ever wanted from him, and so now we have it. You have to just ignore some plot silliness, is the only thing.
Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Why can't I remember the name of this show? I keep talking about it to people and I am always "Marvel Shield Agents. Marvel Shields and Agents. Agents with Shields? Sonny and Shields? Brook Shields?"
Parks and Rec
The first one this season was funny, and heartwarming, and delightful. It seems like that would get old or repetitious or something, but not to me it don't.
And yes, of course, Breaking Bad is coming to an end tonight. THANK GOD. My ticker cannot take much more of this. AMC was running a marathon of all the seasons in a row leading up to the finale and all I could think when I heard that was WHY anyone would do that to themselves all in a row like that. I remember, before I started watching it, a friend told me I had to watch it, and she said "I can't exactly say I enjoy it, because it's not a pleasurable show, but it's SO FUCKING GOOD." For all the commentary I have heard about it since, that still pretty much sums it up.
Happy teevee time, pals! Here's a song to start your week that's been speaking to me lately.
Graveyard, by Lucy Schwartz
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