There are many reasons to explain my absence from the blogosphere, none of which would make for an interesting post. So, onward and upward! I'll just say I took a hiatus in solidarity with Community, which NBC decided to shelve in favor of real comedic 'winners' like Whitney.
(Fun fact: I would rather take a fork to my eyeball than sit through a half-hour of that laugh-track nonsense. Seriously, NBC, pull yourself together. You cancel Kings, you cut Meloni loose, and now this.)
It's always darkest before the dawn (shake it out / shake it out), and let's just say the light will return on Thursday night when Troy and Abed are back in my life.
To think I missed the whole month of February! Alas. Lucky for you, February fodder can be summed up in three basic parts. Use your imaginations and pretend like I blogged about them:
Part the First, in which I try to convince you that the greatest love stories of our time are The Sound of Music, You've Got Mail, and 10 Things I Hate About You. When nuns battle Nazis, when quaint bookstores and non-creepy chatrooms bring people together, and when Heath Ledger sacrifices himself on the altar of dignity and evens the score, you've got a recipe for success. (Take heart, Cameron: You will always be my favorite. Always.)
Part the Second, in which I acknowledge that February means supermarket aisles filled with conversation hearts. A day may come when the courage of men fails, and I tell you that conversation hearts are gross, but it is not this day. Sure, most people find them tasteless, wretched, and little more than colored chalk dust, but I am not one of those people. Buck up, kids, and buy the Brach's brand! You have no frame of reference if you purchase or taste the kind that's been sitting on a dollar store shelf for two and a half years. (Besides, who doesn't love to telegraph their feelings with a little candy heart? Hey girl: U R a 10.)
Part the Third, in which I reminisce on years past, and fervently wish that President's Day carried more weight in the real world. I went to public high school, and the beauty of public high school? Mid-semester brings with it blissful days of freedom, days of inservice and faculty meetings that equate to little more than NO SCHOOL. So here's to you, important calendar marks, e.g. President's Day, Yom Kippur, and the like. (Of course, my public school didn't get off for the Immaculate Conception, so. You know, trade-offs.)
Which brings us to March.
WARNING: I'm sensing this is going to be a long, rambly post that you, my dear reader, will have to dissect. Most days I try to establish a cohesive thread - a theme and method to my madness, if you will - but we're five days shy of St. Patrick's Day, and I think I want to take after one of the Irish greats. Buckle up and get ready for some Joyce-style stream of consciousness, folks.
Beware, you'll find commentary of little substance, as my life revolves around the mundane tasks of tailoring cover letters by day and watching Primetime by night. You've been warned. Proceed with caution.
If you are not watching NBC's Awake starring the incredible Jason Isaacs, stop what you are doing and pull up a Hulu screen right now. I've sent many a flurried text to my sister and waxed poetic to anyone who will listen about this new show - I can only hope NBC doesn't cancel it before it truly gains momentum.
The story follows a man who has been in a horrific car accident and now exists in two "realities." In the first, his wife survives the car crash but they lose their teenage son. In the second, he and his son survive, but they are now coping with the loss of the mother.
Many complications ensue, not the least of which is - He can't distinguish which setting is real. He goes to sleep and wakes up in the first scenario, but the next time he goes to sleep, he wakes up in the second: He can't identify which is a dream and which (if either) is reality.
To boot, this man is a homicide detective and must use clues in both realities to solve cases. It's thrilling and suspenseful, but more than that, it's poignant and heartbreaking in a beautiful, familiar way. Isaacs brings life to his character, and you feel his grief - The show examines how the mind copes with tragedy (and the psychological implications therein), but it also showcases how families deal with tragedy. Anyway, I could go on and on, but JUST WATCH IT ALREADY. It's great, I promise.
Confession: New Girl has grown on me immensely. I stand by my previous remarks on Zooey Deschanel, but the three male cast members have proven their comedic worth (and ability to spit mad frees) time and time again. Also, haters can step aside, because Happy Endings is a hilarious, fantastic show.
- - - - -
Exhibit A: New Girl
Winston: Schmidt, why don't you tell her about all the things you love about India?
Schmidt: Uh, sure. I love, you know, uh. I love Slumdog. I love Jnana, pepper, Ben Kingsley, the stories of Rudyard Kipling; I have respect for cows, of course. I love, uh, the Taj Mahal, Deepak Chopra, and anyone named Patel. I love monsoons... I love cobras in baskets. Naveen Andrews. I love mango chutney. Really, any type of chutney...
Exhibit B: Happy Endings
Max: ...I just realize that I'm that much further from my dream job.
Dave: Max, how many times do I have to tell you? Scottie Pippen is not in a financial position to hire a sassy butler.
- - - - -
Yeesh, I'm afraid I watch far more primetime TV than is healthy for a person my age. Or just a person in general. It hasn't always been this way, I promise.
I'll leave you with this parting thought - I'm glad to be taking a break from Chris Harrison and the rose-colored glasses he wears. (Ben Flajnik, you are a gross specimen of male-dirtbag behavior, and you've proven all that is wrong with men in our day and age. Good day, sir.)
On Age and Relationships:
Age is a weird thing, right? Well, you're about to learn that dinner conversation is a weird thing at my house, too.
While we were at table, we received a phone call last night from a chimney sweep. No, he did not have a grossly exaggerated and patently unauthentic cockney accent, but it was an interesting phone call nonetheless. (Granted, we have a wood-burning fireplace at my house, but even so... How often do you get calls from chimney sweeps?) Anyway, this naturally led to a discussion about Dick Van Dyke, which in turn led to pop culture (as it always does), and the fact that 86-year old Van Dyke recently married his 40-year old girlfriend.
I will go on the record and say that Van Dyke's personal life is none of my business, and I will follow that with the admission, "Well, that's never stopped me before." I'll admit, I find the age difference much less gross than if he were marrying, say, an eighteen year old, but even so... Forty-six years is a big difference.
I say this because it got me thinking: How old is too old? And it is with heavy heart that I confess, if Matt Damon were unattached... Well, I think eighteen years difference IS too much for me. [Gasp!]
But Colleen! Say it ain't so!
I know, I know. Don't get me wrong, I still love the man, but practically speaking... That's too many years, and it freaks me out. The good news? I've deemed -/+10 years my "comfortable" range in celebrity years, provided said celeb is not a minor. (That's where the -10 gets tricky, y'all.) So, in conclusion: Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Lee Thompson Young are the top seeds in my bracket... And I dare you not to love Cameron or The Famous Jett Jackson, I dare you. (Fictional characters: Well, we've got the lock on Jim Halpert and Marshall Eriksen, too.)
On Masterpice Classic:
At the risk of sounding hipster, I was riding the Masterpiece Classic wave LONG before Downton. For years, I've had a sneaking suspicion that I'm actually an eighty year old man inhabiting the body of a twenty-something gal. The three primary arguments I cite? 1) My love for gin and tonics, 2) My love for afternoon naps, and 3) My love for all things Masterpiece Theatre and Masterpiece Classic.
I'm thrilled that Downton Abbey has given Masterpiece Classic some much-deserved press and subsequent accolades. But, you know. This isn't my first rodeo.
(Ahem. Granny is the BEST character in that series, and Carson is a close second. Or so I will maintain.)
On J.Lo's Career:
J.Lo, at some point, you need to recognize that you are the mother of two children and there IS such a thing as an appropriate hemline. We know you've got gams, trust me. They've been on display for a good twenty years now (don't think I've forgotten about Selena), and no question, you look great for a woman over forty. But seriously: It's time to grow up and accept the fact that you should wear pants. I won't be fooled by the rocks that you got.
And no, I'm not just talking American Idol here. I've seen that Kohl's commercial, and you are flashing a lot of leg, girl.
On Pitying the Fool:
Oh, Mr. T. Those gold chains must really be weighing you down, because how far the mighty have fallen. You 've stooped to Old Navy commercials? It breaks my heart. I wanna kidnap you, throw you in the A-Team van, and drive far, far away from bargain jeans and crew-neck tanks.
On the movie, John Carter:
I've seen about a bajillion previews/promos for this movie, AND I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT IS ABOUT. Can someone please explain it to me?
On Lenten Resolutions:
Better than New Year's, friends. In the words of Ben Gibbard, I want to live where soul meets body.
On March Madness:
Bracket is filled, Kentucky better not be upset, and my money (or theoretical money) is on Florida State for the win. Go Seminoles!
On Book Recommendations:
The following books I've read and re-read in the past month... If you're in the market for a new read, I would suggest any one of these.
The Help, Kathryn Stockett
Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro
Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold, C.S. Lewis
Cranford, Elizabeth Gaskell
Also: If you haven't devoured The Hunger Games yet, DO IT. You will not regret it. And do so before March 23rd, so you can see the movie, which looks kickass. (And I'm a very skeptical movie viewer...)
On Pandora:
Sum 41, how the HELL did you get on my "Mumford & Sons" Pandora? Be gone, I say. Be gone. In other news, I could listen to Jon McLaughlin and Sara Bareilles all day long: Summer is Over
I don't want to venture too far into song recommendations... I will leave that to my friend and fellow blogger Joshua.
In other news: Love me some Kelly Clarkson, but this music video is the EXACT reason I'm so glad no one has every followed me into Club Swerve with a camera.
Check out these moves at 2:53-2:57. Look familiar? (Stronger - Kelly Clarkson)
On Your Boy Jay-Z, on your Girl:
How have I NOT blogged about Blue Ivy? I'll save it for another day, I suppose. There's just too much to say, but that baby is livin' the dream, folks. THE DREAM. Not the one who co-wrote "Singles Ladies" with Beyonce, I mean the actual dream. (Although, he's a pretty okay guy, too.)
Oh, gosh. That's sufficiently rambly for now, right? My next post will have a point, I promise. And pictures, lots of pictures...
It's already eating away at my brain...
fINNNALLLYYY!!! yay!
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