Girl Detective

#19 in my 2007 movie challenge was The Devil Wears Prada. I couldn’t read the book when it came out. I put it down at the 50-page mark because it was so poorly written, and because the main character was so unlikeable. I wanted to see the movie because I’d heard good things about the performances. Streep, Tucci, and Blunt all bring nuance and dimension to characters that could easily have been caricatures. I’m not sure that the creepily doe-eyed Hathaway did much to redeem the main character for me, though. She was still a fashion-ignorant intellectual snob who underwent a Cinderella makeover and saw the humanity in her co-workers; no surprises here.

Streep’s platinum forelock looked so distinct that I suspect it was a wig. And the gag reel was well worth watching for the many shots of the main characters falling down in their high heels.

#17 in my 2007 movie challenge was Michael Mann’s Miami Vice. I loved Mann’s 2004 Collateral, but I found Vice deeply, disappointingly silly. And I am officially over the plot device of putting a woman in danger in order to manipulate a man. It’s a crap cliche, and I’ve had enough of it.

Yet another episode of Bones that made me go “meh”. And I don’t even think it was because anyone cried. We fast-forwarded through several scenes. The music was overpowering, the sentiment full of schmaltz, and the mystery both complicated and uninteresting. Not enough banter, and I suspect that episodes about Bones’s parents = bad. Plus there was no Stephen Fry, who is batting a thousand for the eps he appears in. Coincidence? I think not.

Ack, ack, and triple ack. I hated House last week. Two markers of a sub-standard House episode for me are 1. The case is more important than the banter 2. Somebody cries. Add to this that it was an episode about saving a fetus, that the fetus was shown not only in 3-D ultrasound, but also grabbing House’s hand, (Augh! Creepy animatronic fetus! So scary!) I was surprised to find any redeeming factors. On TV, I dislike shows that play the child-in-danger card, and the baby-in-danger card is worse. But for the show to strongly imply a pro-life stance really bothered this mother of two. There was some good banter, and we are now well and truly set up to see poor Chase get his heart broken. I just hope upcoming episodes are both more nuanced as to character, and less political in narrative. And that NO ONE FRAKKIN’ CRIES, ALREADY.

Except maybe Chase when he gets his heart broken by Cameron.

For your edification, a few shoe definitions (these are mine, but there are lots more at Kristopher Dukes):

Clog: shoe with heavy, possibly wooden, sole.
Mule: closed-toe, open-heel shoe.
Slide: Open toe and heel.
Loafer: casual leather shoe.

The definitions are confusing, and this is more specificity than most people need. But yesterday I saw not one, but two, people commit the same foot faux pas, a loafer mule. One was on a woman, another on a man. Loafers and mules don’t mix. Mules in the animal world are the sterile offspring of a male donkey and a female horse. Use the animal world as your guide. Mules are meant to be cute and kicky. Don’t try to force unnatural alliances like the open-backed loafer.

Further, mules are not meant to be worn with socks. Neither are sandals. Loafers can be worn with or without socks. And the term “casual clog” is redundant, because it implies that there is such a thing as a “dress clog.”

These rules are here to protect not only your feet, but your image. If you have questions, or disagree, spend some quality time in the archives of Manolo’s Shoe Blog. Manolo, he is a man who knows the thing or two about the feets. I’m fairly certain he’d back me up on all of the above.

My husband G. Grod sold me on Heather Havrilesky’s TV columns from Salon.com when he said “She’s the Dara Moskowitz of television reporting!” That’s a very high compliment in our house. I feel bad that HH has to watch so much bad tv in order to review it. But I really enjoy reading about even the shows I DON’T watch.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the song reveal on the Battlestar Galactica finale till I read this. She wrote it better, and funnier, than I could have. So read, even if you don’t watch Battlestar; her writing is very good, and perhaps you will laugh, as I did.

(SPOILER ALERT: Details of “Battlestar Galactica” finale included in this column.)

Life is but a joke

And speaking of oddly placed songs, let’s get to the main event: Sunday night’s “Battlestar Galactica” finale. I was on board for this one from the start: I loved Lee Adama’s heartfelt speech at Baltar’s trial, particularly after he spent most of this season mooning and pouting and just generally acting like a petulant baby, loved the creepy music and the fact that Anders, Chief Tyrol, Tigh and Tory (Roslin’s press secretary) were the only ones who could hear it, loved the growing suspicion that they were all Cylons (Who better to be a Cylon, than Tigh?), loved the power outages and the mounting suspense… Yes, this was a finale that anyone could get behind.

Maybe it was a stretch to make so many longstanding characters Cylons, but maybe they just think that they’re Cylons. Who knows? Most importantly, it all felt momentous, big changes were clearly afoot, changes that didn’t involve any temples or empty stand-offs with the Cylons or adulterous affairs. Last night’s finale had me by the throat. And then…

Chief Tyrol: There must be some kinda way outta here.

Tigh: Said the joker to the thief.

Anders: There’s too much confusion here.

Tory: I can’t get no relief!

Oh my God! My stoner boyfriend from high school wrote the season finale of “Battlestar Galactica”!

How did that happen? Why did Ronald D. Moore take a break and hand over responsibility for the finale to a guy who spent most of his time doing shots of Bacardi 151 Rum and noodling Hendrix on his guitar? Was that wise, really? Didn’t Moore realize that my ex would make Bob Dylan the Cylon God?

Can you believe it? This is science fiction, it’s pure made-up, imaginary, insane fantasy, the sky’s the limit, you can do whatever you want, and you do whatever you want, and it’s working, for the most part, and you want to take a little break from that to indulge your jones for Dylan? It’s worth it to you, to alienate the vast majority of your audience at the end of your finale, just to reference a pretty cool song that, frankly, no longer seems all that cool since most of us have heard it, oh, fifty million times in the last 20 years?

When I heard those lyrics, all I could think was: Wow, I was way too hard on “The L Word.”

Oh yeah, and Starbuck’s still alive. I almost forgot.

I will be vague, in case you haven’t watched it yet. I liked the finale, but didn’t love it. There was a big reveal, but I didn’t buy it. It was way too big, and while they’d been leading up to it for a few episodes, it still felt like a fake out. I’m terrible at guessing things ahead of time, but I still don’t buy this.

They’re going heavy on the Jesus symbolism for Baltar. His hair and beard, his recent (random) socialism, and three women showing up to him when they did, and why they did, was very interesting, especially as it’s just a few weeks from Easter.

I don’t like the character of Apollo. I liked the content of his speech, but it didn’t feel genuine.

And I’m still thinking on the finally revealed “music” that several characters had been hearing for a few weeks now. It’s an odd, deliberate choice with many possible meanings. And thus far, none of them make any possible sense.

Ronald Moore, please stop futzing around with other stuff, get back to the show. You did a good job in that you didn’t hit a sophomore slump till season three. Get back in the game. Explain that reveal, and that music. If you can sell me on those, you’ll have me back for season 4.

Speaking of defective products, don’t even get me started on baby monitors. I swear, they’re programmed to self destruct after ninety days. More links and vitriol when time allows.

Because life with ongoing post-partum depression that isn’t responding to treatment isn’t hard enough. Ha! My current bugaboo is things that break. Because not only were they a waste of time and effort, but they either need to be thrown away, or sent back to the manufacturer so that someone can be held accountable for the shoddy work. I should probably just throw these away, but they represent so much money, so much hope for a product that would work, that I can’t quite bear to just toss them.

Evenflo Top of Stair baby gate. Arrived broken from Target.com. Returned.

Summer Top of Stair baby gate. Purchased at Target. Broke within days of installation. Worse, the pieces that broke off were about exactly the size of baby windpipe–shoddy construction AND a choking hazard! Thanks, Target! Thanks, Summer! Returned, but I don’t think I’ve finished spilling bile on this one yet.

Kitchenart adjust a cup measuring set. Inner plunger broke apart. Why is it multiple pieces? Why not just one? Never found a use for the spoons.

Oxo cheese slicer #1. G. Grod threw away before I could rescue it from the trash.

Oxo cheese slicer #2, which I was excited to see came with a replacement wire. Guess what? It wasn’t the wire that broke. Grr.

Kitchenaid cheese slicer. Huge and unwieldy, and still couldn’t slice off the rind of my Dante 6-month sheep’s cheese.

Nike watch. Every time I pushed the upper right button, I also hit the lower left. Bad design, then the strap separated and couldn’t even be contained with duct tape.

Seiko watch. Can’t stay working. A battery works for a few weeks, then caput. I loved this watch.

I’m sure there are more broken items littering our home, waiting to be sent to their maker with a vitriolic letter from me. I’ve got to get these out of here. They’re wrecking the feng shui, and I’m going to get an ulcer from all this internal bile. More links to come when I finish complaining about these shoddy products online.

What Do They Put in There?

Stonyfield yogurt
crack for the younger set, in
cup, bottle or quart.

Spring

Sunshine gives, and takes
You banish suicide skies
Yet highlight all the dust.

#8 in my 2007 book challenge was The Evolution of Desire: Strategies of Human Mating by David Buss. I found it often repetitive, and occasionally interesting. Published in 1994 and relying on research up to twenty years before that, it’s old for non-fiction, and thus dated about things like sexual behavior in the face of AIDS. The author has an interesting premise, and one I didn’t find very shocking or surprising: men and women’s mating strategies are often unpleasant adaptive mechanisms that have ensured survival and propagation. These strategies are general and animal-like, rather than individual and emotional. Buss interestingly deploys many examples from the animal world to illustrate parallel points. His anecdotes of humans, though, never felt like they illustrated his scientific data well. They seemed more like stories (and often unpleasantly sexist ones) in the vein of “love’s a bitch.” Additionally, the scientific evidence Buss relies on was sometimes sketchy. He noted that lesbians mating behavior didn’t conform to certain of his theories, but didn’t explore this at any length. In one particularly egregious instance, Buss noted how the sexual revolution proved one of his theories, since it occurred during a time of more women than men, yet he didn’t mention another key contributing cause, the birth-control pill. The chapters had some slipshod endnotes that hinted at less than rigorous scholarship. One of the members of my book group recommended Jared Diamond’s Why Is Sex Fun? instead.

Veronica Mars: so disappointing. Last week’s episode was pretty good. Logan snapping a pic of Veronica in jail, and the appearances of both Cliff and Vinnie all paid off. But the lame ending of the O’Dell death mystery? They killed off a good character for that? And I’d pegged the killer since the beginning of the season because of his bad fake hair. Why the fake hair? Was there a storyline there that didn’t play out? I’m about to bail on this show. Oh former favorite, how things have changed.

Battlestar Galactica: last week’s episode, Dirty Hands, about the fuel ship strike was terrible. I don’t like when writers change characters merely to further the storyline–suddenly Roslyn and Adama are fascists? And then by the end they’re nice again? And while Baltar is a master of manipulation, the sudden emergence of his social conscience still feels contrived. One of the writers of this episode was also the writer on the last filler episode that I hated, The Passage, about Kat. These filler episodes are NOT working for me.

Over the weekend I went with friends to The Glass Menagerie at the Guthrie Theater. While reviews have been good, my friends thought it was terrible. I’m not familiar with the play (more on that below), but it had some of the hallmarks that made me stop going to the Guthrie a while back–it felt homogenized, and overfull of sitcom-ish laughs. The Guthrie production was most effective in its use of one character at two ages, played by two actors, the elder of which is the narrator. These scenes were poignant. My friends liked the set, a small box of an apartment surrounded by dirty and decayed-looking scaffolds and cheap neon signs. I, on the other hand, longed for a more abstract set. I don’t go to a play for realism; if I want that I see a film.

As for the new theater itself, the views from the lobby are spectacular, but I don’t like that the lobby is not on the ground floor. This is counterintuitive, and makes “meet me in the lobby” ambiguous. I found the red interior of the proscenium stage a little too reminiscent of Target.

Embarrassing admission: When my friend told me we were seeing The Glass Menagerie, I thought I’d seen a television production before. I was mistaken–what I’d seen was A Doll’s House by Ibsen. I’d neither seen nor read anything by Williams before–yet another gap in my so-called liberal arts education that I’ll address on my own. So take my opinions for what they’re worth–I’m hardly part of the theater cognoscenti.

With the rise of Netflix and the fast, inexpensive availability of DVDs, why do I go to the movies, especially now that I have two kids, and going with my husband involves paying a sitter?

I go because I like the experience (even when I don’t; more on that below) and because some movies are better in the theater. I saw Branagh’s Henry V at least four times in the theater (a really good one, too) and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it became one of my favorite films.

I recall reading (but can’t find a link after much searching) that the brain processes films and DVDs differently. Films are a string of images, and even though the break between frames happens so fast it’s impossible to see, our brain still experiences it and actively provides closure between frames. DVDs, though, are a steady stream of digital images, and the brain receives these passively.

From his review of Star Wars: Episode II, Roger Ebert has this to say about the difference between film and digital images:

Digital images contain less information than 35mm film images, and the more you test their limits, the more you see that. Two weeks ago I saw “Patton” shown in 70mm Dimension 150, and it was the most astonishing projection I had ever seen–absolute detail on a giant screen, which was 6,000 times larger than a frame of the 70mm film. That’s what large-format film can do, but it’s a standard Hollywood has abandoned (except for IMAX), and we are being asked to forget how good screen images can look–to accept the compromises. I am sure I will hear from countless fans who assure me that “Episode II” looks terrific, but it does not. At least, what I saw did not. It may look great in digital projection on multiplex-size screens, and I’m sure it will look great on DVD, but on a big screen it lacks the authority it needs.

That’s why I went to see Lawrence of Arabia last year when it was showing in a nearby revival. It was not meant to be seen on my television; it was meant to be seen on a big screen. It was a spectacle, and as such, it was spectacular.

There are films that are better at home. Comedy DVDs, with their extras, are especially fun. My husband and I watched Talladega Nights last week, and got several nights of enjoyment out of a friend’s DVD. Character-driven films, and films that were shot digitally, also benefit from small-screen viewings.

It’s not only the image that draws me to theaters for films. It’s the holistic experience. I know what the arguments are against theater going; I don’t disagree with most of them: dirty theaters and restrooms, overpriced and poor quality concessions, skyrocketing ticket prices, and, oh, the humanity–cell phones, conversations, small children in adult movies. Yes, these are hazards, and not uncommon ones.

One of my most disappointing experiences in recent years was going to see the movie Adaptation at The Lagoon theater. Tickets were $8 each, even though the movie was in the early afternoon (there had been a morning show). A 16-oz. bottle of water cost $3 (I’d purchased a 6-pack of 24-oz. bottles at Target the day before for $1.99). We paid for parking, and then I didn’t like the movie and the people behind us talked the whole time. I haven’t been back to the Lagoon since. Instead, I adjusted my movie practices and have had much better experiences, with only occasional annoyances ever since. Going to the movies has become an event, and an oasis of time to myself. I make the effort to minimize these potential pitfalls.

Dirt: if I go to older theaters, I bring anti-bacterial wipes and tissues. I seek out new stadium theaters that have not yet acquired the sticky patina of pop on the floor. The newer restrooms have hallway entrances, not doors, and automated soap, water, and flushing, so there are fewer contact surfaces.

Overpriced concessions: Theaters make their money here, not on tickets. I think it’s bad manners to bring stuff from home. But there are usually some lower-priced combos. I always buy the smallest size because it’s more than enough and it is cheaper, if not by much. I also seek out theaters that have good concessions. Three Twin Cities theaters with good popcorn and real butter are The Heights, The Riverview, and the GTI Roseville 4.

High ticket prices: I try to go to the cheapest show of the day, which is often the twilight show (about 4 to 6 p.m.), NOT the matinees. Don’t buy tickets online or on a credit card if you’re carrying a balance; the additional charges add up. Also, check out discount theaters. Paying $2 a ticket is a bargain, but there are hidden costs. I’ve found the crowds at discount theaters are less polite, and the last film I saw at one was out of focus.

Rude and stupid people: There’s no way to avoid them fully. Going to nicer, newer theaters and seeing non-blockbuster movies will reduce their incidence. While some people WILL bring children to adult movies (there were a few last week when my husband and I saw The Departed. I’m all for early education, but Scorsese is a bit much for the under-six crowd), I try to stem the tide of judgment and wonder if they can’t find childcare or can’t afford it. Finally, my best advice for avoiding talkers and other pests is to take the path of MOST resistance in the theater. If the door is on the left side, I cross over and sit on the right side. I don’t sit in the middle. I sit against the wall rather than on the aisle. If the person behind me talks, I move, since shushing them often doesn’t work.

Leaving the comfort of my home means taking some chances, and possibly spending more to do so. For me, seeing a movie is such an enjoyable event I think it’s worth the risk.

I’ve noticed, and I’m not sure I’m happy about, my recent entries being more focused on parenthood. I don’t want this to be a mommy blog. I want it to be a testament that it’s possible to be a mom and to keep learning. That’s what my writing, book and movie goals are for. Yet the mommy stuff what I’m living most immediately on a day-to-day basis. I’m trying hard to find the humor and joy in the experience.

Earlier this month, my psychiatrist confirmed what had begun to suspect: my depression is worse, not better. The heartening news is that I’ve got a good group of healthcare people helping me, and a good circle of friends and family. The not-so-good, though unsurprising, news, is that depression sucks. This is not a pull-myself-up, cheer-up, look-on-the-bright-side kinda thing. Rather, this is being tired and angry, lacking focus, taking forever to complete simple tasks, and forgetting things. It’s having a bad day, every day. It’s like moving through mental, physical, and emotional sludge. It’s getting side effects from the medication without getting the benefits.

For distraction, I visit gossip site Perez Hilton. Like other readers, I was horrified when I saw that Britney Spears had shaved her head. Crazy and nuts were two adjectives that leapt to mind. Soon, though, I recalled how only a few months ago I thought about shaving my head. It was just as baby Guppy started hair pulling in earnest. My husband G. Grod talked me out of it; he said it was rude, as people would think I had cancer. I also probably wouldn’t have gone through with it out of vanity. My hair is pretty much my go-to, feel-good-about-myself asset.

It didn’t take me long to wonder whether Britney and her hard-partying, wacky behavior isn’t just a 25-year-old with too much money, not enough sane support, and a whopping case of post-partum depression. Like so much that has come to me with motherhood, I yet again realize that I can identify and empathize, but I sure as heck can’t judge. This is me, eating humble pie, again.

My shows are disappointing me all over the place lately. In last week’s Veronica Mars, “There’s Got to Be a Morning After Pill”, Logan gets drunk and teary, then gasps between words to convey his anguish. Apparently he’s been taking acting lessons from Neve Campbell. Richard Grieco and his non-natural nose showed up so he could become a suspect. And Veronica and her dad talk about sex. I wish it were affirming; instead I find it creepy. Dick is funny and the best part of the show.

On last week’s House, “Needle in a Haystack”, the show did a 180 from the week before’s turgid rape drama. House was his glib, irreverent self as he tried to steal a wheelchair-bound colleague’s parking spot. Both attempts at characterization felt heavy and contrived. The earlier episode tried too hard to show House’s human side. Then last week’s stripped that away to imply an almost sociopathic disregard for others. Somewhere in between there is a nuanced, complex character. I hope.

On the Office, the parts of Michael were so frequent, and so painful, that I kept wincing. It’s a hard balance they do, but this week’s show of Phyllis’s wedding was too much in the pain range.

But then Bones surprised me. I had been so disappointed with it earlier that I was on the verge of abandoning it. But then Stephen Fry showed up as the shrink to counsel Booth. He was funny, humane, and gave me a great deal of hope that he might be a recurring character. And Brennan now has a love interest. Things are definitely looking up. There was a noticeable absence of crying.

Most readers know that recommending books is a dicey business, made more fraught when one lends or gives a book. Because the recommender, especially if she is also a loaner or a giver, hopes (not unreasonably) to share the book she’s enjoyed, and wants to hear, preferably sooner than later, that you enjoyed the book as well. There are a few potential problems.

For those of us (I think there are at least a few of you who can relate) who make reading lists, and commit to certain books for certain discussions, and are enthusiastic patrons of the public library and frequent ab/users of its reserve system, a book loaned or given throws a wrench in our carefully (some might say obsessively) laid plans. It is good manners to return the favor of a recommendation/loan/gift by reading the book soon. All those other books that we’ve bought over the past however many years, the ones we swore we’d read soon, get bumped again. The reading list gets crammed, and we need to whiz through books we’d rather savor, put aside books already begun, or return books unread to the library that have been in our queue for months.

All these, though, are fairly trifling in comparison to the good will of a R/L/G. I feel petty and small as I write this, as it implies I begrudge the R/L/G. Some of my best book friends have been R/L/Gs!

And yet. And yet.

Is there any book scenario more perilous than when one dislikes the R/L/G? An analogy: several years ago, when my husband and I were still courting, he bought tickets to a ballet production of Carmina Burana, a musical work he liked. Wow, I thought, how romantic! The ballet!

After the show was a different story. I wasn’t feeling well that night, and had a hard time sitting still. When G. Grod asked me what I thought, I was less than gracious. I was, unfortunately, honest. “It was long. My bum hurts from the uncomfortable seats. And why did that music sound like the anti-christ was going to come swooping in at any moment?”

Poor young G. Grod. He’d taken the time and expense to surprise me with ballet tickets, and that was my response. Ten years later, this still comes up occasionally. I’m still sorry. But I still think of Damian any time I hear CB.

A similar situation happened with my sister Sydney, who sent me a copy of Wallace Stegner’s Angle of Repose. I loathed the book, so much that I was moved to write an article detailing why. It was hardly the response my sister had hoped for.

Even though G. Grod and I have years of experience of why R/L/Gs are bad, we still do it. How can we not? We love books, and want to share the love. We each have several books we think the other should read, and both of us have put those books off for some time. Perhaps that’s one of the benefits of being married lo these several years; we can take both the delay in reading and the potential eventual dislike of each other’s R/L/Gs with equanimity.

Books G. Grod thinks I would like/should read

Dune by Frank Herbert
Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian
Gertrude and Claudius by John Updike
A Fire on the Deep by Vernor Vinge
A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace
Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein
The Loved One by Evelyn Waugh

Books I’ve bought because I liked them, and I want G. Grod to read them

King Dork by Frank Portman
Black Swan Green by David Mitchell
The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose

Book I bought before I made my most recent book vow, that I want to read, and think G. Grod will like too

Arthur and George by Julian Barnes

My husband G. Grod is a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Every season since Drake was born, G. has tried to watch the games and create an early father/son ritual. Unfortunately, Drake has never been on board with this plan. During his first season (he was weeks old), Drake slept through most of the games. During his second season (1+yo) he didn’t look at the screen at all, and ran around the basement, getting into dangerous items. During his third season (2+yo), he would watch a few plays, then get up, run around, and be distracting. And in this fourth season (3+yo) he would watch the TV, but be bored during the game, and fixate on the commercials. Progress has been slow, and not encouraging.

One commercial in particular got his attention, Dodge “Street” with rock-em, sock-em robots. Drake got upset at the violent robots, even when G. Grod explained that no one was in the truck, and the robot didn’t hurt the truck. Drake continued to talk about the commercial and the “bad robots” in a tremulous voice. It was in heavy rotation, so eventually, he was watching a game, the commercial came on, and no one was near the remote to pause or mute it. I heard his shrieks of fear from across the house. I spent some time calming him down.

This has now been weeks ago, and we still occasionally hear about bad robots. Something will remind Drake of it and he’ll become upset, or he’ll wake from a nightmare about them. We’ve been trying to invent examples of good robots.

In spite of individual hatred and a nomination for worst commercial, I’m sure the commercial will air during the Super Bowl, so Drake won’t be watching. I hope that the next several months will bring a bit of critical understanding so that he can like the game, and ignore the commercials.

Also, I’m not going to buy a car from a company that makes a violent commercial that frightens my 3yo and gives him nightmares. Nice one, Dodge.

It was with some trepidation that my husband G. Grod and I watched Bones last night. Since last Friday’s wretched Battlestar ep, we’ve watched some dreadful TV. So much for absence makes the heart grow fonder. Heroes (why is there anyone but Hiro on the show?), Veronica, House all chipped away at our confidence in tv to entertain. And again, I think we can blame things on the frakkin’ crying. Bones was so bad that we fast forwarded through most of it. The only redeeming point is that Epps is now dead, so they can’t do any more stories about him. What does it say that one of the protagonist’s chief nemeses makes for the worst eps? Bones gets one more chance to be good before we cancel our Tivo season pass. Sweeps week starts tonight. Will it bring an increase in quality–were the shows blowing the crap out of their systems to clear a path for dazzling entertainment? Or will they continue to shovel faux-emotional drivel at us? And depriving us of good stuff while including said drivel? Some people should start looking at handbaskets, if you ask me.

Oh, Earl and Office, please don’t let me down tonight. I am tired, and need to laugh. (Brief, bitter memory of dear, departed Arrested Development. Gah.)

Two hours of disappointing television last night. House treats a rape victim in clinic, and imprints on her as if she’s a baby duck. She ropes him into tedious philosophical conversations. Cameron gets another dying patient. People get tears in their eyes. Chase had a few good lines, like telling Cameron not to romanticize House and pretend he’d act like a human, and telling House to lie to the patient. Wilson also was funny: “Are we role-playing? And if so, am I you? Because I don’t want to be you!” Cuddy ran around looking peeved and concerned in a too-tight, not-flattering suit with an unpleasant collar.

Television, wherefore art thou? Amuse me! My days are kinda tough, lately.