apropos of anything

(Seriously, I know… months of radio silence on this blog and now I’ve got 1500+ words on a TELEVISION SHOW? I had to write this out, though, to remember it, to finish thinking about it, and perhaps this is the kick in the pants I need to get back to blogging regularly.)

Two Decembers ago, Alicia put season one of Battlestar Galactica on my coffee table and promised me I’d love it. I didn’t disagree; from everything I’d heard about the series, it seemed right up my alley. What I didn’t expect was how MUCH I’d love it when I finally got around to watching it the following February — the last time I fell so hard for a story was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

(warning: spoilers for BSG the entire series and specifically the series finally after the cut)

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For saying things that need to be said:

The writers’ strike may be over by Wednesday. The back nine may be saved on some shows.

Longer post later, late for lunch!

I can’t stop fretting. I won’t be able to stop fretting until the polls close in New Hampshire tomorrow night and we find out who takes that state. There are so many stories to read right now, stories about Clinton crying at a rally, stories about Clinton running out of money, stories about Obama taking time out of his busy campaign schedule to record a Voice of America message calling for calm in Kenya. And there are whose headlines make my stomach churn, stories I don’t click on because I’m afraid the more I read, the more hopeful I become, the harder I’ll crash if things don’t go the way I want them to tomorrow. Pundits galore are stirring up the frenzy to such a fevered pitch that I simply don’t know how I’m going to manage through the next twenty-four hours.

Dan left me a voicemail late last Thursday night, shocked that I hadn’t called him with a verbal happy dance after Obama’s decisive victory in Iowa. Of course I am thrilled about Iowa… but I did not want to celebrate too early, lest Obama suddenly let out a campaign-destroying screech heard ’round the world.

But possibly, thinking that way, being cautious about Obama’s chances for winning, is missing the point of his campaign: Hope. (Which… do you know who else said there is always hope? Aragorn! Dan, you can close the comment window now. I have put the discs away.)

The Obama campaign gives me hope for the future of our country, even if only because just a few decades ago nobody would have believed a black man with a funny name could come this far. As Obama himself said last Thursday night, “They said this day would never come.”

The more I hear him speak (picture below is not mine, but it’s from the rally in Atlanta last spring), the more I read his work, the more I want this man to be our next president. He might actually restore my faith in the integrity of the office.

There is something to be said for a man who can let his campaign rally be interrupted by anti-abortion protesters without spinning it to his advantage, or using it to advance his own abortion platform, or really saying anything other than, “Some people got organized to do that. That’s part of the American tradition we are proud of… That’s hard, too, standing in the midst of people who don’t agree with you.”

Reminds me a little of Oliver Wendell Holmes, and a little of Voltaire.

However, as much as I want it to be tomorrow already, the WGA strike is kind of sucking the joy right out of the election season. After all, what is Election 2008 without Indecision 2008? Even though Stewart and Colbert are going back to work tonight, there’s no way they can manage their usual level of election coverage all by their lonesomes.

There’s some whispering on Nikki Finke’s site about the WGA making more side deals with individual studios, a la their interim contract with with Dave Letterman’s Worldwide Pants. For the sake of our election coverage (especially considering how many people get their political news from The Daily Show — am blanking which guy said in 2004 that it was terrifying, but I’m pretty sure he was a Republican), I really hope they come to a resolution soon.

Plus, I want to see how Scrubs really ends.

The cast of Pushing Daisies. Because of them, every Wednesday I want to make pie.

I missed a lot of TV last week — Bones, House, Pushing Daisies, Gossip Girl, Ugly Betty, Grey’s Anatomy. I didn’t think they would show new episodes on Thanksgiving day, and I had taping malfunctions for the other four.

(Yes, Alicia. I should get a Tivo.)

In the meantime, though, all of these shows are currently being streamed on their respective networks’ Web sites. I’m particularly fond of ABC’s player; it’s slick and user-friendly and the streaming quality is excellent. However, online media streaming (and iTunes purchases) are the two things the writers are striking about, and out of solidarity for them, I’m running my own personal mini-boycott against the networks by avoiding their streaming product.

So now I’m up against my own ethics. Do I stick to my (tiny) guns and avoid the on-demand video product, choosing instead to read the TWoP recaps, or cave in to hours of quirky (and sadly, in the case of Gossip Girl (but I cannot help it, I’m hooked) trashy) entertainment?

I’m going for the hold-out… but I might just have to give in with Grey’s Anatomy.

I was going to write this post a week ago, but I’ve been going through a kind of writer’s block which, mixed with my work and family schedule of late, has resulted in me writing a dozen posts in my head and none on my computer.

But anyway. Baseball owners approved Liberty Media’s purchase of the Braves this month. The official word is that the sale won’t affect the fans at all, but it will. Liberty’s buying the team as a tax write-off. They have no incentive to put money into the team, so our already dwindling payroll might soon rival the Marlins for puniness. And still, baseball is baseball, and the Braves are the Braves, and I have no plans to stop cheering for them. I’m just a little sad that they’re finally parting ways with Turner the company, given their past history with Turner the man.

The CW cancelled Gilmore Girls this month. I didn’t watch this show from the pilot, but the one-two combo of “Rory’s Dance” and “Forgiveness and Stuff” grabbed me, hook, line, sinker. Pamie’s recaps didn’t hurt either. I was obsessively in love with this show at the beginning. I loved the dialogue, the characters, the relationships — the Girls with the townies, the Girls with the Chiltonites, the townies with each other, and especially the Girls with the elder Gilmores. Gilmore Girls did complex familial relationships better than anyone. Season seven wasn’t as glorious as season one, but I’m going to miss my weekly dose of the Lorelais.

The CW also cancelled Veronica Mars this month. This one I did watch from the beginning, and it was awesome. So awesome that when the first season came out on DVD, I sent copies to anyone who had a birthday, anniversary, or holiday within a three month range of the release date. Like GG, VM at the end was not quite up to the standards of VM at the beginning, but it always had so much potential. Veronica Mars, she’s a marshmallow, you know.

And finally, Ken resigned this month. Our visits to the Summit Cafetaria or to get our MARTA passes will now always feel just a little bit incomplete, and the 3:00 p.m. hour will never be the same again. I also won’t have any more Ken and Ivan stories for the blog, which just makes me want to weep with sadness for all of y’all. He has good reasons for leaving, but we miss him in the office, accidentally going to http://www.man.com (instead of www.msn.com) and taking ketchup packets for the team.

I didn’t see the writing credit for this week’s Grey’s. Truly, I didn’t. And yet, I still blamed Marti Noxon for it without the slightest twinge of guilt because even if she didn’t write it, she obviously had something to do with it.

AND SHE DID.

Why, Shonda, why? Don’t you love your show? If thousands of viewers can pick up the tell-tale signs of Noxon, that means she is a one-note hack. Save yourself, unless you suddenly want to save the hospital from giant phallus with only the power of a broken yellow crayon.

No beautiful things today because it has been one of those days where nothing is beautiful, so even though I had this post all written out in my head yesterday (I could tell you what the three things were, but that would be CHEATING), I can’t post it today because it’s not a beautiful Thursday. It’s just not.

Possibly that is because I am exhausted (and yes, I know, if I’m tired, why don’t I just go to bed earlier? and I am TRYING, honestly, I am, but it is hard), but more likely it’s because today was simply an ugly day in an ugly week in an ugly month, and while there were some bright spots, I can’t mention them because I am saving them for a Thursday that is beautiful.

There is no real way to segue to the actual topic without implying that tonight’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy is responsible for the ugliness and the missing Three Beautiful Things Thursday, but it’s really not. It’s just the rancid cherry on the top of a decomposing sundae. And that rancid cherry is all Marti Noxon’s fault. Even if she denies it, even if she claims to have been in Bangkok while every bit of “Some Kind of Miracle” was being created, it’s still her fault. Her residual aura is harder to escape than cigarette smoke in a bar anywhere outside of New York City.

I cringed when I read that Marti Noxon had signed on to Grey’s Anatomy. (Brothers and Sisters fans? Your gain is our loss.) I know Eric Buchman was all rah-rah-sis-boom-bah about her in his blog post, but what else was he supposed to do in a public forum? You don’t speak ill of a colleague where you can be quoted unless you’re Isaiah Washington, or in need of a lobotomy.

Granted, she’s not ALL bad. Sometimes she produces something that doesn’t feel like it’s been hit by the creative version of the Ebola virus. “What’s My Line” didn’t suck, for example. It’s just that “What’s My Line” was a long time ago, and afterwards, when she got to be in charge, she gave us Spike + Buffy = Twue Wuv, never mind that for the better part of three seasons, Spike had been doing his damndest to KILL Buffy. She also gave us the two seasons of BtVS that are unaffectionately known among fans as Season Sux and Season Sux More. Since then, she hasn’t really done anything promising… or, really, anything at all. You don’t let a shopaholic loose in Bloomie’s with your credit card, and you don’t give a producer with a recent history of suck free reign on your hit TV show. You just don’t.

But they did, and she’s up to her old tricks. Mark Sloane, manwhore, apparently has twue wuv for Addison despite cheating on her a bazillion times in two months after she got pregnant with their kid. Meredith had “a moment” where she stopped fighting, much like Buffy did, and yeah, it was painful to watch the first time around too. Oh, and Buffy’s mom died too.

What happened to my fun, frothy, flirty Grey’s Anatomy? Did taking away the opening credits make them forget the eyelash curler and the red heels? Which is not to say that Grey’s can’t be serious and weighty now and then, but the show used to be able to do that without becoming ponderous. The problem with season six of BtVS was that it was just too depressing, and BtVS always had far darker themes than bright, airy Grey’s. The show needs to stay true to itself.

Also, the instant surgery becomes a metaphor for drugs, I’m outta here. I had enough of that malarky the first time around, Marti.

1. Pitchers and catchers reported today. You know what that means: Baseball is back! Pitchers and catchers reporting is only a short step away from everybody reporting, which is only a short step away from spring training, and then, before you know it, we’re in April, looking at Opening Day. I can’t wait.

2. Believing in something. The speech Izzie gave on tonight’s Grey’s Anatomy was kind of hokey and way inappropriate (how is Meredith’s impending death about you, Izzie, and why would it be a good time to tell George how much you think his marriage sucks?), but the point of having her make it was to show that she’d regained her faith in medicine. She believed again. If you’ve ever had even a moment of being unable to believe in anything, or anyone, you know how amazing it is to finally step out of that fog.

3. Stuffed grape leaves. Sometimes all I would eat for dinner in Saudi was two grape leaves and an orange. They were a staple at the dinner buffet, but even knowing I’d get them after isha didn’t stop me from craving their tangy goodness during the day. One of the girls in the group said you can find fresh ones at Middle Eastern markets, but I haven’t found any Middle Eastern markets in Atlanta that carry them. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to make do with canned, or I could try making my own.

Saturday morning I pulled privet in Oakhurst with Trees Atlanta, which meant that I finally acquainted myself with the parasitic British plant after knowing for years that the Dursleys live on Privet Drive. It was the dirtiest I’ve ever gotten doing a volunteer project; even when I shoveled mulch for three hours during last year’s company volunteer day, I came away reasonably clean.

Saturday afternoon I went shopping for the first time in months. Lately I’ve bought more books than I have clothing as I just haven’t been interesed in browsing through multiple racks of slutty, expensive, or oh-so-cute-but-not-hijab-appropriate. Shockingly enough, I actually bought some things. Of course, this means for the first time in months, I’m going to have a high credit card bill (once you add in the plane ticket to Chicago I still have to buy), so now I’m debating whether I have to start over on my quest to cross number 37 off my 101 in 1001 list. I suppose I could cross off number thirty, though… probably could have done that with last year’s BoHo explosion that made long-sleeved, loose-fitting embroidered tops all the rage.

Saturday evening (or, technically, Sunday morning) I yelled at my neighbors because I’ve turned into a Crotchety Old Lady Who Has HAD IT With Those Kids Today. Throwing a massive party with a bass that causes my walls to shake is irritating, but okay, I’ll give you that. Charging out of your house shouting at the top of your lungs because you’re drunk and your cousin insulted you is NOT okay, not when it’s two-thirty in the morning and you just woke all your neighbors out of their sound sleep. I don’t really care if you’re still in college, but if you’re going to live in a neighborhood of fully-grown adults, we expect you to behave like a fully-grown adult.

And I didn’t really yell. It was more like a what the hell, and they deserved it.

Sunday I made a pineapple mango upside down cake for the Desperate Housewives dessert party we were having. I don’t really watch DH with any consistency anymore, and judging by the amount of talking we did through the episode, none of the other girls loves it like I do Veronica Mars, but as an excuse to hang out and eat cake, it sufficed. Because I was on the phone while I was mixing the batter, I forgot the 1 c. of sugar the recipe called for, but as long as you eat it with the fruit topping, you can’t tell. Much. And that’s why we have ice cream, right? The mango/pineapple combination was awesome, though.

That was my weekend. How have y’all been?