I haven’t updated in a couple of days because I’m desperately trying to finish the novel I’ve been reading for what feels like forever so I can review it. Till then, miscellany.
This reviewer articulates much better than I ever could my view on the erstwhile Wonderfalls.
Words of wisdom from my big, pregnant coworker: “The nice thing about fish sticks is you can eat ‘em with your hands and they’re fried.” I have never had fish sticks. My parents considered them “floor sweepings” from the good folks at Gorton’s or Mrs. Paul’s. Apparently, the US Department of Commerce has some pretty detailed guidelines on grading sticks of fish. (My favorite: “‘Blemishes’ refers to skin, blood spots or bruises, objectionable dark fatty flesh, or extraneous material.”)
And happy birthday, Florence Nightingale, vocal promoter of coffee enemas.
Y’know, I like what that guy who wrote the Wonderfalls dis says here: “But the one kind of show that I can’t bear to watch is one with pretensions of grandeur that falls spectacularly, wincingly, ineptly short of the mark.” And I particularly savored this complaint: “My big problem was with the writing. It was too self-conscious, too pleased with its own cleverness and, as a consequence, never sounded like anything that could convincingly come out of the mouths of people not reading cue cards.”
If only he’d written all of that about Gilmore Girls, any Aaron Sorkin-written thing ever, any David E. Kelley show, It’s Like, You Know, or, to tickle the memory banks, any Jay Tarses show, I’d agree completely. Nothing ticks me off more than shows that think they’re smart when they’re really not.
Unfortunately, this rather articulate piece looses its barbs at a show I liked and thought had promise, and about which I didn’t think any of those nasty thoughts at all. Well, Shawn Chacon son’s is a goat, or something like that. I’m glad you pointed me to it, because I enjoyed it, even if my own opinion about the show in question is 180 degrees from the author’s.