The cat watches me brush my teeth kind of always. Cute/creepy?
As of two days ago, I have internet access. I was joking to my roommate that this meant that we’d basically quit talking to each other, now that we had the internet to occupy our time.
We spent the rest of the weekend in near-silence. Bless our poor self-control, every one.
I managed to use the free time to watch a British TV series that Netflix recommended to me in the “You Seem to Like Accents, Nerd” category. In true UK fashion, the first season included a marriage dissolving, two affairs, and a main character choking to death on his own vomit. The season was six episodes long. The show is nominally about a book club.
No one does depressing quite like minor British TV shows. Continue reading
I’m pretty sure there’s uranium in the water in this show, to be fair.
High school as interpreted by screenwriters is a fascinating place. There’s a lot more booze, a lot less parental supervision, and everyone’s 26. It’s fabulous. But all of that is presented with a wink and a nod–we know that the folks on Glee are nearly 30, and we agree to ago along with it. What’s much weirder are the glaring errors which any teenager can pick up on and which simply do not seem to matter for television executives. Chief among these is age.
Age doesn’t matter nearly so much once you graduate high school, but when you’re in there, what grade someone’s in means a lot. It changes what their experience is going to be that year. Though TV folks tend to ignore it, sophomores don’t go to prom (unless, of course, they have an upperclassman date). Seniors are probably the only students with parking passes. Juniors are in the middle of taking the SAT. Freshmen look like they’re 12, and sophomores are super, super focused on who can and can’t drive. Continue reading