So much has happened since we last updated. Life is just moseying right along for all of us here at Boobtube. The three of us are busy with school, moving, work and illness respectively. Consequently, TV watching has gone way, way, way down. But we still make time for our favourites. Namely, The Wire, The Daily Show and, um… Rock of Love and Ghost Whisperer. We’re weak.
I can’t speak for Salome and Jess, but I have also been watching How I Met Your Mother quite religiously this season. And it’s good. Real good.
Not as good as Slap Bet or the Grinch Who Stole Christmas or that time Barney made the gang watch a play that consisted of a robot repeating the word moist and squirting water at the audience for two hours, but you know what? Slapsgiving had its charm, and last week, when Barney tricked Ted into growing a terrible porn stache to win a $10 bet, I laughed long and loud.
Last week was Britney week, and she wasn’t bad. She was capable of filling the role of “cute but dim secretary” and had a few funny moments. That said, do not Brooke Shields this bitch, TV world. Nobody liked Suddenly Susan the first time. Don’t do it again. And memo to Britney: Please, please, PLEASE stop with the ratty extensions. You shaved your head and that’s going to take some time to come back from, but short, healthy hair can be so much prettier than the greasy, gross strands plastered to your head. So own it please! Man, you looked so normal and healthy and happy that I could almost forget about the last two or three years of insanity. Almost.
As for Sarah Chalke, she’s a charmer and I wouldn’t be disappointed if she turned out to be the mother, though I don’t think she will. I love her on Scrubs (but could do without her character’s constant, annoying pining for a baaaaybeee) and loved her on Roseanne when she was Second Becky. She’s a supremely talented comedic actress and her character seems to suit Ted a little more than does Cobie Smulders’ smolderingly beautiful and deceptively snarky Robin.
Besides, I patiently await the revealation that Robin and Barney have been breaking the Platinum Rule for months now. Oh, you know they are! And you know it’s legen-wait for it. . . dary!
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The writer’s strike helped fell a lot of terrible TV programs, but none so richly deserved their cancellation as much as Jericho. This CBS claptrap featuring nobody’s favourite anything, Skeet Ulrich, was put down once, but it needed a second round of double ought buck before it would die for good. Jess and I, in a monumental chat fuelled by diet coke and our own righteous anger, decided it was like a pathetic version of Deadwood. Mainly because both shows featured Gerald McRaney, both shows featured Scream movie killers in roles of authority and power (don’t worry, Timothy Olyphant, we aren’t holding Scream 2 against you) and both shows featured largely lawless towns. The difference is, one show was created and largely written by a freakin’ TV genius and the other was not. Too bad, so sad, Jericho. Go back to the shitty ether from whence you came. As for you, Milch, we aren’t going to forget Deadwood anytime soon, but it would’ve been nice if you’d followed it up with something other than John From Cincinnati. I was willing to give it a chance because it featured two of my favourite things in the entire world: Surfing and Joe Strummer music. If only the rest of the show was as good as the opening credits, I could have loved it forever.