- This is dumb. I don’t know why I’m writing about this three days later. I came back from a lovely weekend, wherein two people I like very much had a heartfelt, awesome wedding…and subjected myself to that crap on my DVR.
- I thought the scene where Rodney crept into Aaron’s office at, like, 10 p.m., and met up with Sam would’ve played much better as gay porn. The setup was there, the “friendly interaction” was just awkward enough, not to mention acted in a way that Amber Waves may have found a little stilted.
- I will, for the last time, roll my eyes at the way the whole “Lou vs. Sam” thing was handled, not to mention concluded. Watching Lou with Sean Preston Apple…I mean, honestly. Could they NOT find an actor to play Sam who could counteract the warm, steady presence Mantegna offers as a father figure? Not to mention the whole script’s effort to make it seem like Lou wasn’t a total bag of M-80s in the sack. Come on, y’all. You watched the same “Sam primly lectures Joan about how weak and human, yet TOTALLY better than everyone else” scene. Uck. If that guy lays like he talks, he maybe rates a tenative “good going, sport” smile in the post-game.
- The final Ponds placement was a humdinger. The only billboards that inspire me to sing and/or have a personal epiphany are usually fast-food related.
- I lied. I’m going to say it one more time: poor form, Starter Wife. Going with the Titanic parody at the beginning (nice pan flute, by the way…that was pretty hilarious. Oh, and Messing did a great dead-on Winslet weeping) and indicating that Sam was Molly’s Leo only made me want her to dunk him under a few times for good measure. Uh, then sex the cap’n’s hat right off Lou.
- I’m SO glad it’s over.
Author Archives: jesshelga
I’m so tired. So, so tired. I want so much for it to end. And it just won’t. What started out as a promise of fun summer fluff has turned into I Claudius only with Ponds placements, crap looping, and an aching, gaping hole where sexy should be.
I wish I could enjoy Starter Wife as God intended. I do. I wish that I could squee over Sam (YAY! HE’S SHIRTLESS AND IN THOSE RED JAMS AGAIN! SO HAWT!!!SCREAMOFRAGE!1!) and root for him and Molly to touch each other nakedly. I wish I felt sad that Joan is an alcoholic and that, in spite of the jokiness surrounding her debilitating addiction, I would well up with tears when she realized she needed help. I wish I could find an iota of a smidgen of a care about the Cricket/Jorge storyline. I wish I didn’t cringe every time Lavender’s Sassy Grandma was on screen; instead, I should be LOLing! She’s sassy and old and thinks white people be mad trippin’! I wish I was breathlessly awaiting Kenny Kagan’s komeuppance instead of, you know, wishing he would disappear into the ether like the broad, unfunny toot of a character he is.
Instead, Read the rest of this entry
It really is the end of the line/So I’m sorry that you turned to driftwood/but you’ve been drifting for a long, long time
I think one of the dangers of La Intarnets for the media junkie is that it gives you access to people who share similar embarrassing predilections. For example, this is the message that greeted me as I prepared to watch The Starter Wife, ep. 2, last night:
Subject: Well thank god I got the SlingPlayer working again
I just watched Debra Messing make out with a piece of driftwood someone has crudely fashioned to resemble Thomas Jane.
My best friend Duse and I played varsity softball together at a
Wisconsin public high school.
I imagine this sentence gives you a good idea as to our physical fitness and aptitude for sports. So it will come as no surprise when I follow this opener up with the detail that after a not-terribly-taxing softball practice came to a close, Duse and I would dust ourselves off, hop into Duse’s Pinto-like car (it was a Chevy Something-or-Other…one of those cars that looked like a Gremlin but was “newer” than a Gremlin) and hotfoot it to the public library. While I was beginning to explore the challenging world of series mysteries, I was still a fan of what Duse called “snacks” – usually Harlequins or Silhouettes, a 200+ page romance book with one solid sex scene and a whole lot of “will they have sex/will they admit their True Love?” surrounding the sex. I jokingly dubbed the fatter versions of these stories — usually Zebra Romances, though, as Duse’s tastes grew more sophisticated, sometimes Catherine Coulter and Linda Lael Miller novels — “Pull My Panties” Books. The moniker stuck. The formula is roughly the same as a “snack,” but with ten times more sex, and there’s usually a pirate or a half-breed warrior doing one half of the sexing.
The “snacks,” it seems, have now become fodder for the occasional ABC Family movie or a feature film if we’re really lucky. And sometimes, if you’re good and Santa’s been watching, you are blessed with a six-hour adaptation of a book that was not kindly compared to a Jackie Collins book as produced by USA Networks starring Debra Messing.
It’s a pull-my-panties for a new generation raised on TBS reruns of Sex and the City: the adaptation of Gigi La Foo Foo Grazer’s The Starter Wife, brought to you — quite aggressively — by Ponds.