If you're watching some Mamet scene with guys bantering over smokes and glasses of bourbon, it's not crazy to think a think you might like your own tumbler of iced Jack. Perfectly normal.
But what about my urge tonight to crack open a beer after I saw Homer with one? Is that worrisome? (Answer: yes, but mostlybecause it highlights my pathetically pavlovian relationship with the bube toob.)
Still, I sat silently embarrassed about this for about ten minutes until the part when Principal Skinner was standing next to a big chocolate cake. "Mmmm, that cake looks good," said my fiancee. To reiterate: We are total boogies.
On the TV tangent: I'm tired of national newsfolk freaking their crap about cold New Englanders and ignoring the snow-wamping that my grandmother's getting in Michigan's upper peninsula.
Grandmother just wants to get the heck out of the UP and fly down to San Diego, but it's barely warm enough to walk out the ding dang door. So everyone else wish grandma one warm do so she can get out the door and onto her plane.
Last TV tangent: the genre of film known as "breakdancing epic" is making a comeback. WTeffingF?
