I’m single, which doesn’t really bother me, since I’m 22 and figure I have ample time to find the love of my life. (By which I mean, the human love of my life, because I don’t think either television or my pets count.) Still, when you are single, people tend to ask you why you’re single, as if it’s an unnatural state of being you must answer for. It’s inevitable that this sort of questioning leads to self-examination, which inevitably leads to worrying. Oh gosh, you realize, there are so many things wrong with you. How will anyone ever love you? Will you ever find anyone that looks at your strangely-shaped feet or large collection of vintage knitting patterns? (Disclaimer: I do not own vintage knitting patterns. My feet, however, are shaped like Kermit the Frog’s.)
And it is, when I feel like this, that I enjoy watching The Marriage Ref.
I believe I may have uncovered a new and very serious psychological phenomenon I can only refer to as Seasonal Television Watcher Depression Disorder.
This is far less serious than its cousin, Seasonal Affective Disorder, but no less harrowing. Instead of ennui due to a lack of sunlight, STWDD is characterized by extreme nightly listlessness and endless channel flipping, hoping for something, anything to watch. Symptoms include watching and re-watching everything you’ve ever saved on your DVR and DVDs until you have them practically memorized, way too many re-runs of Mythbusters, and actual, desperate interest in the Miss America pageant because it’s the only minorly amusing thing on television.
I am a feminist, but I will say this — I can understand why people don’t always like feminists. We are a generally argumentative lot of buzzkills who take everything you love, point out the inherent misogyny in it, and then ruin it for you forever. I have actually lost count of the number of entertainment phenomena I have ruined for my friends and family (sorry, anyone around me who likes Twilight), but suffice to say, it is a lot. Though, in my defense, if entertainment wasn’t so damn sexist, I wouldn’t be complaining in the first place.
There are, however, shows that feminists don’t object to, where women on them are portrayed positively and equally to men. Often topping off the list of those shows are ones created by Joss Whedon who, for a dude, tends to know what’s up. And while Joss has given us ladies characters like Buffy to one day aspire to kick as much ass as, probably the show of his that has the clearest feminist thesis is Firefly. Perhaps this is due to its aborted 14-episode run, but unlike Buffy, Firefly has one strong, central, lady-positive message: do not attempt to control women. It will end poorly for you.
It’s that time of year again! The regular seasons are over, some reflecting has been done, and it’s time to prop up your feet, look back at the year, and decide who should win an Emmy. It’s like Christmas for TV nerds like me, only even better.
Now, when I think about who I want to win, I never think about the drama categories because, frankly, I don’t really watch dramas. My only opinion as far as that’s concerned is that Scott Caan deserves at the very least a nomination for his work on Hawaii Five-0, if not to win the entire thing, and I will continue this campaign until someone listens to me and gives the guy his damn award already. The other thing I think is, on my dream comedy ballot, Glee isn’t allowed. Frankly, I’m not sure why Glee even counts as a comedy. I could maybe see last season, when it was still a good show that straddled that quirky dramedy line, but not this season. This season was one giant death spiral of self-righteousness and poorly conceived preachy after-school specials set to music, and there’s nothing funny about that. It’s pretty clear to me that Glee submitted itself as a comedy because they decided it would be easier game to win in a comedy category over a drama. This, in and of itself, is an attitude that enrages me — the idea that comedy is less “legitimate” than drama, or that it’s an easy place to pick off weak candidates only nominated out of pity. Well, (expletive) that. Glee doesn’t make it on my ballot this year. But here are some very deserving shows and actors that do: