Let me just say that I’m aware of what it means for this to be Saturday night and I’m blogging about television. Okay? I get it. I know just how pathetic it would seem to most people, not least of whom is 23-year-old me, that my day was spent helping paint my friends’ deck, going to a preschool soccer game, grocery shopping, vacuuming, and taking a shower before I could allow myself several hours of television. Also the Internet was in there, but, I mean, obviously. And I had a bowl of Golden Grahams for dinner. I don’t know why I feel compelled to share even more ways in which I am a loser, but for the sake of the entry (which I am writing on a Saturday night), I think full disclosure is best.
I regret nothing. Well. I suppose that this sort of reclusive behavior could be contributing to my existing anti-social tendencies, which I was told the other day are not helping me at work, because apparently performance is second to being able to make small talk with your director in the bathroom. I’m fine with being criticized for doing a shitty job, but when I’m clearly kicking ass at the work I am paid to do, please don’t waste my fucking time with a criticism of my social skills. Not only is it a ludicrous point to make, but it’s pretty much impossible for me. It really is. I had to tell my boss that just thinking about stopping work to gossip with my co-workers makes me feel autistic. No offense to any autistic people who happen to be reading this. I sort of understand your thing and that really was the best comparison to my discomfort that I could make.
Work aside, I’d rather spend the majority of my time at home. I don’t have social anxiety because I don’t believe it’s an actual thing suffered by people who aren’t true agoraphobes, but there is a certain level of apprehension that I feel when I go out in public. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like traffic. I don’t like making inane small talk with people who aren’t really listening to what I say. I don’t like waiting in line or spending money or having to figure out the appropriate reaction to something that apparently comes naturally to the strangers around me. Sometimes there just seems to be a ridiculous amount of expectation on me when I’m out there, and it’s exhausting to even think about. This is one of the reasons I don’t make new friends very often. I like the people I like, and a good portion of why I like them is because they like me. I know I’m not very easy to like (at least not according to my boss), so if someone has taken the time to understand that I should not be pounced upon like a wildebeest, then they might be worth taking time out of my precious “being a weirdo hermit” schedule.
But for the most part, I stay home. I write things for the Internet. I post silly pictures. I cook, clean, and sleep. I watch TV occasionally, which is what this whole thing was supposed to be about in the first place.
I just started watching American Horror Story. I hadn’t caught the first few episodes and was hesitant about getting in during the middle of the season, but Graham found them on On Demand so I watched the first three episodes last night. It’s creepy and strange and there are some genuinely scary parts, and I always like it when fucked up shit makes it to basic cable. There are a couple of things that get on my nerves – the jerky, stop motion-style shots and the fact that Dylan McDermott is way too good-looking (especially in the chest hair area, hubba hubba) to play a psychiatrist who honestly feels bad about cheating on his wife – but overall, I like it. Jessica Lange is especially bizarre, and I spend equal amounts of time wanting to high five her but also beat her to death with a baseball bat. I’m excited to see where the story goes, and this On Demand thing is great. It sort of makes me interested in just how much of a financial beating would be involved with getting DVR added to our service.
One show I don’t watch that everyone tells me I must is The New Girl. Exasperated sigh. Look, I know why you’re all telling me this. I know that I’m supposed to find Zooey Deschanel quirky (ie: strange) and interesting (ie: irresistible) and she’s totally like me, right? Ahem. First of all, I resent that the film and TV industries think that all they need to do to make a woman appealing (ie: less threatening) to other women is to give her brown hair and glasses. It’s a Sarah Palin-style baiting. Give us a pair of ovaries dressed like a half-assed librarian and we’ll come running, right? Come on. Not only is that pandering and stupid, but it’s insulting to both sides. Zooey Deschanel is supposed to be less attractive than other women on TV because she’s a brunette with glasses and appears not to have stolen the metabolism of an 8-year-old Russian gymnast. She’s also completely socially retarded, as she’s something like 27 with no clue how to dress or act like a goddamn adult. While I am aware that she’s getting a fuckload of money for this show, the premise is still insulting to her (you’re dumb and ugly, here’s a program!). What’s insulting to us is that she’s actually super duper attractive with a preternatural metabolism (that’s why she’s in show business, you know), and that most of us can’t aspire to that kind of hair/makeup/wardrobe/general magnetic quality. So they’re giving us an allegedly regular person who isn’t regular at all, and this attempt at portraying a “regular” woman has made us feeling even more irregular than we already did.
I mean, I know it’s not Hollywood’s responsibility to make me a confident, self-sufficient female, but christ. Just bring back the 95-pound blond girls with $400 haircuts and totally improbable apartments. That’s what you really want, anyway.
Although The New Girl is certainly better than Whitney, which is just a fucking abortion of television and I cringe when I hear it in the other room. It’s 30 agonizing minutes of tired and unfunny boy/girl jokes, Whitney Cummings’ teeth, and (again) grownups who act like socially retarded children. Now that I think about it, this probably speaks volumes of my generation, as the ones who are still being marketed to are supposed to eat this shit up. Incompetent adults who can’t manage real jobs, relationships, or their finances (because it’s cooler to have an iPhone and a cool apartment than it is to go to work)? Bring it on!
This is why I stay in on Saturdays, by the way. Bring on the haunted house with a guy in a gimp suit and batshit Jessica Lange. Way more believable.