PushingDaisies_S2_DVD-725257

Sarah

I’m tired of talking about boys.  I just want to watch TV.

To that end, these days I’m watching

  • Veronica Mars (Veronica is a teen smart aleck by day and a private investigator by night; also, boys think she’s sexy);
  • Pushing Daisies (sing-songy, with storybook colors, witty banter, dark humor, chaste sexual tension—the primary romantic figures can’t touch because if they do, the girl will die—unnecessary cleavage, and, of course, pies; lamely, it was recently canceled); and
  • Chuck (a silly/satisfying primetime action comedy, starring a Jim-Halpert-looking fellow who works for a Best Buy (“Buy More”) on the Geek Squad (“Nerd Herd”) and happens to have international secrets accidentally stored away in his brain; also, he went to Stanford but got kicked out; also, the CIA agent who protects him/uses his brain is fantastically beautiful, and she’s named Sarah).

At my 13-year-old sister’s recommendation, I sometimes watch

  • Nanny and the Professor, a circa 1970s show starring Juliet Mills (the sister of Hayley Mills/the twins from The Parent Trap/Miss Bliss) and a good-looking early-forty-something actor who died just three years after the show was canceled.  (The show’s great controversy: Is Nanny magical, or is she just loving?)  The theme song gets me every time.

Last night, I tried to go to sleep without first watching any TV online.  The thought of it sort of almost literally terrified me.  But how, I wondered, could I fall asleep without something warm and friendly and cute to curl up next to?

I meant my laptop, reader.

During a break up, I had an erstwhile boyfriend once give me four thinking assignments, one of which was to consider how my consumption of media had affected my expectations for a relationship.  (What a great thing to do, by the way, for someone you’re breaking up with.  To give them something concrete to consider instead of everything to stew about.  I loved it.  But then, when he told me he wanted me to think about four things, I thought to myself, “This break up isn’t going to stick.”  Which it didn’t.  Until, of course, it did.)

If the above-listed TV shows had been on my media mind back then, I think I would have been expecting to be the long-eye-lashed, murder-investigating, once-dead, spy-fighting, smart-mouthed girlfriend of a pie-baking, computer-fixing, angsty, super rich genius teenage boy with three precocious/precious kids.

Erstwhile boyfriend was right to worry.  That’s sounding like love/fun to me.

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