Gonna stone two birds with one glass house… or something… and respond to topics upon which Michele and Bill have recently put digits to key.
Bill wants us to recount our sitcom moments — those Gilliganesque times where your otherwise boring-as-hell life resembles something so laugh-track wacky that, in order to purchase the rights, Sherwood Schwartz would have used up most of his budget and could only have afforded three Brady kids and a dog named Cindy. Such is her tale of the blue facial mask (and why I call her “smurfette” to this very day).
Other than those painful episodes where I have been dive-bombed by hummingbirds while wearing an Hawaiian shirt, gotten pelted with acorns by irate squirrels, and been stuck in an assembly line with my best friend, Ethel, trying to wrap chocolates while that damned foreman kept calling for it to go faster (I just wanted to smack that bitch), I really don’t have any to share.
However, this morning I heard an interview with Michael Richards on NPR. He was promoting the release of the Seinfeld DVD. And this brings me to Michele’s post where she proclaims that she likes neither the Beatles nor Twinkies. It’s one of those revelations that makes people gasp in shock and dismay and question their belief that she is really a good okay tolerable human being. (Until you see a whole raft of losers commenters who agree with her and begin to question your own existence.)
Well, two can play at that game. I have my own sorry secret: I don’t like Seinfeld.
There. I said it. The “greatest comedy ever made” elicits naught but yawns from this corner of the couch. The only thing that will make me pick up the remote faster than a Seinfeld re-run is… erm, I’ll have to get back to you on that.
So, um, what’s your news?
