TV Real Good 2021

We watch a lot of TV so here is the annual countdown of the best shows I saw this year. There are a few shows I’ve heard good things about but haven’t seen, and a few shows I only just started so I can’t rank. This is a rough ranking. The top two shows are basically tied. I couldn’t decide between them and could always reverse myself once they’ve had more time to sink in.

 

13. The Handmaid’s Tale. It was an improvement over seasons two and three, which spun their wheels while June kept almost escaping Gilead only to get pulled back again. Once she got out, The Handmaid’s Tale took a good look at how captivity changed June, and it wasn’t entirely for the better: She could sometimes use her fellow handmaids as pawns and raped her husband. I am looking forward to more of life outside Gilead and the eventual end of the republic.

 

12. Good Girls. I could have used a little more of this show before they canceled it, just to wrap some stuff up. It was starting to get into an enjoyable area of farce and examining how Beth’s relationship with Ruby could be toxic, and I thought there was more there to explore.

 

11. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. This show was a meaningful look at Sam Wilson’s character and establishing him as the new Captain America. I also liked everything with Isaiah Bradley. However, they could have fleshed out the problem with the repatriation council more, and I take some points off for the terrorist with the heart of gold. I guess you can get sympathy for bombing a hospital and almost killing a bunch of people on a helicopter if you have puppy-dog eyes.

 

10. Midnight Mass. It was an interesting look at the parallels between Catholicism and vampirism, and the idea that what might look like an angel to some people is really a malevolent vampire. But the Easter vigil episode, with parents making their kids drink the poison, was just too close to Jonestown for me to enjoy.

 

9. Get Back. It was astonishing to watch Paul McCartney bang out “Get Back” on the spot—he just, like, banged it out—during an idle moment during rehearsals. It was poignant to watch Paul tear up while observing “And then there were two” when it was just him and Ringo in the studio, not knowing they would be the only two left standing one day. This miniseries clarified a lot of mythology around the breakup of the Beatles: namely that it was much less rancorous than I’d heard, and that Yoko didn’t really seem to be bothering anybody. Ultimately, I thought Get Back showed four friends who, while they may have gotten exasperated and tired of hanging out together, were close enough that they could get to that point in the first place.

 

8. What We Do in the Shadows. Technically this show probably shouldn’t be on this list since I only include shows that aired during that year, and we’re not caught up yet. But I just have to say this show is a riot. It’s endlessly inventive. I’m rooting for Guillermo to get his vampire fangs, and I love everything with Colin Robinson.

 

7. American Crime Story: Impeachment. In telling the story of the runup to President Clinton’s impeachment, this show examined power differentials in a smart way in the episode when the FBI agents keep Monica Lewinski in a hotel room all day in an attempt to question her. She uses every stereotypically feminine tactic she can to get the feds off her back: She asks to go shopping, says she’s cold, has to keep using the bathroom, etc. Meanwhile, the agents invoke stereotypically male traits like anger and yelling to get her to talk (the lead agent puffs up in rage but knows he’s screwed) and only back off when Lewinski’s lawyer calls to curse them out. Beanie Feldstein was great as Monica and Sarah Paulson gave some humanization to Linda Tripp while also showing what a piece of work she was. I loved Clinton’s unbearably clever “depends on what the meaning of is is” deposition. I was amused and horrified how many right-wing figures from 1998 are still around today, from Brett “I Can’t Conduct Myself Like an Adult at My Job Interview” Kavanaugh to remoras like Ann Coulter and Laura Ingraham.

 

6. The Morning Show. Season two of The Morning Show was beautifully ridiculous by the end. Morning anchor Alex Levy (an operatic Jennifer Aniston), febrile with COVID-19 and “cancelled” by the public for her association with her disgraced costar, does a one-woman streaming show about surviving the pandemic, a mix of righteous assertion and Nixon-crying-about-his-mother–level self-pity. I enjoy the soapiness of this show as well as the implied message that if you want to cut off someone messy in your life, cut them off, but otherwise, you’ll have to own their messiness. I also appreciated the satire of the quickness of “cancellation” when Levy goes to bed a redeemed superstar after her cohost defends her against allegations of sleeping with her former cohost, then wakes up a pariah again after damning viral footage surfaces.

 

5. Kevin Can F*ck Himself. This was a clever satire of all those sitcoms where a beautiful, competent woman is paired with a doofus man. In the laugh-tracked sitcom world, it seems like the husband is having harmless fun at his long-suffering wife’s expense, but it turns into something darker when you look at it as a drama through the wife’s eyes. I’m curious as to where they are going with this show.

 

4. The White Lotus. One thing I like about TV is that I get to judge fictional characters, and I don’t have to feel bad about it because they’re not real people. So it was fun telling Jake Lacy’s hotel guest that he was acting like an ass in not letting go of his grievances about the lesser room he got on his honeymoon, but also criticizing the hotel manager for not doing the very reasonable thing and giving him a refund for the hotel’s mistake. The White Lotus was a thoughtful and entertaining look at what destruction even well-intentioned people leave in their wake when they’re careless. The young hotel guest has admirable ideas about economic fairness, but they get the hotel employee thrown in jail. The grieving woman (a perfect Jennifer Coolidge) has good intentions to help the masseuse start her own business, but ends up stringing her along and walking away without a second thought.

 

3. WandaVision. It’s one of the highest concepts in TV in a long time: A superhero works out her grief following the death of her brother and boyfriend by transforming a whole town into the idyllic suburb she always wanted to live in, and imagines herself as part of family sitcoms through the decades. What a subtle, versatile performance by Elizabeth Olsen as the Scarlet Witch, my favorite superhero (tied with Storm). As a TV viewer, I appreciated the show’s view of grief, as well as the formal daring. As a comic reader, I loved the show’s take on the notorious plotline of Wanda’s children, and the looks at the Vision, Agatha Harkness and fan favorite Monica Rambeau. I do take a few points off for Wanda ensorcelling a whole town against their will to salve her grief (most people just ho to a support group) but it looks as if upcoming Marvel movies will address this.

 

2. Succession. Dammit, I should have recapped this show this year! There’s been some discussion the last few weeks about whether Succession, marketed as a drama, is really a comedy, since its characters are mostly in stasis and go back to the status quo the next week. I agree about the stasis, since the Roy children keep trying and failing to succeed father Logan as CEO, but I find this sad rather than funny. You could say it’s sitcom-like for the show reset to the status quo after the company escaped legal consequences for the cruise ship rape scandal, but isn’t it ultimately depressing? Sure, this can be the funniest show on TV, but the Roy children are trapped in tragic cycles. Kendall is an addict who has alienated himself from much of his family and can neither defeat nor escape his father. Shiv had a semblance of an independent life but once she fell back into Waystar Royco’s orbit, she immediately lost her scruples and had nothing to show for it, with her father openly mocking even her victories. And poor Roman Roy. In a subtle, disquieting performance, Kieran Culkin plays Roman as using jokes and nasty insults to mask the reality: He’s been physically and emotionally abused by his father. There was some movement in the plot in the series finale, as the kids teamed up to take control of Waystar Royco, only to be betrayed by their mother and the neglected and treacherous Tom (a great Matthew McFadyen). (And I loved the scene at the wedding when Tom was offering Greg power in exchange for his soul. The way the candles were shining balefully at the exact right moment right after sunset was satanic.) Despite the dark comedy, parental abuse is at the heart of Succession, and there’s nothing funny about that.

 

1. Mare of Easttown. I came for the Delco accents but stayed for the characters and story. It was an embarrassment of acting riches, with Emmy-winning performances by Kate Winslet, Evan Peters and Julianne Nicholson. The murder and kidnapping dramas were interesting but for me, the best part was the exploration of a community’s ties between people that can bind them together or tear them apart. Mare is a lifelong resident of Easttown and her knowledge of the people of that community gives her the ability to solve Erin’s murder. The flip side is that when she discovers her best friend Lori has been hiding the truth from her—Lori’s son killed Erin—it tears her apart. This is powerful, and when Mare forgives Lori for this, and forgives herself for her son’s suicide, it’s even more powerful.

The Albatross Around My Neck

I seem to speak less and less these days. I haven’t said too much in this forum lately. I’m still here, just pretty busy. I think my resolution for next year will be to actually write more, and to work harder at my career as a failed writer (it’s not as easy as it looks). I’m barren of ideas lately. I just seem to have this static overlaying my brain lately and I can’t think of too much to say.

 

One of those reasons for that static is the challenges the last few months related to our old house, which we’ve been renting since we moved (as a way of waiting it out until we could pay down the mortgage and sell). The tenant left at the beginning of October when her lease expired. It’s been a lot of work but the house is now on the market, so I’m hoping we can sell and that albatross around my neck will finally die. 

 

So the last two months I’ve spent every weekend at the house, taken off on weekdays, run over after work, run over when I’m supposed to be working, et cetera, trying to repair the damage. We were lucky enough to have the enormous help of Steve’s parents, who were not afraid to get their hands dirty or help us do the work in whatever way they could, and we’re very grateful.

 

What damage needed to be repaired, you ask? The tenant basically trashed the house. It was a disaster—like, DIZZASSTER—the first time I went over after they left. They left all their furniture in the house, as well as dozens of bags of trash and crap. The fridge wasn’t working and was full of spoiled food. (The fridge was fine; the circuit breaker had tripped. So these dopes apparently never wondered why all the kitchen appliances and lights died at the same time. Still, the fridge was unusable after all that.) So I had to have everything removed from the house and haul bags full of former food to the trash.

 

Once everything was removed, I could see some other problems with the house. The hardwood floors in the living room were covered in some sticky, unmentionable animal matter and dog hair. The remaining carpeting was ripped up and hopelessly dirty. Everything was filthy and there was food everywhere. It smelled so much that you had to take a shower after doing anything at that house, and I swore I could still smell it on me later. Her dog had damaged two doors and another door was missing with no explanation.

 

There were so many other weird little things wrong with the house, that make you wonder, “Why would someone do this?” As I cleaned, I found dried dogshit, cigarette butts, and a chicken bone in the bedrooms. The decorative stained glass part of our ceiling fan was disconnected and left on the deck, because that’s where you leave that kind of thing. They removed the banister on the basement steps and part of the kitchen peninsula. The metal shed was damaged, clearly from an SUV hitting it. There were no smoke detectors in the house.

 

They left a trashcan full of dogshit on the deck and the rain had gotten in, making it a toxic stew. I had no choice but to throw the trashcan over the deck (I wasn’t bringing it through the house) so it would land on the grass beneath. Unfortunately, some of the biological matter also got on my pants and my car. I cleaned it as best I could and muttered curses under my breath.  

 

This was the first house Steve and I lived in. This was the house Jarvis lived and died in, and Cerys’ first house. I said my goodbyes when we left and let go of the idea that it was mine, but it was still upsetting to see it that way.

 

So over the last two months, we painted every room, got all new carpeting, treated for roaches, patched drywall, and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. We were not thrilled with the expense (compounded by having to pay the mortgage on that house for months before the tenant left after she flaked out on rent) but we had no choice. If we hadn’t done all the work, the house would have sold for a comically low amount.

 

Little by little, the house healed. At one point we realized we didn’t automatically need to shower after going over there. The house has been stripped of all evidence of these people. It almost looks like we still live there.

 

Maybe soon we will finally be able to breathe easier without the burden of worrying about this house—about rent coming in time, about what will break next, about the next trip to Crazytown with the tenant, etc. I’ll be happy to focus on our current house and not the money pit. I am grateful we lived there but now I’m more than ready to let someone else start a life there.

 

And I’ll also be grateful (knock on wood) once I can go tearing out of the parking lot after settlement and speed to the bank with that cashier’s check.

[STET] Matters

Nobody likes to be corrected when they’re wrong, but it seems like special venom focuses on “grammar Nazis.” They (we) are the people who can tell you when you should use “whom” or an en dash.

 

Of course, nobody should be a jerk when correcting someone or something who is wrong. But it always seemed to me that people who correct other people’s grammar or style, no matter how politely or humbly they do it, get a special type of sneer that mathematicians or scientists don’t get when they correct other people. People seem much quicker to get their backs up. Why is that?

 

I’ve thought about it and I am convinced that when people sneer at those who correct the written word, sometimes buried under that sneer is the idea that what people like me do doesn’t have any value. They’re wrong about that. I’m not going to let anybody imply (not infer) that my profession doesn’t have any value.

 

I hate to come off like I’m beating up on a strawman here but I do get an overall impression, not from anybody I know but in general, that there is condescension toward people in the editorial profession. It’s like people in the more left-brain fields are just too good for the guidance someone like me could provide. Like they’ve mastered a real field and they’re not going to let some diaeresis-pusher like me correct them. Who cares about that stuff, right?

 

With the explosion of the internet and social media over the last 20 years, there are more avenues than ever for people to express themselves in the written word. This makes it more important than ever to have people who could help people, if they want it, express themselves more clearly.

 

We push kids into the STEM professions and of course it’s important to get kids involved in professions that will materially improve the world and provide good jobs. But even in the more scientific fields, you still need somebody who can help you express your ideas clearly and accurately. I’ve been a medical editor for a long time—as of today, 20 years at the same company—and believe me, if people can’t read your paper, it doesn’t matter how brilliant the research is.

 

Those scientific studies you see quoted on weight loss or COVID vaccines or climate change? I’m one of the people who makes sure those data are communicated as clearly as possible. I’m a cog in a machine (I only do peer-reviewed articles part-time at my job) but I do help in making sure the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed in my tiny corner of the world. (Yes, I did look up the style of “i’s” and “t’s.”) I think that’s important because you can be a brilliant scientific mind but may need some help getting your ideas across correctly. That’s what I’m here for, and my philosophy has always been that it’s OK if a doctor’s writing isn’t perfectly polished because that’s not their job; their job is the science. Everybody can use a second set of eyes on something because anybody can make a mistake (God knows how many I’ve made). There’s a difference between a “25-week premature infant” and a “premature 25-week infant” and those are the types of things I’m supposed to catch.

 

I don’t mean to sound self-important in any of this. I’m very lucky to have been able to work in my profession continuously since graduating from college, 20 years of which have been with the same company. I have enough experience now not to listen to anybody who condescends to me or thinks what I do doesn’t have value.

Doughnuts

Don’t ever show up with a box of doughnuts. It’s a nice thought, sure, but the presence of those fried dollops of sugar portends something dark and mournful or perhaps just annoying.

 

Boston crème means an early Saturday morning, showing up bleary eyed with the chill of dew and fog still on you.

 

Chocolate means you are ready to work, building a deck or painting two coats, or even moving that friend you once knew better, dragging boxes of spatulas and fitted sheets up the steps to a new life.

 

Jelly means you put on a gray suit and black tie and meet at the house before heading off to church to hear the eulogies and “On Eagle’s Wings.”

 

The gesture is nice but doughnuts are the bribe and the reward for doing something you don’t want to do. But I will do them all anyway because that is what adults do. Thank you but I can make my own breakfast at home.

I can't stand Dan Abrams

He’s the guy who does legal analysis for ABC News. Like me, you might see him in the morning when you’re having breakfast or in the evening when you’re having dinner and there’s some legal issue to comment on.

 

Dan Abrams really annoys me and it doesn’t help that ABC drags him out anytime there’s an attorney’s opinion to be opined, which is constantly. He doesn’t offer any more than dime-store legal wisdom. He sounds authoritative but it’s nothing more than variations on, “Look, the prosecution is going to try anything it can to win this case.” It sounds smart because of the way he talks but if you listen to the substance, it’s just dopey and obvious. I have no legal training and I could have told you most of what he says. Plus, it always seems like he’s sneering.

 

I don’t have any actual transcripts or quotes of what Abrams has said but here are some examples of what he’s said about recent legal issues in the news. I made these up but they’re in the spirit of how he talks:

 

On Brian Laundrie as a suspect in Gabby Petito’s murder (before they found him dead): “Look, there’s been a lot of speculation on the evidence in this case but the prosecution isn’t going to release any information to the public unless they’re really sure they can make a case against this guy. They need to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, their case to a jury. That’s how you win a murder case.”

 

On the Supreme Court hearing on the Texas abortion law: “Look, the question here is: Does this law infringe on women’s rights or is it consistent with the Constitution? Right now, we’re looking at a divided court on a controversial issue. If five justices find the law to be constitutionally unpalatable, then they can send it down to the lower courts for review. But if five justices find the law passes a Constitutional test, we could be looking at strong abortion prohibitions in the Lone Star State.”

 

On the shooting on the set of Alec Baldwin’s movie: “Look, it all hinges on whether or not there was negligence on the set of the movie. Once an investigation has established that, only then will they look to determine who may or may not be culpable. Right now, we can’t rule anybody out.”

 

On Steve Bannon defying a subpoena from Congress: “Look, this all comes down to whether or not a private citizen can defy a congressional subpoena and not have to face consequences. Can a former president claim executive privilege to protect Bannon? And those questions are going to make their way through the court system, perhaps all the way to the Supreme Court.”

 

Once you really listen, everything Abrams says is a variation on “We’re just going to have to wait and see.” I’d rather see a lawyer with specific experience in the subject matter at hand offer a specific opinion, rather than this Jack-of-all-trades say nothing in particular.

 

I know it’s a really specific complaint about a random media figure but Dan Abrams just annoys me and once I realized what bothered me, I couldn’t stop seeing it. I guess I could always just turn to another channel during breakfast and dinner.

Atom Bomb of Sadness

I’ve been trying to write this for the last few days and I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it. I just kept breaking down. There was just too much sadness. In trying to find the right words to discuss my devastation, I shed so many tears that even the Word document on my laptop somehow got soaked and I had to update my operating system.

 

You know what I’m talking about. It’s Adele’s new single.

 

I can say without exaggeration that it’s the saddest thing that ever happened in modern history. It’s as if they shot Old Yeller during the saddest part of Princess Diana’s funeral. It’s sadder than a mash-up of commercials for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital and Sarah McLachlan pet adoptions. It’s like the Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb of sadness on everyone in the world and that bomb was the sound of Adele’s wailing voice shattered into 8 billion pieces but each piece somehow has the same amount of sadness as the whole.

 

I mean, you thought “Someone Like You” made you collapse into a pit of despair and stalking? The new one makes that sound like “Everything Is Awesome” from the Lego Movie. You think you sighed a billion sighs over lost love when you listened to “Hello”? This new song will have you sigh so hard, your esophagus will bleed and you’ll need an oxygen tank. You think you know sadness, just from deaths and other heartbreaks in your own life? Nah. Baby, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.

 

I had a hard time even listening to Adele’s latest. Just brushing my fingers past the play button on my phone put a lump the size of Greenland in my throat. I finally pulled myself together enough to push play and when I heard the first few notes, I was sobbing—just sobbing. Crying ugly. Big, whooping, honking, embarrassing tears. It was like being in permanent therapy and having every breakthrough at once. After a year and half of tragedy and isolation, every single person in the world needed this catharsis.

 

Anyway, it took me all weekend to listen to the song since my keening would drown out the music and I’d have to start again. This was inconvenient since I went to a remote spot in the woods to listen so I could just keep collapsing to my knees and screaming, so nobody would be around to call the cops. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to listen to it at home.

 

Man, if we’re this emotional now, can you imagine a whole album of this? A whole album of sad ballads by Adele?! We’re going to be so dehydrated from crying, we’ll need an IV. This song and album will definitely sweep the Grammys. Of course, we may have a hard time hearing the winner’s name through all that sobbing and howling by the announcers. Maybe they could hire robots to announce. But then the emotions of the music would cause the robots to have self-awareness, and then they’d cry, too.

 

There is simply no way to overstate any of this. Every chord is a family member’s funeral. I am proud to lend my voice to those on social media who are expressing the hysterical tears that come with any new Adele song. But my review is the most florid! Notice me! Pay attention to me! Push me to the top of the Google search results! SOB.

Haunted House

You walk up to the house a few hours after dark and see someone has left a light on in the bedroom. Either you’ve watched too many horror movies, or you’re too stressed out by the last few months, but you wonder if there’s somebody still in the house. They told you they were gone and the keys were in the mailbox where they promised, but you still feel uneasy.

 

In the living room you see their cracked and ruined leather couch, half-used bottles of mustard still on it. There are disassembled coffee tables, a desk with scattered papers, speakers unconnected to anything, a portable heater, and decorative mirrors on the wall. There is a clock still set to the manufacturer’s time of 10:10, as if they’d never had the heart to set it. Cleaning products are scattered around the room—though none used on the hardwood floor, which has a sticky black goop all over it.

 

The empty packing boxes give it away. The same boxes were there two months ago when you were here last. They just took off and left their stuff behind for you to clean up. It’s all abandoned furniture and plastic bags full of crap.

 

What else did they leave behind? It’s late and you’re afraid to go down the basement—too many horror movies. You calm your heartbeat and walk down the stairs, unable to see what is around the corner until you get to the bottom.

 

There’s no demon or vampire or dead body or vengeful tenant to greet you. Just the more ordinary horrors people leave behind. Ruined exercise equipment and luggage. Bags of clothes. Unwanted hardbacks, books on languages, and school materials. An overturned wooded box spills out tiny earrings and baubles. Then you spot dogshit smeared on the basement floor, and your sadness and pity begin to curdle into anger.

 

Something tells you to look in the fridge. It’s room temperature inside and who knows how long it’s been that way. Inside it’s crammed with spoiled food. It’s almost-full bottles of salad dressing, sriracha sauce, wedges of fancy cheese, whipped cream, and a tray topped with aluminum foil that you couldn’t be paid to unpeel and look at. On the counter is a carton of Ben and Jerry’s. Just left there.

 

The fridge must have died and rather than tell you, they must have closed it for all time like a tomb. Your anger rises and rises. The next morning, you will throw it all in trash bags and stomp down to the curb with them. One bag will drip something unspeakable onto the kitchen floor and another bag will break in the driveway. And you will curse these filthy, inconsiderate pigs.

 

Upstairs, you find that of course nobody is still in the house. Somebody just left a lamp on with the shade askew. The bed and furniture are all still there, sheets still on the mattress. More furniture in the other bedrooms. On the floor is more black stuff that may or may not be able to be cleaned.

 

So they’re finally gone. Nobody is still in the house but you’re still unaccountably creeped out. You almost think you hear sounds, like someone moving in another room. It’s probably just the neighbors or the house settling. It can’t be ghosts, right? That would be ridiculous.

 

But there are always ghosts in one form or another, aren’t there? The ghost of us whiling away an ordinary evening watching TV while a cat purred on one of our laps. The ghost of everyone gathered near the light of the Christmas tree while the windows fogged with the steam from a crock pot and the warmth of us all together. The ghost of sitting on the deck watching a thunderstorm roll in from the west, planning and hoping we’d someday have a better view out back than power lines and a stray shopping cart.

 

And there is always something to haunt us. If you’d done something different, would this not have ended in squalor and chaos? Should you have been more vigilant? This whole house—this septic wound—could haunt you and drag you down with it if you let it.

 

So you will not. You will take dripping bags of trash out to the curb. You will scrub the floor on hands and knees. You will make the calls and deals you need to make. You will fix what you had neglected. You will give the next person the keys and walk away with something and plan bigger and better things in the place that really matters.