This morning something occurred to me that I hadn’t thought about before. I was watching Wonder Woman, as I do every morning before I go to work. The Chinese Communists had captured Diana Prince and were tying her up. Diana had to just let them tie her up because of course she couldn’t turn herself into Wonder Woman right there in front of them – it would give away her secret identity.

Or would it? Wonder Woman’s golden lasso compels people to tell the truth, but she also uses it to make people forget things. Why not turn into Wonder Woman, make them forget that they just saw her turn into Wonder Woman, and then kick their commie asses?

Is there an ethical issue? Is it against the rules back on Paradise Island? Is Diana Prince extremely modest? Or would doing that eliminate the requisite scenes where Diana escapes, runs behind a tree and turns into Wonder Woman in “privacy” and then kicks their commie asses. This sequence is formulaic and yet always awkward and never quite believeable – even in the TV Superhero Universe. Changing the forumla would have required the writers to come up with more – and different – scenes to fill out the episode and would have thrown everything out of whack, I guess

I missed the ass-kicking scene since I had to run and take a shower. When I came back Diana Prince was having dinner with the Chinese Communist leader and the couple who had captured her in the first place. They were having a fine time and the leader, General SomethingOrAnother had given his blessing for the couple to disappear into Chinatown and not be commies anymore.

I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on at the end of the episode and neither could Husband, who was stupified, sitting in the lazyboy sucking down coffee and looking totally perplexed. And he’d seen the whole thing. Some things are better left a mystery, I guess.

I think part of the problem was that our resistance was down. We tried watching back-to-back episodes of the Love Boat last night and I believe we may have actually injured ourselves in some way.

I still hate Sex and the City as much as ever. I struggled through a whole episode the other night, sans martini no less, and barely lived to tell. My dislike of this show goes back to my desire to avoid annoying people. If I expend this much energy avoiding them in real life, why would I want to waste my precious TV-watching time on them? On this subject, see also: Seinfeld, Will and Grace and 60 Minutes. Also, Wolf Blitzer Reports.

Not the book, the disease. I’m like an old lady in West Palm. Let me tell you about my aches and pains.

It was, to say the least, an unproductive weekend. Still sick. TV viewing choices spiralling into a black hole. At one point Saturday I even watched Lifetime. Yes, Lifetime. Lifetime: television for women. Television for women who find sexist crap “empowering.” We tried to watch some crappy Made For TV movie starring Shannon “Don’t Call Me Brenda” Doherty and Kevin “I’m Not Matt” Dillon.

Sadly, it was merely crappy and not, as I’d hoped, truly craptacular. It was called Gone in the Night and let me tell you it should have been. It was one of those missing-children movies. We had to turn it off after Husband turned to me and said “I don’t even have kids and this crap stresses me out. Why do people watch this junk?”

Thankfully, we were able to tune into HBO, which was showing Arlington Road, a good old-fashioned “your neighbors are terrorists” movie that the whole family could enjoy.

Sunday, we spied on the neighbors. They seem to buy a lot of charcoal. And they sing show tunes in their backyard. We’ll be keeping an eye on this.

Last night we were able to pull ourselves up out of bad-TV hell by popping in the special edition DVD of Jaws. Isn’t it amazing? That movie doesn’t have a single flashy actor in it and yet it’s one of the greatest movies of all time. Go figure.

That was cheap, manipulative television at it’s very worst. I heard rumors about this weeks ago but chose to give you the benefit of the doubt. I am shocked and appalled that you would do such a thing. No, I’m not talking about your drug problems, I’m talking about what you did to a beloved character last night. Shame on you. I just gave Sarah the tape so I can’t say anything further yet or I’ll spoil it.

[they killed mrs. landingham]

I just passed by a pair of colleagues deep in conversation. They weren’t discussing a dangerous and complex scientific experiment or a social research project that could change the face of welfare. Oh, heaven’s no! Their intense discussion amounted to one man trying to explain the concept of the TV show survivor to the other. This was all the more entertaining because neither one of them seemed to have the foggiest notion of what they were talking about. God bless academia!

While I’m on the topic of survivor…
I was deeply disappointed by the outcome of survivor 2. I mean, I wanted Tina to win, but I really didn’t find all of the shenanigans leading up to the big announcement compelling. Or even interesting.

Make a totem and throw it over a cliff as a gesture, as a way to give back to the land? They were right, they were giving back to the land. Littering is – technically – giving back to the land. But it’s still littering. Was I the only one deeply scarred by that Indian in the “Keep America Beautiful” commercials from the 70s? I didn’t expect a great environmental message from a show that allowed goofy Colby to pillage the Great Barrier Reef for coral souvenirs, but still….

And what was up with that walk past the torches where they remembered their fallen comrades in cheesy slow-mo video montages? It’s not like Mad Dog and company died or something – they just did Letterman and Good Morning America, for pete’s sake.

My big question is, if that final vote count was live, why was it dark as night in LA? According to my watch it was 6:40 p.m. and the sun has not set by then. Did this not strike anyone as odd?

No.No.No.No.No. Say it isn’t so. Please say it isn’t so. Tonight on the Sopranos, the moment that Chris “acquired” that nightclub a knot formed in my stomach. When he gave the club to Adrianna, I felt queasy.

Please, please, please don’t let the Sopranos fall into the 90210/Charmed “we’ve got a nightclub let’s have gratuitous guestshots from bands” trap. It’s already started. We didn’t even get through the first bar-ownership episode and there was already some lame band performing.

Does David Chase have that little faith in his fan base that he thinks they’ll start jumping ship mid-season? Why else would you resort to adding filler to your show? On the upside, since there are no commercial breaks during the Sopranos, a gratuitous band interlude gives you the opportunity to go to the bathroom, get a beer or just bang your head against the wall for a few minutes if you need to.

Perhaps next season on Survivor III they can have guest bands. Every few days another band can be dropped into whatever “remote” location they are filming in. The band can play and then the Survivors can hunt them, slaughter them, and eat them.

plucked from the ashes of the archives, reposted 02-23-07

I get letters, oh I get letters!

Dear Skarlet:
On Sex and the City the women have disappearing underwear. They put on sexy drawers and then next thing you see one of them is hiking up her dress and plopping down on a comode without pulling down any panties. Where do their panties go?

I have no idea where their panties go, but I do know what you’re talking about. I accidentally caught a rerun of said program last night. A model was talking to Carrie in the restroom. She had visible panty lines, but then in the middle of the conversation when she turned around, hiked up her dress and sat on the toilet, her panties had magically disappeared.

Maybe their panties are made of a space-age fiber that allows them to pee straight through them without any ickiness. Maybe their panties go to the same place that Diana Prince’s purse goes when she spins around and becomes Wonder Woman. Maybe we just shouldn’t think too much about things like this because it could well lead to a one-way trip to someplace quiet and restful, if you get my drift.

I’m sure you’re all disappointed that your email correspondance are not at the same lofty intellectual level as my own.

I don’t know why people don’t write to ask me about my thesis research. Doesn’t anyone care about taxidermy or animal mummies? What’s this world coming to?

I watched too many eps of the Mod Squad last night and frankly I’m not fit to answer my phone at this point, let alone tackle weighty issues involving scanty undergarments. If I come up with a better answer I’ll be sure to let you know.


Culture Vulture/Music Critic Extraordinaire Nisa Rant blew my Wonder Woman/Disappearing Panties theory right out of the water, so to speak. She pointed out that if said women don’t turn around 3 times before they park their boney asses on the toilet then their undergarments cannot possibly be a part of the same physical universe as Wonder Woman’s purse. A very good point.

This leaves us with only 2 theories left: space-age polymer panties or completely apathetic continuity people.

(the date on this post might be wrong by a day or two or three, the archival restoration process is a little bumpy)