Spoiler Alert

Dear Caveman Josh Groban,

Obviously we’re all going to keep watching this season; we’ve come this far on the journey with you. So, Imma let you finish “opening up” until you find whatever it is you’re looking for, but you should know: everyone thinks you are a full-size nutball. You getting rid of Kacie B. is essentially tantamount to a human rights violation. And that’s not true at all. But it was just offensively dumb. We are disappointed in you, Benjamin.

P.S. America wants you to get a haircut. No one is okay with that situation. You can tell it takes every fiber of Chris Harrison’s being to just say, “This is the final rose,” and not grab it and use the thorns to shear off the business end of whatever is happening there.

Really Attractive Raccoon Eyes

Glee hasn’t been good for a long time, but I catch up with it on Hulu every once in a while in binges. It’s musical theater on TV. I can’t not watch it.

And then their Valentine’s Day show was really, actually great again. The type of good where you’re just marveling at how talented all these people are, and how glad you are that they’re sharing their talent…and AND they were throwing some major “Jesus-Loves-Gay-People-Too” action in there, and I couldn’t be happier about that. Much as I love the fabulousness of Kurt, little asides from Quinn and the other Middle America-approved characters are probably much more convincing to those who might otherwise be inclined to disagree. And I am all about winning hearts and minds.

Anytime there’s a particularly wonderful performance, I can be persuaded to shed a little tear (I cry at talent the way other people brake for…whatever). But as I was watching Mercedes do “I Will Always Love You,” (which, come oneven warbled off-key still rates about 7 tissues) I remembered it was a Whitney Houston song… and that pretty much was the end of that. Ugh, that poor woman. Such a beautiful gift, so much struggle…

And now I am a sobby mess.

So that you may join me:

On the upside: Rachel’s gay dads, which I have been waiting for the show to reveal for, oh I don’t know, FOREVER. And they are amazing. As all gay dads are. Please observe:

I love everyone, just have babies and be nice to each other, the end.

Traditions.

My sexy husband, dubious about the need to photograph everything within an inch of its life.

I’ve always loved the idea of “tradition,” despite the fact that we didn’t have many in our house while growing up. [That’s what happens when you’re the child of two people schooled in two very different religious traditions–they don’t quite know what to do with their own children when it comes to “tradition” with a capital T. His involves menorahs….hers involves daily Mass…so their compromise is…I don’t know, snuggling? My parents are pretty much the best 🙂 ]

Anyway, M and I have developed a tradition of an “antipasti” plate. It sounds too simple and silly to be a tradition, but it’s actually the best thing ever.

It doesn’t particularly matter what it’s composed of…we use whatever is on hand. You dip the cheddar in the fig jam, maybe have some rosemary and sea salt almonds, tear up some proscuitto if it’s around. The point is that it’s our little late-night ritual. You can’t watch the Sopranos without fig jam. Come on now.

Other Current Most Favorite Thing.

What, you don’t think multiple things can be one’s most favorite thing at once? They totally can so, as long as you are not a student whom M is tutoring for the LSAT. Then you would get a sad face full of regret at your inexact logic skills.

But in real life you totally can have lots of favorite things, and my ardor for the pumpkin candle of holiness is untarnished by my love of this…

“This” of course being…blogging in bed. Or, really, doing anything on the computer in bed. Watching Glee is acceptable also (although I’m starting to wonder if the writers have forgotten that they have an ensemble cast in which everyone is a complete BA. Yes, I want to watch Rachel and Kurt out-diva each other for 15 minutes, but then I want to watch Fondue for Two. Because you cannot tell me that Brittany is not the best character on that show: she dances, she deadpans, and she’s been the believable emotional core of at least two relationships which spanned both genders. RANGE).

Anyway. I am coze-balls (aka cozy, but beyond that state, such that new slang must be invented) and I am connected to the outside world, and am happily amusing myself while M participates in that most tried-and-true of male bonding rituals: the friendly poker game. I am told that this is something Y chromosomers do for fun, though to me this strains the boundaries of credulity: you take a friend’s money, or he takes yours…either way someone ends up poorer 6 (zillion) hours later, and with no cocktails or fancy new boots* to show for it. Men. I also always wonder whether the dudes inviting M over for these shenanigans know that he financed our entire courtship during college by playing poker. And that I have always loved sushi and fancy drinks. And that he is a wonderful man, and gives me what I love. AKA he is really, really good at poker. But I’m pretty sure it’s a sub-par wife** move to alert people that your husband is a total wolf in sheep’s clothing,*** so I say nada. Such deception going on here. We are basically Bonnie and Clyde.

And Clyde’s parents are coming to town tomorrow**** and our apartment is messai (which is Asian-inspired mess, since we got a really pretty Japanese-y vase [as pictured in the door-sliver pic above. Yes, it’s on the dresser, next to the TV. We’re calling it NYC-shoebox chic]). Probably the person’s parents who are visiting should clean, though, right? Or at least hire a maid with their poker winnings. I thought you’d agree!

*At the very least, whoever wins should spend their loot on some fancy new boots later. But you know he won’t.

**ZOMG wife. Still weird.

***But only when it comes to Texas Hold’em. Otherwise he is a delightfully straightforward individual.

****I am very excited about this, as I am about any out of town guest, since their arrival means we must show them all around Boston. Which translates into showing them the inside of Giacomo’s. And Neptune Oyster. And….everywhere.