That little grey box on my big grey box (my tv, it sticks out a foot and a half from the wall and let's call it "old school") has got me pretty cheezed. And I wish I could tell you it was because I'm on the edge of my seat over something cool and adult like what Walter White is going to do to Tuco or what whoever Steve Buscemi plays on Boardwalk Empire is going to do to...prohibition? Is that what that show is about? No, in the last 3 days I've gotten hooked on Pretty Little Liars.
And when I say "hooked" I mean hooked, blowing through 10 episode in a way that feels more like a compulsion than something that I'm fully enjoying for the pleasure of it- although there is that, too. I imagine that hitting the button for the next episode is satisfying the same nagging need that trichotillomania sufferers give into by pulling out their hair. And I'm none too pleased that the episode I'm super annoyed I don't get to watch has a description that says the girls go "glamping." OH, UGH. What have I become? Maybe I'm regressing because one of the witches from Charmed plays a mom on it (I'm 100 years old) and since that show was my preteen jam it's soothing to me on the same subconscious level that sleeping with your childhood blanket might be. Or maybe I'm over thinking the fact that I'm into a show where attractive young people are caught up in a mystery- duh, I love anything spooky or who-dun-it-y. I could probably get into a show where people just mouth things to each other so I can't hear or understand, but I'm pretty sure someone's been killed.
I got started on Monday when I was feeling a little couch-bound after my friends Evan and Emily's wedding, which I figure I'll probably write about a little more when I have more pictures than these: