It's visibly humid today, the air hanging thick and wet over the District like a heavy blanket. The magnolias by my office have bloomed, which always makes me think wistfully of the years I spent in New Orleans, and the girl I was then.
If I could go back I would in an instant, but now is not then and things are so very changed, and changeable. I've learned in the interim to keep my wants small, and where I want to live now seems small enough. Would that I could I'd live in the house I bought over a month ago.
If I wanted to live somewhere else I would and there's a short list and a long list and a check-these-out list and there's Wenatchee and Portland and the District and the Bay Area and a little plot of land in southern Oregon, and some places in the middle of this great country too. But I'm a little saddled right now with a lease and a semi-important job and though I can picture myself in all those places, I'm doing the same things there I'm doing here (drinking coffee, reading the internet, telling people what to do).
Not too terribly long ago, someone handed me a piece of paper and on that piece of paper was an amount of money that would have made my checking account do a spit-take of gleeful proportions, and all I had to do to get my hands on said sum was promise to write such-and-such-many words over the next three years — and move to Metropolis. It's a funny thing, looking in the Mirror of Erised, 'cause you think it's gonna be one thing, but then when you're standing there, it's something so familiar it might as well be the mirror in your very own bedroom. So, I handed back the paper and said, "Thank you for thinking I'm worth this risk. But I'm sorry, I can't." And I flew back home, where I belong, to snuggle up to the people who make my life my life.
If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be right here. One day, maybe I'll get that sheep farm in Wales I've been dreaming about. Or that flat in London. But for now, it's Chestnut Mountain for me.
The only other place that comes close is Pawnee.
Pawnee: The Paris of America. Pawnee: The Akron of Southwest Indiana. Pawnee: Welcome, German soldiers. (After the Nazis took France, our Mayor kind of panicked.) Pawnee: the factory fire capital of America. Pawnee: Welcome, Vietnamese soldiers. Pawnee: engage with Zorp. (For a brief time in the 70s, our town was taken over by a cult.) Pawnee: Zorp is dead; long live Zorp. Pawnee: It’s safe to be here now. Pawnee: Birthplace of Julia Roberts. (That was a lie. She sued, and so we had to change it.) Pawnee: Home of the world-famous Julia Roberts lawsuit. Pawnee: Welcome, Taliban soldiers. And finally, our current slogan: Pawnee, first in friendship, fourth in obesity.
The other day, Joe and I were talking about Party Down. You know, like you do. Or like we do, ever since I mainlined the entire first season on Netflix on one of my days off so many moons ago (on Kat's recommendation...you guys, do what Kat says). When I started watching the first episode, I emailed Joe and was all, "Hey, I'm watching this show...it's pretty funny...Jane Lynch is in it...so is Vinnie Van Lowe...and Janis Ian...and Dick Casablancas...AND BILL HAVERCHUCK" but by the time he got home from work, I was like, "OMG JOE SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND WATCH THIS SHOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW WHY ARE YOU TAKING YOUR COAT OFF THIS IS JUST! TOO! GOOD!"
(As I was writing this, I lost myself down a Bill Haverchuck wormhole on the YouTube and briefly considered changing my answer to Freaks & Geeks...but it's TOO LATE, people, I already wrote a whole paragraph.)
I find myself getting far too attached to fictional people, like, way more often than is probably healthy. Especially TV people. I don't know why and I'd rather not get into what the psychological reasons might be because YIKES but you guys, sometimes I act like the fate of the world hinges upon whether two TV characters are going to ever MAKE OUT ALREADY. Lois and Clark, Mulder and Scully, Jim and Pam, April and Andy, Ned and Chuck, Peter and Olivia, me and The Doctor...I can ship with the best of them.
So I think my unhealthy attachment to Party Down MIGHT have something to do with my desire to see Henry and Casey just make out already, except I don't know, they made out all the time, so maybe I wanted to see them hold hands and go on a picnic? What am I saying right now? I don't know. Anyway.
Right, so, Joe and I were talking about Party Down and I said that I wish I could jump into the show and live there because all the characters are so funny. He said that was way depressing because they all hated their jobs and most of them had absolutely debbie downer lives, at which point, I said, FINE, I'll go live inside Pushing Daisies where it is all whimsical, all the time, and be like, "Ned, I know you and Chuck can't make out so if you need a stand in, I'M HERE. No feelings, just make-outs," and Joe was all, "...ooook?" and I said, "what, it makes sense because he loves Chuck but I'm sure he has NEEDS," and Joe was like, "can we change the subject, please?"
So the answer to this week's question (which is (in case you forgot): what TV show reunion would you most like to see?) is either Party Down or Pushing Daisies because both were canceled far, far too early.
There are lots of shows I discovered too late, long after they'd gone off air. There are lots of shows that may have stayed on air long after they should have. There are shows that were canceled too early or killed off the wrong characters or devolved after salary disputes. It's almost hard to pick. Almost.
I mean, seriously, it ended before there was Twitter. I need Marta Kauffman watching with me.
It's visibly humid today, the air hanging thick and wet over the District like a heavy blanket. The magnolias by my office have bloomed, which always makes me think wistfully of the years I spent in New Orleans, and the girl I was then.
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