In which I repeatedly digress; or, Another new addiction.

Once again, I need to confess.

But let me back up a little bit.

I like the TV show 24. I used to watch it regularly before it jumped about seventeen sharks at once during season five or so. (If anyone missed that moment, I have two words for you: Vampire Jack.) I still will watch it occasionally, though, because Shallow Man evidently has a higher shark tolerance than I do.

I also have a fond weakness for Joss Whedon.

These two facts together meant that I was watching Fox on a regular basis back in January. And, as with every other January in memory, Fox started running promos for its fall lineup. Yes. Commercials IN JANUARY for shows that wouldn't air until September at the earliest. (In past years, September has rolled around and they've announced the series premiere for a show and I would stop, confused, because I was SURE it had been on the air forever. Which it had been. Or at least 30-second snippets of it.) Which bothers me, because I am usually of the opinion that overhype, even of a good thing, can ruin what's being hyped.

And if the hype-age continues and escalates non-stop all summer (when I'm also watching Fox regularly for amazing dance goodness), it makes me even more annoyed.

And also very conflicted if it's something that looks like something I'll like. Because my contrary streak wants to purposely not watch it just because it's been shoved down my throat for NINE months. I don't think advertising campaigns for a TV show should last the same amount of time as the gestational period of a human. But maybe that's just me.

But I really, really, really like singing and dancing and musicals. So I decided, when the series premiere finally came around, to give it a chance. Just once. Just to see.

I am, of course, talking about Glee.

Leaving aside the fact that the pilot aired I think three times before the official series premiere. Never mind that I'd had people asking me all summer if I'd seen Glee yet. Don't pay any attention to the endless commercials that have been running all year.

Once I saw it, I loved it. I forgave everything. Because it's fun and smart and sassy and full of singing and dancing and oh my goodness Matthew Morrison. Yes, that Matthew Morrison. The Matthew Morrison who, as Lt. Cable in the most recent Broadway revival of South Pacific hit one of the most gloriously beautiful high notes I've ever heard in my life in "Younger than Springtime." If I believed in putting up music players in my blog sidebar (which I don't, because they always make my browser crash; if you have one on your blog and I still read your blog it means I really love you) then I would have my blog sing that note to you pretty much non-stop. (Okay, not non-stop. I'd throw in most of the rest of the SP soundtrack and Donna Murphy singing "One Hundred Easy Ways" in Wonderful Town. But with plenty of High Note thrown in.)

Well, with all that, how could I not love it? I can't unreservedly recommend it, as it veers into very PG-13 territory from time to time, and the way they portray the not-pregnant wife is beyond the point of unbelievability (no person in that situation would naturally react like that). But for the most part it is, as far as I can tell in my admittedly limited experience, the best show on TV right now with the possible exception of So You Think You Can Dance which did I mention I'm going to see in concert in less than two months and YIPPEE for that? (Yeah, I don't watch too many TV shows. I'm more of a movie girl, or a discover-the-amazing-TV-show-AFTER-it's-been-canceled-or-is-just-about-to-be-canceled-so-I-guess-I'll-just-watch-TV-on-DVD kind of girl. See, e.g., Arrested Development, Firefly, Gilmore Girls, Pushing Daisies which also by the way does anyone have the DVD for PD so I can see more than the one partial-episode I've seen?)

But it still hadn't moved to "addiction" phase. Until last night's episode, which featured this sequence:



And there you have it, folks.

My name is Elliespen and I am addicted to Glee.


P.S. If you've missed out completely on this show so far because, say, you've been living under a rock for the past nine months or possibly just because you have higher television standards than I and never even flip past Fox, you can catch up on all the episodes so far on hulu.

Wouldn't You Know It; or, "It's Possible Pig."

So yesterday Shallow Man had an unpleasant sore throat. He even refrained from yelling at all during the football game we went to, and was popping cough drops for most of the day. But we didn't think much of it.

Until I woke up this morning with a really bad sore throat. And not the kind you get from yelling at a football game—I can tell the difference. No, this was the full-on sick, swollen lymph nodes, have-fun-because-you've-caught-a-bug type of sore throat. And I was all achy and my cough was a lot worse than usual.

I was ready to blame Shallow Man's stupid "my-immune-system-made-it-through-South-America-for-two-years" habits, which dictate that if there is an illness to be found, he'll have it for 8-24 hours and I will catch it twice and be sick for at least a week.

Except he was WORSE today. Fever, chills, sore throat, cough, etc., etc., etc., every single symptom listed on all those YOU WILL CATCH SWINE FLU AND DIE websites. Which means, if he's really sick, that 1) it is actually something, 2) I'm going to be even more of a melted puddle of misery in 24 hours, and 3) well, so much for school or work this week, since all the YOU WILL CATCH SWINE FLU AND DIE websites say you need to stay away from large groups until 24 hours after the fever breaks.

So we're staying home. Because even though I'm not [usually] the [extremely] paranoid type, if it involves something serious and contagious like potential swine flu or pneumonia or what have you, I believe you should stay home, even you don't care about your own health, out of consideration for those around you. Don't be like the girl sitting in class behind Shallow Man at the law school last week who was, between fits of coughing up a lung, telling how her doctor had tested her for pneumonia and the results would be in that afternoon.

No, folks, if you potentially have something serious, please do me the courtesy I am now showing you and stay far, far away from me.

Which is my short way of saying, we'll probably see you next week.

And now I'm going back to bed.


P.S. Many enthusiastic thanks to the MotionDeSmiths team for braving the nest of germs and bringing us all the essentials for proper recovery: delicious dinner, yummy dessert, and a bunch of old Star Trek episodes. You guys rock.

P.P.S. I also do be ashamed to own that yesterday passed without my sharin' a hearty chorus o' "Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day To Ye" with me hearties. Here's a bottle o' rum lifted in hopes that yer plunders were bloody, yer wenches pulchritudinous, yer decks properly swabbed, and yer planks well-trod by scurvy lubbers. Avast, me mateys! Belay that yargh-ing!

P.P.P.S. And no, this post's title is NOT missing a comma.

Let me introduce . . .

Well, folks, I have some exciting news for you. Today we have a very distinguished guest here at The Scritchy Nib and...

(whispered aside) Wait, what? Who wrote this? "Very" distinguished? Really? . . . In fact, is "distinguished" even the word we want to be using here? . . . So maybe not distinguished, but still a guest . . . Or not. . . . Did we issue an invitation or anything like that? No? So not really a guest, either. Um . . . how about we just say:

Click here.