[Tuesday Guilty Pleasure] "24"

I debated whether this qualifies as a guilty pleasure. I'm sure about the guilty part, but I can't say for sure that watching the "hit" Fox television show "24" brings me pleasure. I watch it anyway.

I remember watching one or two seasons of the show when it first aired. I remember liking it. So when I saw that all eight seasons were on Netflix Instant Play, I couldn't resist.

After three seasons and three episodes, I've concluded that this is a frustrating and pointless show, but I can't stop watching.

Never before have I yelled at a TV show alone in my living room. Never before have I hoped for the deaths of non-evil main characters and then cheered out loud when they are finally taken out. Never before have I laughed out loud when a main character is gravely injured.

All of those things have happened in just 75 episodes.

I cheered when they killed Jack's wife near the end of season one. She was helpless and whiny. How did Jack fall for that?

I cheered when they killed the president's ex-wife, Sherry Palmer, in season three, about three seasons too late, in my opinion. She was constantly backstabbing David Palmer, but he kept asking her back. And that voice ... don't even get me started on the voice.

Now if they would only do something about Kim Bauer. She does nothing but whine (like her mother), get herself in trouble and make Jack worry about her. In season two, she was never even a part of the main terrorist story line. She just kept doing dumb stuff to make Jack have to bail her butt out. (I'm happy to note that, other than an off-hand reference, she has not been a part of season four. Fingers crossed.)

I don't think I've seen another TV show with so many unlikeable characters, especially female characters. I don't know who writes this show, but I'm willing to bet money that it's not a woman. The female roles are all some version of these two stereotypes: conniving b**** or helpless damsel. Some are both at times.

Never mind that the plot requires some serious suspension of disbelief. Running around and shooting people after getting tortured and having your heart stop for several minutes? Come on, Jack.

The show takes itself so seriously when it is so utterly absurd. Yet I keep watching. And keep hoping that Kim will catch one in the chest.

To the guy who brought me water when I passed out

Dear Kind Sir, 

I don't know your name, I never saw your face and I barely remember your voice. Hell, if Courtney didn't vouch for you I might even doubt your existence. But you know who you are. 

You saw a slightly overweight guy wander away from his girlfriend, stagger, bump into a handful of people and collapse on the grass, right near the Southern Comfort slushie machine at the Beale Street Music Festival in Memphis. You could have, like so many around you, assumed that I was just another idiot who couldn't hold his liquor. Maybe you did. But you came over anyway. 

You didn't know that I had been pleasantly buzzed, yet far from drunk, when my right foot started to sting and itch. You didn't see when I rubbed at my foot or hear when I told Courtney. You didn't notice as the itch spread from my foot to my hand, then my chest and finally my neck and head. All you saw was that I collapsed. 

You bought me a $3 bottle of water. I tried to pay you back for it. Or at least I think I tried, I'm not really sure. Either way, you didn't take it. And when Courtney had to find her friends and bring them to me, you stayed and watched me. I'm sure that was fun.

You summoned the paramedics who, wrongly, assumed I was another drunk idiot. You helped make sure that, despite passing out, I managed to not lose my wallet, cell phone, watch, class ring and a key to Courtney's house. 

You did all this, and I don't know who you are. 

I just wanted to tell you that I am fine. They did a lot of tests at the hospital and everything came back negative. I've felt better over the past few days, except for on my arms where I was pricked eight times because the nurses struggled to get blood out of me. I want to tell you that it was confirmed that I wasn't just a drunken idiot. I had an allergic reaction to something. My guess: ant bites. 

Chances are you'll never read this blog, but I wanted to put this on the internet and give you a fighting chance to find it. 

To the guy who brought me water when I passed out: Thank you for being an awesome human being. 

P.S. I hope you enjoyed Girl Talk, because I sure as hell didn't get to see him .... 

P.P.S. Many thanks also go out to Courtney, who I yelled at to "stop touching me" several times while on the ground. And to her roommate, who was the collector of my things on the scene and came with Courtney to the hospital. You two are also pretty awesome human beings. 

[Tuesday Guilty Pleasure] IS BACK (maybe)

Longtime readers of my blogs (read: my mom*) will remember a series of posts I used to do called "Tuesday Guilty Pleasure." Like most series I have started, it petered out after a while.

I guess I'm not good at commitment. At least not when it comes to my blog.

I even broke out the old logo!

Anyway, the idea of TGP was to embarrass myself on a weekly basis with something from pop culture (usually a song) that I absolutely love that I really, really shouldn't. It started with Britney Spears and went downhill from there (click here for a full list, still on the old Noise Bazaar blog).

Well, faithful readers, TGP is back. Well, at least once. No promises on how long it will continue. (I mean honestly, it's late Tuesday night and I'm just now sitting down to write it. What is wrong with me?)

This week's guilty pleasure: "Call Me Maybe."



I realize that most of my guilty pleasures are girl pop songs. I'm not sure what that says about me. But this may be the best bubble gum pop song I have heard in a long time. I guarantee this thing will be stuck in your head all day at work. I look forward to the Twitter hate mail for that.

I listened to this song five times in a row once. I chair danced each time. I listened to it three times while writing this post.

The video is even cute, if you can hang on until the end.

The only thing that weirds me out a bit is that Carly Rae Jepsen is 26 and she's apparently tight with The Bieber. This song is a bit to high school-y for a 26-year-old woman, but whatever. It's still catchy.

Speaking of Biebs, you can see a video of him and other teeny-boppers I don't know lip syncing the song. The only reason I found that was because of a contest between the UNC and Duke girls' lacrosse teams where people voted for which video of "Call Me Maybe" they liked better. Ah, the black hole that is YouTube.

This post has gone on entirely too long. I'm up to four listens now. See you next Tuesday. Maybe.

*I'm pretty sure my mom doesn't even read my blog. This is a test.