You know you’ve been away from your blog too long when people start asking if you’re alright in the comments. A couple more days and this blog would have had the neighbours calling the police because a funny smell was emanating from it and a hungry feline was caterwauling behind the lines.
The less said about my reasons for absence the better. Suffice to say the usual excuses apply. (Hands too sore to type, preoccupied with novel writing, engrossed in John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War series)
During my absence a few things came to my attention. Namely, instances where I have been proven utterly, unquestionably right and one instance where I shamefacedly must eat crow.
First the crowpie portion. A little over a year ago I gave up on The Office in a fit of pique, sick of Steve Carell and the endless replay of observer discomfort passing for humour. I announced loudly that I was sick of the show and it wasn’t funny anymore. Through a roundabout set of circumstances I ended up watching a newer episode (“Viewing Party”) on Hulu Plus and realised that I was wrong. It’s still funny. So I spent the day where I was too sick to do anything else just getting caught up on episodes I missed. It was a real treat. Granted, they’ve still got a lot of Michael and at times it can be too much. But they seemed to have stopped building whole episodes around his cringe-making antics and started to refocus on the show’s real strength–the ensemble.
Now that I’ve admitted to being an utter eejit when it comes to some things I stand firm on my ground that society is admitting my utter rightness about something else.
For about 30 years now (I developed early, okay) I have been insisting loudly and longly that Abraham Lincoln is sexy. When people hear that they either look at me like I should be put away or gamely try to play along by saying something like “I can kind of see that” (i.e. I can’t really, but I don’t want to set you off and if I play along maybe you’ll stop talking about it, you freak.) But now it seems that Steven Spielberg is making a movie about Lincoln and has cast the societally-approved sexiness of Daniel Day-Lewis. I give it about nine months before Entertainment Weekly has an article called “The He-Mancipation Proclaimation: How Hollywood’s most successful filmmaker teamed with the thinking woman’s sex symbol to bring sexy back to the White House.” Another three months after that and coffee-house hipsters will be sporting that mustacheless C. Everett Koop beard and smoking pipes. And I will have to resist the temptation to call old classmates and coworkers to say “see! I was right! Lincoln is hot. And that’s a more interesting topic than your mother in law fighting with your husband over your dead father-in-law’s fishing rod collection right after the funeral.”
Because it is.