So last night, the final two episodes of Fringe aired. They were great. I laughed. I cried. I jumped up and down and clapped my hands together like a giddy little girl.
I won’t bother to give you a review of the last two episodes of Fringe. Either you already know because you watch the show or you really don’t care. But for those of you who never saw the show (what’s wrong with you?), there was one thing in the last episode that, for me, perfectly encapsulated everything I ever loved about the show.
It’s a nice little moment between mad scientist Walter Bishop and his son from an alternate universe, Peter. Walter hands Peter some bullets and tells him to be careful with them, as they’re special anti-gravity (?) bullets that will make the Observers float in the air after they’ve been shot.
“But once we shoot them, they’re dead,” says Peter. “Why would we want them to float?”
“Because it’s cool,” said Walter.
There’s only one more night of new Fringe episodes, ever, and that night is tonight. With a double-header to wrap up the fifth and final season, I have no plans other than to plant myself in front of the television and punch anyone who gets in my way.
I’m so excited! Yet despondent. Yet excited! Yet mournful.
So a thing I recently learned is that Bob’s Burgers is hilarious. A thing I learned slightly less recently than that is that Bob’s Burgers exists.
Because, why, if people wanted me to watch this show, would they sandwich it between The Simpsons (past its prime) and Family Guy (a show I’ve always hated, feel free to defend it/insult me in the comments) and whatever other McFarlane horrors exist on Sunday evenings? I mean, seriously, why would they do that? Were they hiding it?
Anyway, now that I know Bob’s Burgers exists and is hilarious, I’d like to spread the word because I’m sure you all didn’t see it hiding there behind The Simpsons, either.
It’s. So. Funny.
Like, there’s an episode with a robot shark and an ice cream machine and it’s really funny!
And there’s an episode with the Bob’s Burgers kids and they do stuff and it’s funny!
Plus there’s other episodes, and they’re also quite funny.
I think the post title says it all, except the part about how maybe I should get my illness diagnosed, but whatever.
Please enjoy this picture of Benedict Cumberbatch as Unnamed Star Trek Villain #1, and I’ll see you next year.
Dear Daughter of Mine:
I would like to take this opportunity to officially issue you an apology in regards to the Magical Christmas Pony I told you would be arriving for Christmas.
The truth is, I was kind of hoping the world would end before Christmas, because, you know, the Mayans and et cetera.
So when I told you that you’d be getting a Magical Christmas Pony and that Santa could fit it down the chimney and it would be waiting in the living room on Christmas day, I was, you know, lying. Which, darling daughter of mine, if you really thought about it, should have been obvious, so I think this is your fault too. Yours and the Mayans.
Anyway, you won’t be getting a Magical Christmas Pony in your stocking or, indeed, anywhere. Instead, I’d like you to enjoy this drawing of a magical pony I found on the Internet.
So, at work, we’ve got this obituary for a gentleman that ends with the family hoping Odin will welcome him into the halls of Valhalla.
“Well, they’re going to be disappointed,” I pointed out. “Valhalla is only for warriors who die in combat or women who die in childbirth.”
“…” said my coworkers.
“Yeah, he’s actually going to end up in the realm of Loki’s daughter, and ride the ship of clipped toenails to fight in the battle of Ragnarok.”
“…” said my coworkers.
“What, everybody knows this, right?”
So I just thought I’d share a thing with you all that I learned today:
It takes 40 minutes to boil an ostrich egg.
I know. You’re welcome.
Dear The Future,
I love you!
You don’t realize how awful it is, living here in the 1990s, and liking things like Japanese cartoons and indie rock bands and Sherlock Holmes and nobody in Britain is making a brilliant series starring my perfect man about him! I mean, every store I go to has (at most) three anime titles and they’re on a shelf marked “Japanamation” because someone once thought that would be a clever portmanteau, little realizing how absolutely wrong they were.
And don’t get me started, The Future, on how hard it is to find decent music in the 1990s. It’s like if I don’t like (insert popular song from the 1990s), then I have to go to the local record store, special order The Wrens newest album and then wait 15 years for them to record another!
It’s hard living in the 1990s, The Future! And that’s why I love you.
Because you’re coming in to save me, with your iTunes and your Amazon and your eBay and your YouTube. Everything I could possibly want or care about is right at my fingertips! Also, that thing I said earlier about Sherlock Holmes!
You have everything, The Future, except for hoverboards and flying cars, and I want you to know that’s OK. It’s not true love without a bit of disappointment here and there. And it’s not like I want you to change, but if you want to change (and get me some hoverboards and flying cars), then that would be OK too.
Thanks for everything, The Future. I mean it.
So there’s this Christmas commercial airing for some jewelry company, and the dad has the son dress up as Santa and give the mom a box and inside is the godawful ugly bracelet. The mom looks at it and sighs, “Ohhhh, Santa,” like, if the kid was any older, he would be so squicked out because his parents are totally getting laid tonight, but luckily, he just grabs a plate of cookies and wanders off merrily, thoughts of parental fornication completely absent from his innocent head.
And every time I see that ad, I think: “Do women really react like that to godawful ugly bracelets?”
And then I think: “Wait, I guess if someone bought me a box set of the Evil Dead trilogy for Christmas, I would totally sigh ‘Ohhhh, Santa,’ and then we’d probably have sex, except they’d have to wait until after we watched the movies.”
I should’ve heard of Beirut years ago.
It makes me sad to think of all the years I was missing out on this awesome music, but then I think about puppies and kittens and I’m OK.
Anyway, Beirut is wonderful and awesome and lovely, and I’m slightly in love with band creator Zachary Francis Condon. He plays the flugelhorn! The flugelhorn! The FLUGELHORN!
My point is everybody should be (if they’re already not) listening to Beirut and falling a bit in love with Zachary Francis Condon, because he is wonderful.