Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Plate of Scones, Anyone?



          A quick note to the unknown FB friend who alternates between dropping me from his friend list and re-adding me: What is going on here? I am the same person. (I almost just typed, “I am the same Peron.” Yes, I am still that lovable but authoritarian Argentinian dictator whose statuses you live to read! That sounds like a great title for a biography, by the way). I haven’t changed in the time between your “unfriending” me and refriending me.  Seriously, though, I don’t do controversy. If I may say so myself, I am funnier than the average chick. And my mommy blog hardly qualifies as a mommy blog—all plusses! Please make up your mind, unidentified FB acquaintance. Drop me from your fickle rolls if you must; I will survive the rejection.
Let's talk about something important: TV. I finally got Game of Thrones’ number. I have it sized up. It’s Downton Abbey all over again, but smellier. Instead of delicately wrought period costumes, the characters wear layers of fur and animal skins. Silver soup tureens? Forget about it; leg of boiled mutton is as refined as it gets. And it’s hard to tell how handsome most of the male leads in Thrones are because their chiseled faces are obscured by hair. Body hair, boiled meat, and layers of fur? All of these factors have one thing in common: PU. El stinko. The only exception is the dashing, thankfully clean-shaven Peter Dinklage, who plays the even-handed but calculating Tyrion Lannister.
You can practically see the stink coming off the actors in Game of Thrones. Granted, the denizens of Downton Abbey probably didn’t bathe much either, but at least they prettied themselves up with fancy clothes and perfume. When a character on Downton Abbey bothered to take a bath, things didn’t work out for her too well. The message is clear: bad things happen to clean people.
Sniff sniff...Is that me, or my fur?

"The night is dark and full of terrors." Yeah, we know. You only say it ALL the time!

            Although Game of Thrones has more action, it’s still very much a show about people talking about doing something—not now, but soon. Every week I curl up on the sofa in a tense ball to enjoy the political infighting, gratuitous sex scenes, and long and confusing conversations about war between hirsute men and women with plaited hair.  Every week I wait for something—anything—to happen. Now and then the series placates viewers with a teaser, a brief flash of primal violence, before it recedes back into chit chat. I have a sneaking feeling that the devoted fan base of Game of Thrones is the answer to the rabid players of Dungeons and Dragons from my youth; they value the process rather than the outcome. 

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