A few (more) things about Heroes:

1). I had a thought tonight that the Niki Sanders might actually be Sylar. Either way, she appears to be a mixture of both good and evil. If that’s the case, I’m wondering which side will win. And I can’t help but wonder what her role in all of this might be.

2). I don’t think the cheerleader’s father is evil after all. But I can’t back that up. It’s just a hunch.

3). Micah has two parents with superpowers; I can’t wait to see what the writers do with him.

4). Also, the pixie chick, aka Eden, totally in on it just like I thought.

5). I have a growing fondness for Hiro’s sidekick.

What a truly refreshing show. But I’m dangerously close to coming up with plots and ideas that aren’t there because I like it so much.

Spoilers below

I watched My Date with Drew on Friday night. I’m just going to cut to the chase: This film is awful. It’s so bad; I’m kind of shocked it got the attention that it did. And it goes to show that Americans will watch pretty much anything. Hell, I hated it from the very beginning and I watched the entire thing.

The guy who made it was one of the most annoying people I have ever not met. Seriously, by the end of the film, I fantasized about beating him up. What a whiney, pathetic non-loser wannabe loser. He spent so much time trying to convince everyone that he was this big geek. Instead, he came off as some well-to-do douchebag from Long Island. I couldn’t stand the guy and I like nerds, outcasts. (What’s this new cool thing with preppy men trying to convince everyone they were once nerds in high school? I am willing to put a hundred bucks down on the fact that homeboy never hung from anything by his underwear.) He lacked creativity. He lacked nerdiness. He lacked pretty much anything interesting. He lacked a history of not fitting in. He lacked everything but chest hair. Even his douchebag friends were lame. (To the director: Why did you feel compelled to make a movie casting yourself as the star? And then why did I actually sit through your piece of shit of a film? The only loser here was me.)

Sitting through this movie was like waiting for two really ugly, uninteresting people take a really long time to have really lame, unfulfilling, bad sex. It was like watching 1.5 hours of horribly uneventful foreplay, and for what: A horribly uneventful “climax”. This film left me impotent and pissed off.

I’m so glad I didn’t pay for this.

What if God, the being created by man during the Bronze Age, didn’t exist? What if God, just like the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, was a made up entity? What if Man created the concept of a God? Can you imagine your world and how different it might be if there was no God? Well, Richard Dawkins can.

In the wake of the release of his latest book, The God Delusion, Dawkins has been creating quite the stir. Dawkins was interviewed for the latest issue of Wired magazine about a “new atheism.” I found the article truly fascinating. And I can’t stop thinking about it.

I have often said, especially recently, that I wish it were possible for a scientist to disprove the existence of any God. It’s usually when I become frustrated by the crimes of religious fanatics. Sometimes, it’s just because I’m tired of people living their life based on a set of rules that were created by men who lived back in 2000 BC. I get tired of people preaching to me, telling me I’m living in sin. I think, “If only we could disprove the existence of your God! Perhaps then you’d stop killing and chiding people.”

“There’s an infinite number of things that we can’t disprove,” he said. “You might say that because science can explain just about everything but not quite, it’s wrong to say therefore we don’t need God. It is also, I suppose, wrong to say we don’t need the Flying Spaghetti Monster, unicorns, Thor, Wotan, Jupiter, or fairies at the bottom of the garden. There’s an infinite number of things that some people at one time or another have believed in, and an infinite number of things that nobody has believed in. If there’s not the slightest reason to believe in any of those things, why bother? The onus is on somebody who says, I want to believe in God, Flying Spaghetti Monster, fairies, or whatever it is. It is not up to us to disprove it.”

Seriously, what is the difference between the Christian God and the Flying Spaghetti Monster?

The “new atheists” want to stop simply disagreeing with a certain doctrine or sitting aside quietly while others practice. Instead, they want to stop tolerating religion at all. Their problem is with not a single religion, but religiosity itself.

Dawkins states in the God Delusion: “As long as we accept the principle that religious faith must be respected simply because it is religious faith, it is hard to withhold respect from the faith of Osama bin Laden and the suicide bombers.”

How does one safely set the boundaries of insanity? For some, talking in tongues might be considered totally out there, perhaps a little crazy. For some believers, though, such a practise is merely experiencing direct contact with God. How does a person determine the boundaries of acting in the name of religion?

Dawkins states: “I think we’re in the same position the gay movement was in a few decades ago. There was a need for people to come out. The more people who came out, the more people had the courage to come out. I think that’s the case with atheists. They are more numerous than anybody realizes.”

“Not a single member of either house of Congress admits to being an atheist. It just doesn’t add up. Either they’re stupid, or they’re lying. And have they got a motive for lying? Of course they’ve got a motive! Everybody knows that an atheist can’t get elected.”

Are atheists frightened to come out (so to speak)? Surely there must be one atheist in Congress. I think Dawkins must be right. As he stated about the gay movement, most of them probably are too afraid to say anything because of the stigma: God forbid (ha!) someone in the public eye chooses not to believe in a God. More importantly, and perhaps the strangest part to grasp is this: Are Atheists, in fact, viewed as second-class citizens in the United States? Are Atheists afraid to step forward and declare their beliefs, which is not to believe? Are Atheists living in silence? Are you an Atheist?

Last night, after I read the article, I lay awake trying to imagine a world without a God. I found it downright impossible. I found myself wondering if it were possible at all for a girl raised catholic to ever not believe in God, at least conceptually. Once you’re introduced to the concept it seems impossible, given we can’t disprove the existence of such, to give up belief. Even though I did give up on believing in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth-fairy, (had I not, surely people would think me a bit silly) giving up on the belief of God seems like something one gets blasted for. So why do it? Why put yourself out there if you’re going to get attacked?

Am I ready to say to all those in my life who are believers that what they believe in is something I totally dismiss? I’m not sure. That’s a powerful statement and one that might cause quite an argument. Am I starting to believe that there is no God, that God is actually made up just like the Easter Bunny, The Flying Spaghetti Man, and Santa Clause? Unfortunately, the older I get the more and more that I do.

Tobyjoe and I use an RSS feed for my comments. I get a lot of retro comments. Usually they’re pure gibberish. Sometimes they are informative and I write the person back. Sometimes they are really hateful. (Recently I had someone threaten to kill me.) A lot of the time I delete them immediately.

There’s one comment thread that simply will not die and we can’t figure out why. Is it linked from somewhere? Do that many people search the phrase “Expired Milk”? Whatever the reason, the persistency and intensity of each comment has acted as fodder to quite a bit of laughter lately. The post was written 363 days ago.

Y’all were so helpful last week with the book suggestions. And I still haven’t picked up a new book but I plan on doing so right before my soccer game tonight.

Now, I am in search of music. Actually, a friend of mine wrote me last week asking me for suggestions and I’m an old hag. Lately, all I’ve been listening to are The Mountain Goats, Sparta, Bonnie Prince Billy, and Crooked Fingers. She knows of ‘em. I can’t learn her nothin.

Help me out, Internet. What’s on your iPod? Make me seem cooler than I really am.

I quit my job yesterday. It was a really tough decision because I love my boss and coworkers. I’ve grown quite attached to them over the last two years. Right after I told my boss I would be leaving she handed me a present she had picked up while out for lunch and for no reason whatsoever. She got me the new Amy Sedaris book called I Like You. My boss could not know me better. She will be missed.

But there are a few things I want to do. I want to devote more time to exploring the city and shooting her streets and avenues. I want to bake some more. I want to clean and cook and take care of Tobyjoe. I want to design his logo and build Web sites, both personal sites and for clients. The last time I worked from home, I created SPD, which was a lot of fun. (Stop by. It’s been very active lately.) I created advertisements for a local bar and I was able to devote more time to building my portfolio. I hope to finish a project Tobyjoe and I have been working on. I hope to give The New York Post Project an actual home. And I want to write more both online and off. Most importantly, I want to figure out what I want to be when I grow up and I get to because I have the best friend (and husband) a gal could ever ask for.

I also really, really want to travel and I want to do so before I have kids (or “kid” if you ask Tobyjoe). We’re looking to visit India sometime next year and England and Ireland.

I might even learn how to knit.

Who knows what the future will bring. This uncertainty is both scary and completely thrilling.

I need a new book to read. Tell me what to read, Internet. I just finished this book. It was OK. For some reason it bugged me that the author brought up places in our hood like Galapagos, Sweetwaters (yes, it had an “S” at the end), and Black Betty. I’m not sure why, but that bugged me a little bit. (I really wish I knew why. Once I put my finger on it, you’ll be the first to know.)

The book was a little irritating stylistically as well. Also, I don’t understand that NYC party girl mentality. I never snorted coke every night of the week. I never slept with a bunch of guys for money, drugs, or attention. I don’t care about designer clothing. (Really.) I barely wear makeup. I never did H or E or any other pill with a letter as its name. And I certainly don’t feel sorry for people who live their lives like that; their lives don’t seem very difficult to me.

Was it a bad book? I wouldn’t say that. It wasn’t nearly as bad as that drivel Jennifer Weiner wrote called Good in Bed. But it wasn’t something I’d push on someone else. But I want someone to push something onto me. What should I read? Help me, Internet.

I have been meaning to write something meaningful (and long) about Heroes (the new drama on NBC). But I haven’t had a lot of time and my life is really full and weird and ever changing right now. (That’s a story for another day. Rest assured, I’ll catch everyone up in due time.)

Heroes is one of the best TV shows I have seen on the television machine in years. It’s going to lift the bar for primetime television and hopefully play a part in destroying what’s left of reality TV, which I didn’t much like from the get go. (Sorry.) Anyway, if you haven’t seen it, do so. I haven’t been this excited about discussing television since Twin Peaks. (What was Bob anyway?)

Two things I’m not crazy about:

1). The flying guy. He bugs me. Plus, flying? Come on! They could have thought of something better. But, maybe there’s a bigger point that we haven’t seen yet.

2). The cute little shorthaired pixie chick who befriended the (hot) Indian guy. She bugs me greatly. But I think she’s one of the evil people. I think she’s in on it. She still bugs me, however. That could change or they could kill her off.

The rest of it rules. My favorite hero (so far) is the cheerleader. The other blond – with split personalities who can kick the living shit out of anyone – comes in close second.

It seems that all of the insane TV watching paid off the moment I discovered Heroes.

Mihow’s Help Desk

1). For those interested in watching the show, you can download the episodes via iTunes here and I think you can get them from NBC here. It’s well worth it.

2). For those of you who liked the song used in both the first episode of Heroes as well as last night’s, you can download it here. It’s Rogue Wave and the song is called Eyes. (If you’re a fan of The Shins, you’ll probably like that song a lot.)

Also, I just discovered their drummer needs a kidney transplant. Poor feller.

So, let’s talk about Heroes. I want to discuss Heroes.

Update: Part two here. Who is Silar? Is the Cheerleader’s father evil? Is Niki? Discuss

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Bed bugs are taking over New York City. It’s true. And the NYT released an article today answering pretty much everything you ever wanted to know about the small horrible creatures.

I’m really curious as to why they emit a sweet smell; one we can’t smell with our noses but still, a sweet smell is released. Why? And, gross.

I think we may have had bed bugs when we lived in the giant loft on Manhattan Avenue but Tobyjoe seems to think they were mosquitoes eating me alive because he was never bitten and I was chewed up. I have no idea. Either way, they are horrible and I know several people who have been forever scarred by them. Apparently, it’s a horrible experience to go through. I am knocking on wood we never have to experience such a thing.

(Thanks to Erica for the link.)

We squeezed this in over the weekend.

Wanna see more? Pet the cat above.

We were on the 6 train headed down to Union Square when two women got on at 57th street. They were both hammered, one more so than the other. The really drunk woman missed the seat and sat on Toby Joe’s lap instead. Unable to focus on his eyes or face for that matter, she slurred some nonsense in his general direction. She tried squeezing her boney butt in between her friend and Toby Joe and eventually it fell into place. Her friend let out a high pitched cackle.

In all my time living in the city, I hadn’t ever seen a person as drunk as she was, (excluding the plethora of career drunk bums). And she was what one might call a “high society” girl. She wore pearl earrings and a necklace to match. She had on a floral dress that most likely ran her hundreds and hundreds of dollars. Her long blond hair, which held remnants of a once perfect haircut, was disheveled from the drunken hours that had previously taken place. Her shoes probably ran half as much as my 2500-dollar car. She was not hurting for money but she was certainly hurting from booze.

It was 9:30 PM on a Friday and the downtown trains were pickle packed with people going to and from clubs and restaurants, Broadway plays and bars. Everyone was headed somewhere, the remains of their week fell away from memory like flakes of dead skin. I could smell the alcohol coming from the girls and I amused myself by trying to guess what it was they had been drinking at a rapid-fire rate. Beer? Wine? Manhattans? Shots of Tequila? Or had it been something truly stereotypical like a Cosmopolitan. I imagined a less annoying New York City without a Candace Bushnell.

At 28th street a man walked onto the train holding his iPod. The white cords sprouted from the top and planted themselves firmly within each ear. The drunken girl got up and faced him. She must know him, I thought. She put her arm around him.

“Swhat ur you lissening to?” She whispered.

He whispered something back.

He removed one of his earbuds and handed it to her. She smiled down at her friend.

“You have GOT to be kidding me!” Her friend yelled out. “Do you know what you’re even doing anymore?”

The drunken girl’s face squeezed together and her right eye slammed shut as she tried to pull off a wink.

The girl and the man stood arm-in-arm and listened to his iPod.

I thought they knew each other. It had been a bizarre greeting between two friends. I hadn’t heard a “Hello!” or a “How’ve you been?” He never even took his earphones out. But she didn’t know him and her friend’s reaction made that perfectly clear. For the less attractive guy it must have felt like Christmas.

Her friend, who still sat next to Toby Joe, shook her head.

“How does someone get this drunk without throwing up first?” I whispered to Toby Joe.

At Union Square life switched speeds and began to move in slow motion. The train slowed down and creaked its way into the station. Suddenly the girl began to sway. She began to wobble. She moved to the right with the train and all eyes followed her. She moved to the left with the train and all eyes followed. Then, just like that, she began to fall.

“TIMMMMMMBEERRRRRRRRR!” I thought.

And that’s when the most peculiar dance took place. As if it had been choreographed to the music coming through the stranger’s headphones, all those standing moved gracefully out of her way. None of them bumped into each other, yet all of them moved in unison. It was the parting of the people. My feet moved out from directly below my knees to under my butt and the seat that held me up. As she fell, the wire between the two stretched out and formed a perfectly straight, white line. And just when it couldn’t get any tighter, it immediately drew back again, a rubber band connecting two human ears. The earbud shot out from the side of her head and moved toward the guy on the other end. He watched in horror, bewildered awe. Christmas was over. His present fell to the ground lacking the greatest of ease.

After she landed, life sped up again. The other spectators settled into their new positions. Everyone had been afraid to touch her, including Toby Joe and myself. No one helped her up. Even the stranger, who had initially seemed so excited by her sudden attention stood aside.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Her friend yelled out. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! YOU JUST FELL ON THE FUCKING SUBWAY!”

The train had come to a complete stop and everyone let the two girls exit first. On their way out, the girl yanked on her friend’s hair.

“WHAT, YOU’RE TRYING TO PICK A FIGHT WITH ME NOW?”

We followed them out the door and up the stairs. They headed toward the exit on 14th street. We headed toward the L. They probably headed out for more.

“If I had a friend like that, I might try and fight her, too.” I muttered to Toby Joe.

I imagined the headlines on Saturday’s tabloids, the papers that try and sell themselves as news, and then I hoped I’d never see her face again.

What would you do with 1.65 billion dollars?

Should I leave a note?

You may have noticed the giant banner ad on the right. They’re back. We’re trying to clear out our second bedroom, fix it up a bit for visitors (or future family members). Tobyjoe said, “They all gotta go. Do whatever you can. We gotta get rid of them”. There’s a sale going on, people. For nine bucks, you can have a Bush Tee. Tell your friends, your enemies, and your coworkers. Spread the word. They’re excellent conversation starters and they make great gifts.

(P.S. Please buy my t-shirts. I need the money to pay for the divorce.)

We took Schmitty to the vet this morning. Thanks to this post on Gothamist and Jen Blossom (who helped answer questions), we discovered The Cat Practice, on Fifth and 20th in the city. It was a pain in the butt getting there and finding parking but it was totally worth it in the end. Schmitty was not only treated with the greatest of ease but I also saw the vet sneak a smooch on his head. He was the perfect big guy. He did so wonderfully. He had his anal sacs squeezed out. (Which basically exploded all over the vet when he applied the smallest amount of pressure. It was all over the table as well. Thankfully, I was in the other room having the other vet fax over his old bloodwork. Otherwise, I would have probably vomited or at least gagged.) He also had some blood drawn and was told to go on a diet. Uhoh.

I love this cat as does Tobyjoe. He really is a considered a part of our family. Quite honestly, I can’t imagine this apartment, or our life, without him.

(I really want to thank Gothamist and Jen for helping me find the vet. It takes a huge weight off when you find a group of strangers who care about your cat as much as you do. Thanks, guys.)

(Foreword: I know that it might not appear to be true from the looks of this post but I’m in a really good mood today.)

My friend, Brad had a reading last Friday at a small bar in Manhattan. He sent me the invite about 2 months ago. And I looked forward to it. I told Tobyjoe about it right away. “Set aside September 29th!” I had said. “Brad is reading some of his work.”

As one might imagine, I was pretty bummed when I found out I had a soccer game that very same night. The game was to begin at the exact same moment as Brad’s reading.

A little over a month ago, I went out drinking with Anna. I was having a really rough time that week; I needed some Anna time. And if any of my girlfriends would understand what I was going through mentally, she would. Even though we’re two very different people, we both have a knack for spreading ourselves too thin because we want to do everything and anything. We both have a fondness for noise and clutter and constant motion. We both have a fondness for romanticizing something, attempting said something until we find something else to romanticize about. Thing is, every time I do this, every time I come up with a new idea or a career change, I believe wholeheartedly that I will do it. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that’s what I want to do at that very moment. I’m so enthralled by it; it consumes me.

I have written about this before. In fact, I think I’ve written about it a hundred times before. I am very much aware of my downfalls. I’m well aware of how manic I am. I’m also aware of the fact that when I hit a low I’m almost as unbearable to be with as I am when I’m up.

Anna said something to me that night that still resonates. Anna’s a member of the Bombshells. I find what she does admirable to say the least. During our conversation about new projects, I gave her my latest list of whims, one, of which, was joining a soccer league. I told her I wasn’t sure why I had signed up. I had missed soccer since I stopped playing over a decade ago. She told me that out of all of the whims I shouldn’t give up on soccer. “If you flake on that, you’re not hurting only yourself, Michele. You’ll have a team counting on you as well.”

Not much makes sense when I’m just about to fall from a maniacal state but that sure as shit did.

I had already missed one game when we were in Florida. I’m on a coed team, which means 3 girls have to be on the field at all time or we must forfeit. What were the chances of my team having to forfeit because of my not showing up? There are only 5 girls total on our team to begin with. The chances were huge. Suddenly, I felt necessary.

I went back and forth and then finally made a decision. It was the decision I wouldn’t have made several years ago, which surprised me. In the end, no matter how many times I went back and forth, I always came back to what Anna said.

I went to my game.

I didn’t go to Brad’s reading. I didn’t go cheer on a friend.

And my team lost. But that’s OK.

We all believe we deserve a certain amount of attention from our friends. Some of us demand it. I know I want people to notice when I’m not around and feel good when I am. Aren’t friends supposed to make us feel important? Don’t we want to feel necessary? Don’t friends serve as living proof that we exist? Shouldn’t I be their proof?

When Katrina died I cursed myself for not spending more time with her. All the times she called me to hang out and all the reasons I had (I’m too tired to go to Virginia. I’m too tired to go out this late.) came back to haunt me. The years moved through our friendship with the ease of quick seconds; there was nothing I could do to bring them back again. “Later, later.” I thought. And then she was gone, just like that, gone.

The older I get the more precious time becomes. And there seems to be less of it. I have 32 (almost 33) years behind me and who knows how many ahead. The closer I get to halfway (assuming I haven’t reached it already) the shorter the moments that create them.

I keep wondering if the choices I am making now (or the ones I’m not making) will come back to haunt me later. Only hindsight will tell. I know this. Right now, however, I can’t help but feel that some of my moments have been all sorts of empty.

I see Katrina all the time. I see her on streets and in dreams and in crowds and in movies. I saw her on the subway platform last week and I made a sound – an audible one – a groan of some sort. Why couldn’t I have seen her in crowds when she was alive? Does our subconscious wait until it’s too late? Do these ghosts serve as reminders that we should be doing something different with the living? Is this my punishment or my reward?

“I want specifics on the general idea. I wanna think what I should know. Want you to do to me what you showed. I wanna see movies of my dreams.”

After my game tonight, we have a show to attend. Normally, I even flake on live music shows. But the band we’re seeing tonight reminds me of Katrina and Soung and Vanessa and Garret and David and Greg and Missy. This band reminds me of me.

I haven’t seen them perform in almost a decade and I was a different person back then; I had less of a history. I had made fewer mistakes. Cliché as it reads, I do hope that they play some of their old stuff. I want to shut my eyes and pretend for a little while. I want to go back before I thought about halfway.

I discovered photography in high school. I learned how to shoot black and white, develop the negatives, and develop the prints. I loved it. Once I hit college, I continued to shoot. I took a college level course in black and white and signed up for a darkroom monkey position. I gained 24-hour access to the lab. I learned how to mix chemicals.

Black and white photography was a necessity in my Graphic Design program. I learned how to composite typography and photographs using a stat camera and toxic sheets of a special film called Kodilith. I learned how to dodge and burn using light and pieces of cardboard, Goldenrod, and Rubylith.

Photography is time-consuming. There were design projects that would literally take days to complete. I think the longest I stayed up to complete a darkroom project was three days. By the end of that stint I had a bloody nose. The process, while time-consuming and sometimes hazardous to one’s health is rewarding.

I love digital photography but there is nothing like the process and qualities of film. That doesn’t mean I prefer one over the over in general. I am grateful for having such an extensive background working with film. I have a lot of respect for the history and will continue to shoot film until it’s no longer available, affordable, or until I’m no longer available.

Now, I’ll get to my point. Recently, Derek and Heather relaunched JPG Magazine. The site looks great. I signed up.

JPG Magazine began a few years ago. It began as printed magazine based on particular themes. It was open to everyone (and I mean everyone). Contributors sent their images based on the current theme. And some of the images were then chosen and printed in that issue. Me? I was drawn to it because they were taking an online art form and later creating a printed piece. And as a print designer, I can’t get enough of print.

JPG Magazine has changed a bit. It’s changed for the better. It seems that they’re leaning more toward a community Web site, while adhering to the old school, photographic ideas. The magazine still exists, but it’s much, much more.

One of the reasons I like JPG Magazine is that they adhere to the art form before it gets to Photoshop, which means contributors are asked to avoid manipulating their images. Techniques like desaturating certain parts of an image, adding overused Photoshop filters, blurring, adding text, or distorting an image are off limits. They just want good, unmanipulated photographs. When I taught at American University, I was constantly asking that my students try and capture what they wanted before taking the image into Photoshop. You wouldn’t believe how much you can accomplish before the image is “developed” or “downloaded”. Really. Another reason I like the new format of JPG is it’s kind of nostalgic for me; it’s sort of like sitting in a classroom again, checking out other work based on a given project, or, in this case, theme.

So, my friends, go on over and have a look. Sign up, too. It doesn’t cost a thing and they’re really great people who know really great people. Plus, I’m great people so you should do it to be with me.

Just kidding.

Say hello to JPG. I promise, you won’t be let down.

I have two different color eyes, which you can see really clearly in this picture.

Oh, I can also shake ‘em really fast. They vibrate. It’s apparently called “Ocular Flutter”.

What’s weird about you?

After three long years of hearing Tobyjoe talk about it, I finally started watching The Wire, which I am told is the best show on television. And I’d like to agree with everyone, but I’m having a little trouble. And I told Tobyjoe if I don’t do this - if I don’t make this post - I’ll sweat and eventually explode.

“Is that the gay guy?”

“No. You have that ‘all black people look the same’ thing going on, Michele. Keep up. That’s Omar not Marlow. And they look nothing alike.”

Here’s the deal: It’s not that I’m getting confused with the people on The Wire because I am an ignorant white girl who thinks everyone looks the same. I may be an ignorant white girl, but I can tell people apart. I assure you. Truth is, I’m getting them all confused because I’m watching too much television and now that we have a DVR, I’m watching even more and losing my mind in the process.

We watch Brotherhood. There are two brothers. One is a gangster, the other a politician. There is also a cop. He is troubled. Incidentally, I’m a little troubled as well. The other day I said, “You remember that movie Can’t Hardly Wait, the one where Claire from Six Feet Under gets her hump on with that kid from Buffy and the writer of Robot Chicken? Well, you know that skinny kid who liked Barry Manilow and wanted to call him from the parking lot when he was with that angel chick who was in Dhrama and Greg? That cop must be his older brother!” So, imagine my surprise when I found out that it’s not that kid’s big brother at all, instead, that skinny kid from Can’t Hardly Wait put on 100 pounds of man meat. He is the cop on Brotherhood.

So, there’s a cop, a recovering drunk, a politician (who may or may not be shady), a drug dealer and a gangster. (Come to think of it, if they threw in a CSI, a redheaded ex-Buffy cast member, a serial killer who kills serial killers, a MILF, and a disgruntled doctor with Asperger’s syndrome, that would just about cover one character from every TV show I currently watch.)

In The Wire, there’s a cop who was, at one time, a drunk. There are politicians: there’s a shady one (who gets blowjobs from his staff) and a legitimate feller. There’s a drug dealer (or maybe 400). There’s a teacher. Actually, there seem to be a LOT of main and sub main characters on The Wire. A lot. Thing is, along with the great number of regulars, there’s a huge cast of supporting characters and while many of them don’t get a lot of camera time all the time, sometimes they are the most important members of any given show. It’s totally different from any other TV show I’ve ever seen. Really. You may see a character one week and just when you’re about to forget about the guy he’ll pop up again 7 episodes later. You may not see them again at all. The Sopranos comes close, but it’s just not as thick.

The Wire is a great show. That’s indisputable. But I don’t think it’s a great show based solely on its merit. As with any dramatic series, The Wire has acquired a tightly knit fan club. People who have been watching it from the beginning can go into a corner to discuss it and not come out again for hours. (If you don’t believe me, have a drink with Tobyjoe and Missy someday.) If you haven’t watched that show since the beginning, you’re not going to be a part of that club until you get it all straight and that could take months and by then no one wants to talk about season one or two, they’ve moved on to the new stuff. And rightly so. But I digress.

I was watching Brotherhood last weekend and I turned to Tobyjoe and I said, “I wonder when that white guy running for Governor is going to be on. I wonder if he’ll win the race and beat out the guy who’s been Governor of Baltimore… oh. Never mind.”

I’m having trouble keeping The Wire straight while watching all the other shows our most excellent time waster has to offer. It’s maddening.

We started watching Dexter who is played by the guy from Six Feet Under who’s once TV sister-in-law is also on a Brothers and Sisters (which I am also watching). Calista Flockhart plays her sister who was on Ally McBeal, which featured that guy who is now on Numbers. Oh, and Sally Field plays her mom. Sally is also on ER. Brenda from Six Feet Under is married with two kids on Brothers and Sisters and is apparently smitten on the man who was once on ER. But everyone was at one time on ER. Just like all the people on Law and Order were once on Oz. All the people on Oz were once on Law and Order. Actually, I think everyone has been on Law and Order or Homocide (which I pronounce “Homo Side” just to bug Missy).

The coroner on CSI Miami, the woman who says things like “Someone took good care of you baby doll” to corpses, played the crackhead on The Corner, a show I’m confusing with The Wire, Brotherhood, and Law and Order and now CSI Miami. The deaf girl from Weeds is now on Jericho, which stars Skeet Ulrich who was in Scream, which featured Neve Cambell who was on Party of Five, which featured the guy from Lost which I have yet to see because a friend of mine won’t hurry up and watch the DVD (Keith, I’m talking to you.)

I’ve never seen 24 either. Or The Nine. Or Heroes. I did walk through a taping of 6 Degrees, on Friday night. I haven’t seen that show either but I do know that Erika Christensen who was also in Robot Chicken with Seth Green (Can’t Hardly Wait), and Swimfan with Jason Ritter (who is on that show The Class, which I have watched) is on 6 Degrees, which I haven’t watched but I did walk through on Friday night, which I mentioned. She was also in Traffic with that kid from That 70s Show, which featured Debra Jo Rupp who was on Friends who played the wife of Giovanni Ribisi who is on My Name is Earl, which I also sometimes watch even though it features Scientologists.

So, forgive me if I confuse Omar and Marlow for a while.

Maf54 (7:59:48 PM): is your little guy limp…or growing

Didn’t anyone ever tell Foley that if he wants some play it’s best to not insult the underage page about his size and EQ?

Voter discretion strongly advised.