After the second sketch there was mock applause. During each sketch there were "hushed" whispers that my deaf-in-one-ear grandfather wouldn't have had much trouble hearing, though the accents were so cartoonishly thick that he would have had trouble deciphering.
I'm going to watch the final season of "Fringe." I wasn't really a fan of the overall storyline the Fox show pursued in Season 4; in the end, it didn't ultimately have the emotional resonance or cumulative power of Seasons 2 and 3.
When I was young people would say, "Oh, he has so much potential!" This was my death knell. Even in my naive state of ignorant bliss and never-ending cans of root beer I knew that I never wanted to be that guy who grew up with potential and lost it somewhere along the way.
Fandoms are wonderful. They encourage you to talk about your favorite show and assure you that your obsession does not require medical attention. I have encountered many TV fandoms over the years, but one in particular has really astounded me.
I've always told my siblings that I would only move to Texas if I were on my death bed -- and now that seems likely. The medical system is excellent, and it's my mother who is. Dying, I mean. And therein lies my dilemma.