I'm sitting here sporadically punching letters on my keyboard and hoping that a witty four or five paragraphs will magically spring from my fingertips and seep into my computer screen. Yeesh. Two weeks of not blogging and I'm already out of practice.
You know what? I'm going to succumb to my obsession and rave on, rave on about 30 Rock.
Oh my god. If you don't watch 30 Rock, what the hell is wrong with you? Seriously! WHY? Do you have a reason not to? No. Listen. If you have a computer with internet - which you do, you cheeky minxes; you're reading this on the internet right now - you can watch it on Hulu. Or the NBC website. Or order it from Netflix or whatever if you are so obliged. I don't watch TV - like, ever - and yet I still watch 30 Rock. Religiously. Just kidding. I'm not really kidding.
I want to marry that show. I want to take Liz Lemon up on her promise to marry a woman in 20 years if they both haven't met that special someone by then, and I'm not even gay. I want to Take the Midnight Train to Georgia with Kenneth the Page. I want to be Jack Donaghy's personal assistant, smoozing it up with Jonathan. I want some of that magic cereal Tracy Jordan consumes every morning. I want to groove to Werewolf Bar Mitvah. I want to work on my night cheese. I want to be Kenneth and see the world in puppets. I want to dance for Dr. Spacemen's flu shot. I want to hug the blue guy-- oh my god, I want to hug the blue guy!
In summation, I want to go to there.
1 comment:
It is my life's ambition to grow up to be either Maureen Johnson or Tina Fey. Not "a YA author" or "a comedy writer", ONE OF THOSE TWO PEOPLE. I am setting myself up to be a failure at life because within reason (and legality) this is impossible. But still. I love 30 Rock.
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