WWJD?
I'm on Facebook. A lot. Everyone else is, too, so I don't really have a problem. Okay, maybe I have a small problem...whatever, back to my story.
I'm "friends" with NPR, which is my other addiction. I have no patience for bad radio, so NPR it is (except when Zane and I are jammin' to the new Z-100). Wow, I am scatter-brained today. Must be the Diet Coke.
Okay, so, really, back to my story.
Today NPR updated its Facebook page with a story link about the release of the entire first season of Designing Women on DVD.
Like most women living below the Mason-Dixon line, I love Designing Women. My sister and I have seen every episode and still watch re-runs in syndication. There are certain lines and dialogue that never fail to crack us up.
In honor of the DVD release, NPR Pop Culture blogger Linda Holmes created "The Designing Women Game: Write Your Own Julia Rant." Finally! An opportunity to channel the queen of the calm, cool, collected tirade; an opportunity to understand - just once - what Julia would do.
The template is based on the Mad Libs model and contemplates the question, "What would Julia say about ABC's newest installment of the Bachelorette?"
Here's what I (as Julia) have to say:
"I would rather spend two hours sharing jalapeno poppers with Charles Manson than watch a woman who apparently purchased her intellect at the Dollar Store for $3.73 chase twenty-five men with biceps made of copper and heads packed with Trix.
Because when future generations look upon what we have left for them, which may by then be little more than greenhouse gases and millions of non-biodegradable blackberries, I fear they will conclude that they would have welcomed bread and circuses if only they had realized the alternative was Chili Fritos and The Real Housewives of New York.
And let me tell you a little something about romance: Handing out roses like you are a mascot throwing Sour Patch Kids to the assembled hooligans at the NBA Finals is not my idea of romance. Romance is a man who knows the difference between John Adams and Jon Bon Jovi and who is capable of putting on a brassiere without scratching his head as if he is connecting a Tivo without the instruction manual.
So do not ask yourself why I do not particularly enjoy a television show where the assembled male candidates represent romantic prospects inferior to the workers on the night shift at the Applebee’s in Orlando. Ask yourself whether, after a lifetime playing with a cultural Tonka Truck and dancing on the grave of Captain Ahab, you will ever...recover...your dignity."
And THAT, Marjorie, just so you will KNOW, and so your GRANDCHILDREN will SOMEDAY know, was the NIGHT. The LIGHTS. Went OUT. In GEORGIA.
I'm "friends" with NPR, which is my other addiction. I have no patience for bad radio, so NPR it is (except when Zane and I are jammin' to the new Z-100). Wow, I am scatter-brained today. Must be the Diet Coke.
Okay, so, really, back to my story.
Today NPR updated its Facebook page with a story link about the release of the entire first season of Designing Women on DVD.
Like most women living below the Mason-Dixon line, I love Designing Women. My sister and I have seen every episode and still watch re-runs in syndication. There are certain lines and dialogue that never fail to crack us up.
In honor of the DVD release, NPR Pop Culture blogger Linda Holmes created "The Designing Women Game: Write Your Own Julia Rant." Finally! An opportunity to channel the queen of the calm, cool, collected tirade; an opportunity to understand - just once - what Julia would do.
The template is based on the Mad Libs model and contemplates the question, "What would Julia say about ABC's newest installment of the Bachelorette?"
Here's what I (as Julia) have to say:
"I would rather spend two hours sharing jalapeno poppers with Charles Manson than watch a woman who apparently purchased her intellect at the Dollar Store for $3.73 chase twenty-five men with biceps made of copper and heads packed with Trix.
Because when future generations look upon what we have left for them, which may by then be little more than greenhouse gases and millions of non-biodegradable blackberries, I fear they will conclude that they would have welcomed bread and circuses if only they had realized the alternative was Chili Fritos and The Real Housewives of New York.
And let me tell you a little something about romance: Handing out roses like you are a mascot throwing Sour Patch Kids to the assembled hooligans at the NBA Finals is not my idea of romance. Romance is a man who knows the difference between John Adams and Jon Bon Jovi and who is capable of putting on a brassiere without scratching his head as if he is connecting a Tivo without the instruction manual.
So do not ask yourself why I do not particularly enjoy a television show where the assembled male candidates represent romantic prospects inferior to the workers on the night shift at the Applebee’s in Orlando. Ask yourself whether, after a lifetime playing with a cultural Tonka Truck and dancing on the grave of Captain Ahab, you will ever...recover...your dignity."
And THAT, Marjorie, just so you will KNOW, and so your GRANDCHILDREN will SOMEDAY know, was the NIGHT. The LIGHTS. Went OUT. In GEORGIA.
Comments