Tonight is the sixth season finale of 24. I will be watching on my huge-ass flat screen TV, along with Loren and with Robert and his artist wife, who come over every week and yell "scathing!" every time the show cuts to a commercial break. (Incidentally, she is a very talented artist, who is now giving private art lessons to kids, so send your children to her, lest they turn into uncreative automatons who are slaves to the ideas of others. [You see, waging a fear-based campaign is the best way to solicit customers. Example: "Come to my show, or I will stab you in the heart!"])
Technically, the flat-screen TV is not mine. Bothered that television was ruining their lives, Robert and Docious decided to give me and Loren—that's right, give us—their TV...so that television could ruin our lives instead. So the flat screen is actually on indefinite loan, pretty much until those two get tired of all the pedagogy books in their house. So, obviously, my days with the flat screen are numbered.
I am happy to report that television has not yet ruined my life. 24 Season Six naysayers, including Loren who is annoyingly defecting to the "24-has-jumped-the-shark" camp despite the fact that he thoroughly enjoys every episode week after week, will argue that my life is ruined because I won't hate this season of the series. Don't hate on me! Don't hate on me!
The other big event this week is that my sister, also know "Miss Sah-lutt" according to my mother, will be gracing the cover of D Sport Magazine, the drag racing and slutty Asian chicks publication that my sister is trying to get me to buy. Her issue will hit newsstands sometime this week and also be available at some point for perverts online. I have already seen the cover of the offending magazine (which my sister e-mailed to me), and she is wearing jeans and a small bikini top, and she is posing down on her knees in front of race car. And I thought I was this family's only attention whore.
—Reporting From Glendale, California