MY MOM WANTS TO BUY ME A SANS BODY PILLOW AND I JUST- ...I'm going to let her.
wow, YES FOR MY SAKE, PLEASE LET HER BUY IT FOR YOU. wat a cool mum.
my headcanon is that she secretly likes sans but is too embarrassed to admit, so she’s buying it “FOR YOU!” At night when you’re asleep, she’ll go into your room, limb by limb detach your body from the pillow, take it back to her bedroom and hold it tight whilst watching late night talk shows and seinfeld. at least now you’ll know where those mysterious wine stains are coming from.
Earlier this summer, the entire world spent the weekend in prison for the new season of Orange is the New Black. But with still two months left of summer and little new tv being aired on a weekly basis, what are we all supposed to watch? For those of you who’s personal to-watch list is lacking any excitement, here are five suggestions of great shows to binge with your remaining vacation time.
5: The Fall available on Netflix
If you need something to hold you over until the return of The X-Files, I recommend visiting some of Gillian Anderson’s newer work. Hannibal is good, but of her two current shows I would recommend this first.
Fresh, fierce, and feminist as fuck, The Fall features battling forces between Stella Gibson, Detective Superintendent and Paul Spector, a serial killer who preys on pretty young women. We get to see each side working towards the other, circling around each other in a way that’s both fascinating and frustrating to watch.
4. Seinfeld available on hulu
At any given time, there’s at least one episode of Seinfeld airing in syndication. If, like me, you’ve seen an odd number of episodes that you just happened to catch while flipping through channels but have never been able to fully watch the show, you’re in luck. After a supposedly 180 million dollar deal, Hulu has purchased the rights to all nine seasons of the 90s classic, perhaps hoping to inspire a world-wide rewatch as we did with Friends in January.
3. Survivor available on hulu (seasons 1, 12-26)
What’s better than going camping, swimming, or fishing this summer? Watching others do it from the comfort of your couch! And all with $1,000,000 on the line!
Like many of you currently rolling your eyes, I rarely watch reality television. The only show I usually watch set in the real world is Jeopardy at dinner with the family, an almost 15 year tradition that I’ve been forced to accept. But when a friend who’s opinion in television I strongly trust livetexted me the entire last season despite my lack of knowledge on the show, I figured I at least owed it to her to give it a try.
A day later, I’m hooked. Between the competitive and physically tasking immunity challenges, the strategy that goes into the thought process of who to vote out when, and of course the actual day to day survival in the wilderness, it’s easy to become addicted to the chaos.
Each season is 13 to 18 episodes long (on average, about 15), meaning it should only take you anywhere from a day to three to properly binge a season. If you’re willing to put more time into it and watch several, you’ll find certain players return for one of the All Star seasons every few years. This allows you to get emotionally attached to certain players (and trust me, you will), giving it that extra pull required in a binge-worthy show.
2. Louie available on netflix (seasons 1-4), hulu (seasons 1-4)
Dark, raw, and painstakingly honest, Louis CK’s semi-autobiographical show can barely be called a comedy. And yet in those few moments when I’m not on the verge of tears, I’m doubled over laughing hysterically. Louie has both some of the darkest and the funniest moments I’ve ever experienced on television. The balance is unlike anything I’ve witnessed - CK’s humor is meant not to lighten the mood but to allow himself to cope with it.
After watching the first episode or two, you won’t want to binge. I understand. It’s a shock at first, this leap into such unknown twisted territory, leaving you anxiously unsettled. But allow yourself a day of settling, and you’ll be ready to get back in. I recommend starting slow and building up to longer binges if you don’t want to leave yourself moody for days.
Why, then, is this one of a list of top shows to binge this summer? Because once your tolerance is built up, you’ll be a craving addict. The show is beautifully done, scored and shot more like a film than a television show. It features witty dialogue, wonderfully original characters, and scenarios so ridiculous, you must fear for the brain they’ve come from (but only after thanking it for its gift).
1. The X-Files available on netflix, hulu
The truth is still out there, and after twenty years, maybe it’ll finally come to light. Until we can find out for sure (January 2016!), why not either rewatch the original series or jump on board if you haven’t already?
The 90s sci-fi show miraculously managed to balance between being a cult favorite and loved by the mainstream and still holds an enormous fanbase that seemingly rose from the grave with the announcement of the revival last spring.
Skeptic doctor-turned-FBI Agent Dana Scully and her partner Fox Mulder, the ultimate believer in the paranormal, work to solve Monster of the Week type mysteries while slowly uncovering a large conspiracy within their own government. Throughout the show, we get to watch them fight over the existence of aliens, hunt down crazy creatures, save each other’s lives a hundred times, and, most fun of all, slowly fall in love.
In its prime, their adventures are thrilling, witty , and heartbreaking all in one and at it’s worst they’re hilariously bad (killer kittens, anyone?). More than anything, the show is entertaining, lovable, and beautifully ridiculous.
i went to the official seinfeld blog through the link on the festivus mode popup and it…actually looks nice? and it has a custom theme. somebody hired a graphic designer to make official seinfeld blog look nice and at least one person to run the blog and get people talking about seinfeld on social media. someone did this for a sitcom that’s been in syndication for over a decade
They watch Seinfeld every week for months when she’s sick. He doesn’t especially like the show, and suspects that she doesn’t either, but it has hooked them in the way that bad movies encourage you to persevere until the end: because it just might get better. But for him, there is no end in sight.
That comforts him. If Seinfeld never ends, she is not allowed to die.
He told her that, once, when she was in the hospital: stick it out to the bitter end, Scully. And she had laughed. There’s nothing in the world quite like making Scully laugh in a hospital bed, he thinks.
Now she perches delicately on her couch, wearing a sweatshirt that he vaguely remembers lending her last year. Only the tips of her fingers are visible past the sleeves of the garment and he is struck by how small she is. He forgets, because she takes up so much space in his life.
He sits next to her, settles down with a hot bowl of popcorn. She pulls a blanket over her legs and jams her toes beneath his thigh. Contact with her burns, and he wonders if she feels it too. He glances over to check.
She seems unaffected. But right now, backlit by yellow lamplight, she is more beautiful than she has any right to be. She reminds him of a moth, pale and fluttery in her illness. Her lips part just slightly as she shivers.
She throws a smile his way, shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
He passes her the popcorn bowl that had been burning his thighs, just enough to sting but not as much as the touch of her toes.
She sighs, closes her eyes. She looks bruised, like a dropped peach. Has looked that way for a while.
“Better?” he asks.
She nods, and he envelops her freezing hand in his warm one.
“Cold hands, warm heart, right Scully?”
And she smiles, licking salt from the fingers of her other hand. “That’s what they say.”
After a while she pulls her hand away and he pretends not to notice. He has been pretending not to notice a lot lately: her nosebleeds, her thinness, the way she quiets suddenly when a headache comes on. Her little inhales of pain from across the basement are torture for both of them. That’s all there is now, silence and pain-hissing. He misses her, violently.
Seinfeld at least gives them sound. They sit, touching, and the canned laughter becomes their mutual enemy. It sets her teeth on edge but they make a joke of it, of the ridiculous things that go on in the episodes that don’t merit laughter. He thinks of the space between them and how many jokes they have made over the years, how often he can mention something that happened two years ago and have her in stitches over it again.
Not often, really. But one time he made her actually rip her stitches from laughing.
Their hands knock in the popcorn bowl. If they went on like this forever, he would be okay. Knocking hands every few minutes; knocking into each other for the rest of their lives.
Again, she sucks on the pad of her thumb. She would taste like salt and butter if he kissed her now.
He won’t, though. Maybe when Seinfeld finally ends. A kiss of victory, he thinks, and smiles.
“What?” she murmurs, nudging her toes further beneath his thigh.
With his arm draped on the back of the couch, his hand is close to her bent, blanket-enswathed knees. He covers one, cups her kneecap in his palm. “Nothing.”
She doesn’t brush him away, so he rubs his thumb across the threads of the blanket. She won’t die, he thinks. Not when Seinfeld is on and he can cover her whole knee with his hand.
She can’t die. She will live as long as Seinfield airs, and when it is over he will kiss her, and there will be no time in between for dying.
He glances over at her. The television’s glow illuminates her face and he squeezes her knee, removes his hand. She turns and a smile creeps over her face.
It’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. How could they not, when she’s smiling at him like that?
He finds himself smiling too, before turning back to the tv. Maybe Seinfeld isn’t even that bad.
I haven’t had a drink in 268 days and I feel weird.
I’m 31 years old. I live in Los Angeles, California, and I am single. I love cooking, I love watching Seinfeld re-runs, I love documentaries, and I love drinking, but I don’t do that last one anymore.
When I quit drinking, people asked me if it was hard to quit drinking and I always felt like not drinking was the easy part. Doing everything else was hard. Ordering ginger ale on an airplane was hard. Being designated driver to a concert was hard. Going to sleep was hard.
Okay, those things were hard. But dating? That’s impossible.
That’s not to say I haven’t dated in the last nine months. I have had some really great relationships of varying lengths in that time with some really wonderful women. If one of you is reading this, please know that I have nothing but admiration for you and thank you for everything and please don’t text me about what an asshole I am. I already know.
You know that feeling when you’re with someone and you’ve shared a great meal and a few glasses of wine and you kind of get wrapped up in the moment and before you know it you’re eyes are so close they’re almost touching each other and your noses brush gently against each other and suddenly your lids close and you don’t know why and then you’re kissing and somehow your hand finds the light switch and by some miracle you manage to get your clothes off and then the next thing you know it’s morning and everything was incredible?
Yeah. That’s a great feeling. But that doesn’t happen sober, at least not for me.
There’s nothing sexy about a guy who wants to meet for tea. There’s nothing romantic about a guy who orders six club sodas and invites you back to his place for ice cream and decaf. No great love stories start at a Coffee Bean.
So you go to dinner instead, but you end up not ordering a drink, because, well, you’re an alcoholic and it could ruin you, and so then you just spend your entire first date talking about why you don’t drink, because, let’s face it: it’s fucking weird. It’s weird to not have a drink. It’s weird to not be able to put one particular kind of liquid in your mouth because of something that’s wrong with you. It’s not bad. But it is weird. And people want to know about it. And they want to understand. And I get it. I would want to understand too. When I was a drinker I didn’t understand people who didn’t drink and I thought they were weird. Because they were. And now I’m one of them.
When people tell their friends about you they always include the sentence, “Oh, he doesn’t drink,” almost apologetically. And I get it. It’s not weird that they’re saying that. They’re right. I don’t. And it’s weird.
Nothing says romance like a guy who’s totally on top of his impulses.
Your hand doesn’t just end up on a leg anymore. You have to put it there. You have to gather your courage and lift your hand off of your leg and put it on her leg and you have to DEAL WITH THAT. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen or pretend it was an accident. And if that goes well…
You have to close your mouth and stop talking (and talking is the only thing you have left) and you have to move your face towards their face and you have to kiss them. On their mouth. And it’s fucking awkward. It just is. It’s just weird to put your mouth on someone else’s mouth. You don’t think about it until you think about it but as soon as you think about it you will never stop thinking about it.
Let’s not even start thinking about sex. How does that go? “Hey, I really am enjoying spending time with you and I find you attractive. Maybe let’s go back to my place and grunt and slap our bodies together for a couple of minutes?” It’s a big logical leap to go from speaking sweet nothings into someone’s ear to screaming wildly because of things they’re doing with their genitals.
And even if I somehow get through that, I’m just always going to be the person who never stops thinking, who never stops laughing at the absurdity of it all, who can’t quite relax the way I used to. I don’t want to go through that and I certainly don’t want to put someone I really like through that.
So what do I do? Well, the easy answer is start drinking again, but I’m pretty committed to this whole “staying alive” thing, so that’s off the table.
So I’m just going to keep being weird for now. And if I’ve been on a date with you (though I’m assuming most of the people I’ve dated have stopped reading at this point) just know that I know I’m weird and that’s probably why it didn’t work. Or maybe you thought I was fat. That’s another possibility. You’re right about that also. But this weird thing, it’s not an excuse. It’s just an acknowledgment.
I don’t have answers, but a lot of people write me and ask me what it’s like being sober and the answer is “it’s weird.”
Most of the time, being weird is better than being dead because at least it’s something.
Anyway, I’m 31 years old, I love watching Seinfeld re-runs and I’m just patiently waiting for the right person to be weird next to.