I have discovered the truly best part about Netflix. I know, I know, I’m late to the party, but that’s hardly rare. I’m usually a beat behind. A month ago I found some prescription slips that had fallen behind my computer. I sent them in to the Claims department, and they said they were sorry they couldn’t honour them. In a wee snit, I called and said they were only a month past the year end. They replied “they were from 2012″. I whispered, “sorry”.
I’ve watched all the stuff, finally, that everybody has been talking about. Breaking Bad (good), Downton Abby (dumb but addictive, like red Nibs where you keep shoving them in your mouth and finally realize you have a stomach full of plastic shards), a bunch of bad movies about people we once called yuppies having children and discovering having children pretty much sucks, and some documentaries that I watch so I can talk about something intelligently other than Nibs.
I’d heard talk a long time ago about Friday Night Lights. I really like Connie Britton because she has awesome hair. And I think we could be friends, if she didn’t mind me petting her hair. I also like shows about high school football in the U.S. Especially Texas. I do not know why this is, because I know zilch about football, but I know a lot about Texas high school football, or at least about how important it is to little towns. My high school had a football team, and I never went. All I knew was that on game days, the football players got to wear their uniforms in class and always left early. I learned even if you had zits, if you wore a football jersey and left class early someone would date you. That someone was never me, which is why to this day I don’t know any football rules.
Friday Nights Lights is an excellent show, just like I’d heard. The very first show had me crying like a baby, always a good sign. Most of the acting is really great, and I’m impressed with a lot of the writing. There is a main girl who is kinda irritating, she sounds like Tinkerbell, and she’s one of those actors that the camera just lingers on, close up, because she has absolutely no flaws. None. Except she sounds like Tinkerbell. Of course she’s a cheerleader, which in Texas is a requirement I think. I didn’t know who she was, and when I went to IMDB I realized I’m so late to this game, this actor is something like ten years older than when she made this.
Which brings me to the best part of Netflix: There is a kid on the show, and I found my sick self looking into his troubled, moody eyes and thinking, “wow, this kid is pretty hot” and then being instantly ashamed of myself. He has long hair and is a Troubled Youth, so I call him Ponyboy. But every time Ponyboy comes on, I forget about Tinkerbell’s annoying voice and even Connie’s amazing hair. Then I remembered IMDB, and discovered that even though my lust was wrong, it was less wrong than I thought. Ponyboy isn’t 17! He’s 33! That still isn’t right, but at least I wouldn’t get arrested. People would talk behind our backs and accuse him of using me for my money, except I don’t have any, and besides, I’d just be using him for his stormy eyes. And arms.And do you know how cute men look in those little pants they play football in?
So basically, Netflix lets me leer at boys and not feel guilty. Now I wish I’d waited ten years to watch Breaking Bad – I kinda liked Jesse in a non-maternal way.