Lots on my mind the past couple of weeks, so much so that my only real coping mechanism has been to go home from work every night and watch four or five hours of The Vampire Diaries.
It started innocently enough. My stepdaughter mentioned she loved the show, so we downloaded the first couple of episodes to watch while on bike trainers, thinking we should at least be cognizant of the stuff she’s into, and we need stuff to watch while training, so, hey: win. (Had nothing to do with the two male leads, nothing at all) (Seriously. Nothing at all.) (Ahem.) And then: Oh, man. It’s so good, you guys. Not like, Battlestar Galactica good, or West Wing good, but maybe juuuust a notch below Veronica Mars good. Good enough, I should say, that we’ve made it through the first two seasons and 18 episodes of season three in abbbbout a two week window.
One thing that makes me laugh, however, is how OLD I’ve gotten for a show like this. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy a good vampire story on the CW as much as the next 15 year old, but I came across a quote from an episode recap on TWoP that summed it up perfectly:
Now, on The Vampire Diaries, Damon’s in the shower, and I can’t decide which I find more appealing — wet, nekkid Damon, eye-thinging at himself in the mirror, or that bathroom, but I’m leaning toward the bathroom, which tells you more than you need to know about my age
It’s true, you guys. Every time that bathroom is on screen, Mike and I go “Oooooh, that bathroom is AWESOME” The half naked pretty people in the bathroom? Secondary mention at best.
And they say adults can’t enjoy pop culture with their kids. Pshaw.
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