As has been mentioned over on the Docta's blog, "Arrested Development" was cancelled recently. Which just goes to prove my theory: people are idiots. OK, maybe not. I will suggest that this has been the weakest season so far, and that it was up against monday night football, but as David Cross suggests on the season 2 outtakes, if you can't market a show that's one five emmys, just about all the critics choice awards, and is frequently called the funniest show on tv, maybe the problem isn't with the show so much, as it is with the marketing department. Were we expecting any less from Fox? This is the network that chose to pick up "Stacked" for a second season. They're not exactly a brain trust. I'm disappointed, but not surprised. For a pick-me-up, however, I am going to see "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Sequel Cash" tonight, so that should be fun.
On another note, sometimes I find it ridiculous how much time I spend on popular culture and entertainment. This is, as I've mentioned in the past, why I find myself a less-than stellar graduate student (at least in English. I have a feeling I'd be doing well in the film department). That's why finding a book like Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman is so great. "Saved by the Bell," cover bands, Billy Joel, The Sims - to quote Richard Dreyfuss, "This means something. This is important." Klosterman occasionally launches into Tourette's Syndrome-like profanity-laden rants, and pot and alcohol make up a much more important part of his life than they do mine, but his insights on why John Cusack has ruined love for anyone born after about 1973 and why people under 25 pattern themselves after The Real World are entertaining, funny, and insightful. I can't say I love everything in this "low-culture manifesto," but I think he's right that pop culture means more and says more about us than any of us like to think about. It's probably not for everybody, but I'm really digging it.
All right, back to the grindstone. Papers on robots aren't going to write themselves. Unless I actually had a robot . . .
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