It’s sweet for sure, and it’s fruity as hell.  I happen to like that a lot in a wine on occasion, even though I know it’s not totally vogue.  I like a noseful of guava and a mouth full of dried apricots.  I do!  As long as it’s not gross, which I don’t think this is.  It probably would be sweet for some people’s tastes.  Maybe most people’s tastes.  I mean, most people who would like read about wine on the internet.  It’s actually bordering on a dessert wine, but it doesn’t cross over into the honey-treacleness of say a rosato or something.  If you’re looking for a fruit bomb apricot explosion sweet summer day wine, then this is the one for you.  If you think sweet wine is gross, don’t hate me, you’re cooler than me anyway.  I would day-drink this wine in a huge sun hat and booty shorts, while walking barefoot through someone else’s garden on a hundred-degree day.  Because that’s the kind of thing sweet wine would want you to do.

Cougartown:  Oh I watched it.  I totally watched it.  And I DVRed the second one and watched it, too.  I watched both of them all the way through, and you know what?  I’ll DVR the third and then I’ll watch that one.  I like Courtney Cox.  I wouldn’t have said that if you’d asked me on the street three weeks ago, but there it is.  I like watching her, even though she’s obviously still playing Monica Geller.  I liked Monica!  Kind of!  Just like I kind of like this show, maybe!  I mean, I do, because I like watching it, but Cougartown???  I know.  That’s the thing, I so know.  I can’t believe the intensely culturally interesting concept of the MILF stuck around long enough to morph into the now oft-referenced “cougar”, that that this idea then became a show that I don’t hate!  That I don’t find physically fucking repulsive!  And yet.  It’s like how I enjoyed the first season of Desperate Housewives, which, by the way, has never been a good show.  Oh, except in Cougartown, the kid is totally funny, unlike in DH, in which the kids are all totally annoying.  I like the kid.  I hate Christa Miller’s dumb plastic face, but I like Courtney Cox’s kid.  Seriously, Christa Miller?  Why you gotta be like that?  She looks like a goddamn mess.  Not right for the role of schlubby mommy at all.  Listen, I’m ashamed of myself for all of these thoughts, because why is my brain thinking about Cougartown, but there it is.  Maybe it’ll get cancelled, and I’ll be saved the shame of wondering when it’s on.  I don’t know what it is.  The jokes don’t really land.  The idea isn’t really interesting.  I guess it’s just not horrible, and I’ll do anything to watch tv.

Modern Family:  So everyone sure is on about this one, huh?  Everywhere I look, it’s like Modern Family is so great and amazing!  Best new show of the year! But Community is ten times funnier, so what the fuck gives?  But I mean, like, good for ABC and everything, and I’m into the show and all, but really?  Is it because everyone thought the family-based sitcom was dead?  I’m with Gawker on this one, and not just because if you’re not then they can make fun of you and then you know you’re uncool forever.  Sitcoms don’t need to look backwards to find formulas that work.  They don’t even need to be innovative!  Just copy the good ones that are on right now!  I dig Modern Family, because that dad who thinks he’s hip is HILARIOUS and perfect in every way, but I only ever care about seeing him on screen.  He’s the only one who makes me laugh at all.  The fat gay one I could take or leave, though the Meryl Streep bit from last week did make me giggle.  The skinny, beleaguered gay one didn’t make sense to me in the last episode, even though he’s cute and kind of run-down.  The Charro-wife, meh.  The shrill blonde wife, also a hearty meh!  I concede that I could never have thought of it and whatever, but that doesn’t mean I have to love it.  As long as every episode features a substantial amount of that dad who thinks he’s down, I’m down as well.  God, seriously.  He’s fantastic.

Community:  Come on, you guys!  It’s so funny!  It has the potential to stay funny and not get bogged down in character blech, which is fine!  They showed that Indian kid’s dad and his whole sad life story in the last episode, and it wasn’t played to exploit cheap emotion from us!  That is considerate!  That is good!  I don’t care if he was ignored or abused or whatever.  I care that he says funny things and reacts to the things other people say in a funny way.  Because it’s a comedy.  And it’s been on for like three weeks.  We don’t need to know why these people are the way they are!!!  This is an epidemic I will discuss further, but not right now.  I don’t understand why the zeitgeist hasn’t totally adopted Community.  Everyone wants to make out with the gay dads in Modern Family instead.  No one except my boyfriend is as into it as they should be.  Yes, should be!  I am the tastemaker!!!!  Also, my misanthropic little sister, before hanging up on me so she could eat a bean burrito, told me that it totally is like actual community college, especially, and I quote, “Like that there are old people that I hate.”  Mad hella props to this show.  If it gets cancelled, I will have some questions to ask of America, and some drunken tears to cry for myself.

Eastwick:  I liked the Eastwick pilot so much more than I thought I would.  Somehow, they maintained this kind of mystical shimmer over the whole hour that gave it if not a unique feeling at least an enjoyably familiar one.  Halloween in a small New England town is one of the staples of movie-making that I enjoy the most.  I was bitterly, bitterly disappointed when I went on a tour of small New England towns with my friend Liz, when we were looking for outrageously expensive small liberal arts schools to apply to.  Not only did I have a miserable time, thanks to hideous sleep deprivation due to the sonorous snoring of one member of our party, but the towns were not that cute or that mystical nor was it Halloween.  Sucked.  I wanted Stars Hollow!  I wanted the Salem that’s in every kid’s movie about Halloween!  Come on!  Anyway, I thought this pilot got that down, but it added this Faustian element that made it much more for grownups.  The part where they got drunk on magic water reminded me of the more hallucinatory passages in The Master and Margarita, which I love love love.  I was all like, I can’t believe I have high hopes for a show like this.  And then the second episode aired.  And all the sudden, they decided that tone and ambiance mattered none at all and that what we had to worry about was character.  Oh, this lady is like this because of this.  Who cares???  They’re types!  That’s what makes them fun to watch!  They’re not characters!  They’re not me or you or even real people!  They’re bold types with cool powers, and they’re doing wish fulfillment stuff and being hot and plotting and they do not have to be realistic past a certain point!  People can be entertained by types.  I can be entertained by types!  Don’t make them be characters oh please oh please!  And then they played that scene with the dancing kids and it was so not creepy even though it should have been because it ended up with that rapist kid dead?  Dumb.  Dumb dumb dumb.  What the fuck went so horribly wrong???

Flash Forward:  I liked it.  Seems like everyone else thought it was stupid.  Why?  I don’t know.  I think LOST is the dumbest, most boring show I’ve ever seen, though, so I guess we’re even.

The consensus seems to be that Glee is awesome, that it’s fun, happy, and full of quirky characters.  Even Gawker said so, and they hate everything, earnestness usually most of all.  To this I would say, quirky??? Quirky??  Are you fucking KIDDING me with this???? HOW are they QUIRKY?  Oh, wait, let me name some reasons: omg did you notice that one kid is in a wheelchair??  A WHEELCHAIR!!  That is so quirky!  What an adorable fucking quirk and how quirky when they make him do dance routines bahahaha he’s in a wheelchair!!!!  CREATIVE!  ORIGINAL! FRESH!  Let me reflect, has that kid ever made a comment about anything?  Has his character been shown any respect, have the writers inquired into his nature at all?  They have not, because we can see his QUIRK!!! every time he rolls on screen, so there’s no more work to do there.  We have pretty people to pay attention to.

Oh, and also, can you believe they put a black on the show!   What a fucking quirk of quirks!  Let’s be real now, what else has she done besides be told she’s fat, snap her fingers and go, “uh-uh girlfren!” and be winked at when there’s a mention of Kanye West?  She just is black, and that’s it.  But she’s sassy!  Like black ladies everywhere!  On tv!  Throwing out that fabulous sass with all the attitude in the world!  Haha, don’t we just love the blacks!  They are always making sassy comments that give us a moment of comic relief before we can get back to dealing with what’s really important in this wretched heap of a show, which is white people.  Oh, and they made her fall in love with the gayest kid in the world and then in a fit of black lady rage SHATTER HIS WINDSHIELD???  That kid couldn’t be any gayer if he actually engaged in anal sex on the show, and yet they made her enough of an idiot (because the cheerleaders told her he liked her to sabotage her what????  WHAT??) to dig this tiny fairy until she went all ghetto on his white ass.  I hate this fucking show so much.

Which brings us to the gay kid.  Be gayer.  Be poutier and sassier.  Oh wait, that would be impossible because they’ve already made you a cartoon, just like the others.  Back in your ghetto, gay!  Back!  Back!  Your time in the spotlight is through!  There are straight people coming in their pants we have to get to!  Out of the way hahaha he said Marc Jacobs okay ENOUGH!  In your gay cage!!!  NOW!!!!

Having a character use a wheelchair doesn’t make that a character.  Being black isn’t a quirk.  And being gay doesn’t mean you have to be the biggest fag in the entire chorus line.  This is all so fucking offensive and awful that I can’t believe people are allowing it to go uncommented on.  I don’t go around looking for things to be offended by.  And I love television.  But Glee is an exercise in dehumanizing anyone who’s on the fringe and then calling the quarterback on the football team a fucking hero for deigning to join a stupid after school activity.  These characters aren’t quirky.  They’re just not straight, white, or able-bodied.  They’re circus freaks, to be peered at through the bars of their cage, but not to be considered in their own human right, because please, who cares.  White people rule.

Oh, unless those white people happen to be women, because in that case, they’ll just be COMPLETELY FUCKING PSYCHOTIC.  COMPLETELY INSANE.  CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY.  Um, hysterical pregnancy?  Thank you, that’s something that happens in life.  Putting that aside, the stakes are in no way high enough for her to lie about being pregnant.  So she wants a house.  So what?  Continue to want it, and then get it.  Whatever.  Lying about being pregnant.  So, so, so fucking insane and manipulative, and yet what so many people think women do all the time.  Do they?  No!  I’ve known more people who have lied to boys about not being pregnant than I do the other way around.  Oh, except for this one girl, but I didn’t really know her that well, and guess what–she was completely fucking nuts!  And then there’s that main girl with the dark hair.  She’s all anal and bossy and puts a star after her name because that’s not on-the-nose or anything.  I guess I don’t hate her character AS MUCH, but that’s because the writers actually bothered to give her an inner life in some small measure and motivations and stories and dialogue and stuff.

Also, their costumes are so fucking busted.

When this appeared on the internet this morning, I just felt gratitude.  Just fucking gratitude.  All I felt was this quiet, beatific peace as I watched it.  This is how the pilgrims must have felt as they sat down to that first meal of can-shaped cranberry sauce and microwaved sweet potatoes.  Just grateful. Wanting to give thanks for this feast.

There’s this one season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (season 5) that is in my opinion the best season of that magnificent show.  And, in that awesome season SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER there’s this villain, right?  And she’s super hot (not as hot as Tyra, but still) and super powerful, right?  She’s so powerful and good at fighting and strong and fast and whatever, that Buffy is just like, what kind of evil demon is she?  They research in Giles’ old books, and Willow looks it up diligently on her computer, and they just cannot figure out what the fuck this she-devil is.  What is she?  Why is she so blindingly flawless and perfect and most of all powerful?  And then they figure it out.  She’s not a vampire or a demon or a succubus.  She’s a GOD.  A GOD.  THAT’S WHY SHE HAS A TALK SHOW ABOUT FATTIES AND ANOTHER SHOW ABOUT IDIOTS AND A SONG AND A MILLION WEAVES AND MISS J.  Mystery solved.

Needless to say, last nights cycle premiere was off the chain.  From Jesus’ girlfriend Amber, who somehow managed to be the craziest ho in a room containing not only Tyra and the two Js but that redhead who acts like she’s the child ghost in a horror movie, to that adorable blonde from the woods of Kentucky, everyone was excellent.  Like everyone, I’m soooo sad that Amber had to leave for personal reasons of being crazy.  Crazy.  So fucking cray-cray.  I’m guess I’m just glad I got to see her at all.  In a way, I’m glad she’s off, though, because think about how much the homeless would have missed her dancing and rapping.  If how much I’m going to miss them is any measure, then it’s a lot.  Then there’s Sundai, who thinks she’s in a slow-motion rap video set at a car wash, and that vacant, Vanessa-from-Gossip-Girl style Lisa that Tyra resurrected from the dead (ring any bells, CHRISTIANS??) and then promptly flushed right straight back to hell.  I was so happy when they gave her the sabotage-outfit.  They always sabotage some of the girls during photo shoots, and when this obvious ill-will bumps up against their natural vanity and stupidity, it’s just one of nature’s most hilarious sights.  Lisa had to be a clown with a hug ruff around her neck, a ruff so huge that it bumped up against her chin, and then Tyra criticized her for losing her neck, because of cooooooourse she would.  Then they made Sundai wear a huge, baggy diaper, which you know what, sure, Tyra.  Sure.  DIAPERS, you decree, and diapers, they appear.

Then everyone went in the hot tub and that redhaired girl acted nuts again, and the Nnenna-ish girl with abuse in her past was like, “You’re weird,” which is why she can’t be kicked off because SOMEONE has to narrate, and she’s the only one who can do it.  I loved that she was mad about her tyover when she had basically nothing done to her at all.  She’s great.  What else?  Oh, it hardly matters, because I’m going to watch this episode at least a million more times on VH1 in the years of my life yet to come.  And every night, I’ll fall asleep praying, or saying the Lord’s Prayer backwards, hoping to summon Tyra, sweet, fearsome Tyra, so that she can scold me, get real on me, and then hold me close to her giant breast before cutting all my hair off because it makes me look short.  Amen.

We got some wine at Trader Joe’s today to drink with pasta and poverty.  Our budget was four dollars, and I’m proud to say we came in just under at $3.99.  It can be kind of sad knowing that you can’t spend a lot of money on wine, because sometimes cheap wine is just so, so dreadful, which I know because I have consumed so, so much of it.  My friend Kathryn and used to buy Bella Sera magnums…like, frequently.  Anyway, I want to celebrate this particular choice, which was pretty much made for us because it was in a giant display right at the front of the wine aisle.  Anyway, for future generations:

Mount Linden 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon (California): We’re not paying import costs, but still, $3.99 for a fucking decent bottle of wine?  It’s discernibly Cabernet, but it could just as easily be called Red Table Wine.  Flat flavor, but without the sickening sweetness of like wine-in-a-box.  It has some bare red/purple fruitiness, but mostly it just has the muted alcohols of a standard Cabernet.  It’s so drinkable and decent with pasta, it kind of seems Italian to me.  Buy it and get drunk for like two bucks each.

So whatever.  A few nights ago, we drove up into the hills of Los Feliz (not at all pronounced how I thought it was) to have dinner with Nick’s uncle-by-marriage’s brother’s family.  They were so down it was unreal, and I still reflect with pleasure on the goodness of the food and wine (Soave of some kind, omg I want it in a beer bong) they served us.  We stayed for like five hours, and near the end, after we’d all I think had that internal debate that goes, “Oh shit.  My glass is empty.  I’ll just have a little tiny bit more.  I’m not even drunk.  I think.  Sometimes I don’t know until I stand up, though.  But I’m so not.  But I haven’t really been able to count glasses because I keep saying like just a little tiny bit more.  Ok.  But by definition, then I’ve only had some little tiny bits and could you please pass the super delicious wine?”.  Then, the Mrs. gave us her list of Oprah’s Favorite Things except it was Mrs. Culturally Conscious’ Favorite L.A. Things.  We decided to start with the cheap ones, and by cheap I mean ones that are actually so cheap as to save us money on buying anything to eat, because wow, we are poor and becoming ever the more so as the days drift past.

We started with The Best Fish Taco in Ensenada.  And man, I have not had very many fish tacos in my life, but these are really, really good.  And $1.50 a pop, which really is about as cheap as food can get, don’t you think?  Like, a bag of Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion chips is $.99, and that’s a snack size, and those are chips which are at least, in this case, like 30% salt.  Which is why I love them.  But my point is, these tacos are like too good to be true.  A buck fifty??  That is not how much things cost in this world!  That is a price that recalls worlds where movies cost a nickel and for babysitting the neighbor’s eight kids you got a shiny penny and a homemade pie, and also people still died of cholera.  Cheap.

And they taste delicious.  I assume it’s cod or like tilapia or something, but the fish is just some generic whitefish, battered and fried, and placed in a tortilla.  Then you get to dress it with your choice of hot guac, spicy pineapple something, hot mango salsa, hot non-mango salsa, mild salsa, and radish relish (bangin).  Then you throw on your shredded cabbage, which is so much better than shredded iceberg I demand to know what the hell America is thinking with that stuff, and then you squirt some white substance called like secret crema or something on top, and no, I cannot think of a less gross way to describe it.  Secret crema seems to be some kind of yogurty, thin version of sour cream.  It doesn’t have the same tang as sour cream, but secret crema is so much more delicious.  I’d probably be sad if I knew how they made it, so right now I’ll just be happy with knowing that it’s real at all.

I had to learn how to eat fish tacos by watching the people around me.  There’s this trick with the wax paper they wrap them in, the trick being, use it so you don’t look like an idiot when your second one starts falling apart as it inevitably will if you’ve put any sauce on whatsoever, much less all the sauces.  I also learned about the three drinks they serve out of what I would call the ice bucket because it’s the thing we used as an ice bucket in two out of three restaurants I’ve worked in. Maybe it’s an empty water cooler?  That’s kind of what it looks like.  There are three drinks, and you can identify them by the handwritten labels postage-taped to the front.  We’ve now tried all three, two when we were happy, one when we were sad.  First, we had the Tamarindo and the Horchata.  I love tamarind.  Sometimes, they’ll give you those tamarind pastes at Indian restaurants, and I will eat it all before anyone else can touch it.  The Tamarindo drink seemed like brewed black ice tea mixed with tamarind and sugar.  Delightful.  The Horchata was white and, while not creamy in texture, creamy in taste.  It had little black vanilla bean casings floating in it.  It tasted exactly like melted fried ice cream.  Also divine.  Later, we tried the Jamaica, which had a pomegranate and SOMETHING ELSE BUT WHAT thing going on.  Not my favorite, since it was fairly sweet, but it was nice to get a free drink when we were sad.

That’s what I have to say about the Best Fish Taco in Ensenada.  And Salma Hayek.

Hello!  I am ignorant!  I say to everyone.  I’m trying not to be so self-deprecating.  But it’s haaaaard!  Even though I think I am great, I also have this weird thing where if I say something nice about myself I get the same visceral feeling as though I had said something really rude about the person I’m talking to.  Like, when I say where I went to school, which is not the best school ever, but you know, it’s pretty good and deserves more respect than I give it when I mumble it’s name, I feel like the subtext is, “Where did you go to school, you dumbass, though if you went to Hahhhhfad then how fucking stupid am I going to look, sitting here all smug about my state school education but if you went to Tech then do you think I’m some horrible rich kid from some subdivision because I’m not!  I’m not!  But I am if that makes you feel comfortable, but really, I’m not (even though effectively I am because you can’t tell the difference), but also do you think I’m dumb because I’m adopting this pffffffht tone about my education or do you think I think you’re dumb because kind of I do, but basically I think everyone is better than me so stop worrying!  Stop worrying!!”  Listen, yo, I’m complicated.

But so is everyone.  Most people just fucking get over what Nick calls self-calls because it’s not weird unless you make it weird.  I’m seriously trying not to make it weird.  But I did last night when we were talking to the girl we’re subletting from, who produces stuff, and I brought up my one experience of any significant duration on a movie set, and in so doing basically called her an asshole.  By accident!!  For I was an extra once, and friends, I fucking hated it.

The sequel to Bruce Almighty, that movie about something I don’t know I never saw it, was filming outside of my college town, and I was excited.  We were all excited, being in effect mountain folk when it came to big Hollywood brouhaha.  We saw Steve Carrell at our pizza place!  We heard reports of giraffes being moved through town!  We were thisclose to living in a legitimate place, a place with enough name recognition so that when we insisted, “No seriously, there are really good restaurants,” people would be like, “I’m dying to go!” instead of, “That must be nice for you.”  We weren’t, really, but it was cool anyway.  It was even cooler that they didn’t dickishly completely get in my way, as another movie had (weirdly) in my hometown.  This is something that remains a head-scratcher for me to this day.  How could these people, who were not even good-looking, come in, set up their stuff outside my house, and then tell me to be quiet?  YOU be quiet, movie people!  YOU be quiet!  I continue to live my life as I would because why do I have to be quiet??  You’re the ones who showed up out of nowhere!  I still am like, really?  That’s legal?  Because it seems like some kind of legal issue that I would have to kind of take the leap into being an obsessive amateur crazy to address.  Anyway.

My mom’s friend was working on the movie in some capacity.  She revealed to me that Lauren Graham, aka Lorelei from Gilmore Girls which is aka around our house as like our faaaaaavorite show even though my mom hates Lorelei, was in the movie.  I shreiked, “LORELEI!” and asked if I could meet her.  Yes.  I did that in real life.  I’m not proud, but them’s the facts.  She said she could get me on set as an extra and she would see what she could do, but personally, if she were me, she would leave it at liking the show on my own time.  I said, sure, but I meant LET ME TOUCH HER.  She gave me a phone number to call that would tell me when to show up on set.  I eeeeeeed with glee.

Now, I was living in my hometown that summer, which was about 70 miles away from my college town.  I also didn’t have a place to stay in my college town, so I had to stay in my best friend’s empty apartment.  I don’t like being in empty houses or apartments.  I can freak myself out pretty easily.  In this apartment, I absolutely did, because I was so fucking bored.  When I got there, I realized that their cable wasn’t hooked up.  The only–THE ONLY–dvd was the first disc of season 1 of The O.C. Since I was under 21, alone, and no longer in possession of a fake ID that I thought was worth the risk, I pretty much had no choice but to stay in every night and watch it.  In the middle of episode three, in a panic about how quickly I was burning through my only entertainment, I called the number.  It told me to be there at 5:30.  5:30???  Fucking 5:30????  That is not a time to start doing things!!!!!  But Lorelei…I got in bed.

There was no way for me to be anything but a wreck when I got to the set.  I am not a person who can deal with sleeping too little.  I wish I were, but I’m not.  I can no longer function correctly in the world.  My emotions, normally a healthy rainbow of feeling, become all putrescent browns and greens.  I can’t remember things.  I don’t pay attention.  And the worst thing is, I’m in an absolutely foul mood.  It’s not something I can control, though I hate when people say that about their moods, because come on, they’re not even trying, but I throw my hands up in the face of this situation.  So that’s kind of a portrait of me at this juncture.  After this point, it only gets worse.

First, we don’t do anything for two hours.  Two hours!  Until it is 7:30, a semi-human time to ask people to be a place!  This is my first hint that we are not to be treated as human but as swine.  Then, I am stripped of my perfectly normal-looking clothes and put in wardrobe.  It is an outfit so horrible I almost cannot believe it.  We’re supposed to look like affluent suburban so-and-sos.  They put me in a faux-camo tank top and ill-fitting khaki booty shorts.  I am then instructed to stand in the sun for nine hours without moving.  Occasionally I am sprayed with fake rain.  I am there for three days.  I spend all of our break time with my head in my hands, unable to read because I am so tired, and unable to converse with anyone because all of the people around me are loudly explaining that they are convinced that they are going to be famous because of this.  Because of WHAT??  I want to scream.  Because of being given sun-madness for the sake of an absurdly expensive un-funny comedy??  (Not fair of me to say, I haven’t seen the movie–I KNOW, I KNOW but I don’t want to.)  Because of being treated like cattle when we are people?  We’re people and they all but make us eat out of troughs!  I am sorry, but this is how people get brainwashed and broken and we volunteered for this.  I was so thirsty and hungry and lonely and tired and hot and sad.  In my opinion, everyone else there was too weird and sad.  Later, I learned that a girl who I adored to the point of worship had been a professional extra for that movie, and that she thought it was so fun she could hardly stand it.  So this goes to show the absolutely poisonous mood I was in.

When all was said and done, I, over three days, participated in about four seconds of a scene.  That’s what we did for almost 12 hours a day, sometimes more, with our bodies and our minds and that precious, fleeting gift that is human consciousness in this beautiful world.  We stood in an unfinished subdivision in the hot, hot sun, being sprayed with water every so often and told to wait.  Wait.  Don’t move.  Don’t speak.  Don’t make a sound.  Rolling.  Action.  Alright, let’s do it again.  Four seconds of a movie.  Three days.  Lives being lived like this.  Of course, I can’t say that it was a waste of everyone’s time.  Like I said, this awesome girl thought it was awesome, so it probably was.  People were meeting people and they were excited to the point of giddy.  That’s good!  That’s cool!  Probably it was begetting more good feelings than bad!  But I was seething the entire fucking time.  Four seconds.  Of a movie everyone will forget.  God, the waste.  The pointless waste, I thought.

Um, but now I’m here to participate in exactly this profligacy!  Because even when I was thinking, this is why there’s poverty in the world, because we spend our money telling people like me to stand around in silence while we don’t get this filming done somehow still, I still, in my core, thought it was kind of totally the coolest.  Although I did go in Lauren Graham’s trailer, and it was not cool at all.  Not your fault, Lauren Graham!  But underwhelming.

http://gawker.com/5348840/deadly-la-fires-make-for-great-viral-time-lapse-videos