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For the Love of Bones

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Samantha Lee
Samantha Lee


The Christmas/ New Year period of excess Spending When Stressed, Stressing While Spending, Overeating While Intoxicated, Crying While Intoxicated, Apologising While Hung Over, Panicking When It’s Time To Pay Your Bills and You Have No Money, Wondering If The Extra 5 Kilos Was From The Brandy Snaps or The Schnapps, is now over.

Hope everyone had a good one.

It’s a New Year, a new gripe (‘tis the season), and right now, TV in general is making me angry.

It really shouldn’t; it’s freaking summer; I should be out frolicking in the ocean and wearing hippy dresses while simultaneously applying sunscreen and trying desperately not to sweat overmuch in the heat.

However, the post-Christmas laziness hasn’t yet worn off this week and so I’ve been reduced to sloth-ing it around the house, staring listlessly at the dishes, trying to figure out if it’s worth walking to Foodtown in the heat, deciding that paying eight dollars extra for milk at the dairy isn’t such a huge sacrifice, going to work (lucky me) and staring at the other three people that are out and about in Auckland this week.

I have actually attempted to spend my fantastic gift cards, but everyone must be in the Coromandel because No One Is Here.

Auckland is a ghost town right now, which is nice for the most part because all the busy, rude businessy-types have gone to Thames to annoy residents there, but now me and the three other Aucklanders are trying to cope with striding up and down Queen St pretending to be busy, and if I was rude to them they’d probably form an alliance and vote me on to Waiheke.

So, I’m taking refuge in the screen, which is turning out to be a slight error in judgement.

I have seen, to date- a David Hasselfhoff profile. (Yes, once you’ve gone there you really, really can’t go back.) Part Two of the profile is next week, God help us all.

Lots of ads for a lawyer-y type show with “Sweet Disposition” by The Temper Trap playing during it (yes, I did Google it with "lyrics+a laugh+a cry"). This means it is absolutely essential that they play the show soon so they stop the ads- purely because I can’t get the freaking song out of my head.

The United States of Tara. This show has saved me from going to yoga, eating salad, and purchasing  fruit smoothies of numerous weird and wonderful flavours of dubious deliciousness.

It is (the show, not the smoothies) produced by Steven Spielberg and created by Diablo Cody, of Juno fame. 

This is the one show my I.Q. has stayed fairly level during the watching of, so I recommend it just to save you having to buy Newsweek the next day to get those points back up.

An ad for Bones. Herein lays my gripe.  

I love Bones. It makes me happy. I like the writing. I like the acting.Weird murders get resolved in interesting ways. Things do not blow up every nine and a half seconds. The jokes do not suck. You care if the characters die/get amnesia/ eat a bad burrito. Booth and Brennan may eventually Get It On. It’s the closest you can get to The X-Files without kidnapping David Duchovny and forcing him to try obviously sarcastic instead of understatedly sarcastic.

These are elements that are not essential but definitely help in my Will Not Miss An Episode. Ever. Criteria.

So when the hell is it on?!

TV 3, you need to tell me these things so I can ensure I put my life on hold for it. I mean, your ad looks good: dramatic; angsty- but where is the approximate indication of when I can expect your schedule not to suck anymore?

I even went to the trouble of going to the TV3 site, and the Bones page which says, and I quote “Bones- has completed screening”. Then I went to the forum, which has a message from someone who has already seen up to episode 10, Season Five. Good job, TV 3. Hire me; I’ll at least put up some text saying “Don’t Worry It’s Coming Back.”

At least the Private Practice page on the TV 2 site provides lots of bright, shiny links to distract you from noticing they don’t tell you when it’s returning, either.

So life is not smooth in TV Land. There’s no Sunrise in the morning, Josh The Weather Guy is on at night, (words cannot describe the seriousness of this situation; it’s like Paul Henry owning a kitten- you see it, but you think you should probably ring the SPCA just in case.)

They have that weird show with Petra Bagust at 7pm which is sometimes hilarious but mostly you’re just kind of counting the awkward pauses. (They’re trying, and they’re probably getting paid in Cornettos and hand-held electric fans; you’ve gotta give them some kudos.)

Life is also not so smooth in town this week, either.

Canvas is not in the Weekend Herald; I’ve beaten zero people power walking in town this week; and everyone I people watch on a Sunday with my brunch buddy consists solely of Cafe Guy and Homeless Man with Cardboard Drum (he’s really good).

The world has just gone nuts, so I’m staying in my apartment to watch the United States of Tara finale, the return of Glee, and work on steeling myself for Part Two of the Hasselfhoff profile until it all makes sense again.

Or, maybe, I’ll go to the beach. 

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