Spinster

We all know that the above statement is not true. While I wasn’t really allowed to watch tv as a child, and therefore missed out on a lot of late ’80s/early ’90s gems, my love affair with prime time soaps was signed, sealed, and delivered in 5th grade, when I was finally allowed to watch 90210.

I’ve had lots of television love affairs in my young life — my best friend Jessica and I even spearheaded a Save My So-Called Life campaign. (It didn’t work, and that may have been my only foray into the world of active activism, but I could at least rest easy, knowing I did my part.)  I have no problem admitting that I choose to watch lots of serialized television. But I also like to think that I have standards. I’ve already mentioned how much I hate reality shows (once and for all, what is the fucking point?). I also hate shows that judge (7th Heaven, I’m looking in your direction. I once watched an episode of that show in which a cigarette smoker [clearly, a demon in disguise] burned down a house with a cigarette carelessly left burning. And then exhibited no remorse. Because cigarette smokers have no souls, obviously).

But nothing gets my panties in a bunch more than well-written shows with believable characters, not to mention (usually) sweet soundtracks, getting cancelled because the television-watching public is too stupid to understand them of low ratings . Exhibits A, B, and C: My So-Called Life, Family Guy, and Arrested Development (ok, so maybe that last one didn’t necessarily have believable characters, but it was hilarious). Yes, I know that Family Guy has returned to Fox after several years on cable (and despite their “fair and balanced” news reporting I do have to commend the network for taking chances on several unknown kids [that was a Clueless reference]), but that is the exception rather than the rule.

So, I heard that Veronica Mars, which may be one of the most intelligent shows on network television, was getting cancelled going on hiatus so that the Pussycat Dolls (does anyone even know — or care — who these bitches are?) could do some wimpy reality mini-series. You have got to be kidding. Replacing Veronica Mars, with its snappy dialogue; endless pop-culture references, some obscure and some obvious and all of them dissected weekly on numerous discussion boards; and intriguing plotlines; with some stupid made-up girl-group whose have less talent in their fake tits than Veronica does in her entire body? Bring it on, CW, cause you and me are gonna have to take this one outside.