Thank frickin' goodness for Call the Midwife.

The Wife and I were away from our television set last Sunday, enjoying our second anniversary celebration, thank you v much, and we had an absolutely bloody marvelous time. (Hotel Vitale, Michael Mina, a movie, Boulevard, the City, the Ferry Building -- much more on all of this tomorrow.)

These ladies could solve the whole Israel/Palestinian thing, I have no doubt.

So, we settled in to watch our Sunday lineup yesterday instead.  Man, am I glad we did that.

Although Veep was hilarious as usual, it was v strange, and uncomfortably awkward all the way through. Even though it was nice to see two more In the Loop vets make an appearance.  No Veep next week, it gets a week off for Behind the Candelabra, which Renee and I are seriously looking forward to.  Veep is fine, great, still almost perfect; they just had to have an episode to really raise the stakes and set up the last four installments.

But, can we talk about Mad Men? Seriously, what the fuck was that? Honestly, the way the last few seasons have gone I can finally confirm that I am strictly watching Mad Men in the way I watch The Newsroom on HBO.  Purely for the gore and carnage on the side of the road as we drive on by. Sunday's episode, The Crash, was a complete travesty; an abomination.  The Wife and I believe it would have been much better if it all had been a dream.  Because we certainly could not believe what happened on screen.  Completely implausible, and frankly, smacking of self-indulgence and pretension.  Why so many people consider this program one of the greatest dramas ever is beyond me.

Then, we finished up with Call the Midwife, and faith was restored again.  Great acting, great writing, great stories, and some thoroughly cheesy soapy moments.  A breath of fresh air after Super Awkward Hallucinatory Sunday.

There is hope.  Perhaps the future is not broken, after all.













Mwah, ...