.1. Zach Gilford ought to eat a sandwich and fatten up a wee bit; (I hope that it is Baby Jane whom he is eyesexing in the distance). .2. Connie Britton is rocking each one of the pictures. .3. Jesse Plemmons is adorable and I wish to take him out for a drunk. I mean drunk. Damn it. I mean DRINK. I hate typing in a blind-fold. .4. Brad Leland? Buddy Garrity? Fry me up a chicken-fried-chicken steak with a side of double-fried potato wrapped in shake-n-bake, please. .5. COACH ERIC TAYLOR. You’re a fox, and for the record: unlike other audience members, I have no conflicted feelings about whether I’m more interested in you being my husband or my father. Now strip, please. .6. Taylor Kitsch? What? Who airbrushed you to within an inch of your fantastic arms? And if you’re not airbrushed, then what shade of bronzer is that (sharing = caring, thirty-three)? Also. Why isn’t there a picture of your bum in the promos? And why aren’t you horizontal? Foolish. (Psst. Did you notice in above item no. 3? I have a blind-fold, and it’s for you, Timmy…meow…mmm yum, creepy enough for you?…)
Watch Friday Night Lights, please.
Additionally: I hate football, and I also hate hockey when forced to watch games on television.
I do, however, love watching both live. And it is for this reason that I have on my list of Sports-Specific Must-Dos In My Life the following two items: (1) Watch a UT at-home football game against whomever (something I flagged in my head the first time I went to Austin and visited the Darrell K. Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium); and, (2) Watch the Grey Cup.
So. Even though I don’t like these sports and am only familiar with the ins and outs of futbol (the only sport I can watch on television), I am going to be seated in one of the most coveted seats at the next at-home UT football game. I will also, as is familiar to many, be clueless and searching for COACH ERIC TAYLOR at the side of the field. I plan on finding a Booster and getting the low-down on their football and sports-related nosiness. I plan on finding Mack Brown’s wife and hanging out with her. I plan on wearing orange and geeking out on UT ways, like, currently? I am Googling special UT chants and learning them, while also Googling special UT hand gestures and learning them, so that when I greet the other fans, I will know the secret handshake.
More to the point, I also plan on making up my own UT-specific song and singing it to myself during the game; as importantly, and in an effort to appear football aware, I will also be repeating whatever I overhear from those seated next to me…only, I’ll say it louder, smarter and like I mean it more than they ever could.
Here’s what I have so far, to the tune of the great MC Hammer classic You Can’t Touch This! (you must sing it out loud; it makes way more sense that way):
Can’t touch them (x2) Can’t touch them (oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh) (x2)
Longhorns! Hit so hard makes others SAY! Oh my Lord Thank you for blessing them with big strong arms and thighs that can Bring home the big W for UT A superdope homegirl from Canada And she’s known as such In her head imagination FUN!
Can’t touch them (x2) Can’t touch them (oh-oh oh oh oh-oh-oh) (x2)
Anyway – it is all I have right now, though working diligently to complete a full song by game day, October 10th.
Are you watching this show yet? Are you watching Friday Night lights yet? Why not? What could you possibly be doing that hasn’t allowed you to watch this show just yet? It will make your life a brighter one – trust me. You will learn, you will think, you will cry, you will try to make out with Tim Riggins and instead receive an electric shock because your saliva hitting the television screen is not the brightest of ideas. At least that’s what I hear from other people.
Friday Night Lights is brilliant from A to Z. It is the best acted, written, directed television show I have ever watched, and you should be watching it too, unless you consider The Kardashians interesting, then Friday Night Lights doesn’t require your low IQ in its audience. You would be a fool to let this show pass you by; and so when you watch it, please make it count so that we ensure this show stays on the air.
The beautiful man in this promo is Coach Eric Taylor (HI! Kyle Chandler); the beautiful woman Principal Tammy Taylor (HI! I LOVE YOU! Connie Britton); the man looking over his eyeglasses, the character bringing electricity to this show Joe McCoy (I shake my fist at you (lovingly)! D.W. Moffett). (East Dillon better kick Panther ass, Writers.)
In honour of this show, I am creating a new category label titled Friday Night Lights. At the bottom of this entry, you’ll find it – click it if you’re interested in reading all of my sad & lame entries.
Also, please note the greatest birthday present I have ever received is this UT Longhorns at-home vs Colorado football game ticket. (I was so excited to receive this that I nearly passed out…don’t you dare judge me, unless it means I come out smelling like clean fresh shampoo.)
Darrrell K Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium 40 yard line 2nd row Behind the Longhorns (…eat your heart out, boys & see you in Austin in a couple of weeks)
From you, I have never once hid the fact that I am a cheating slut, nor that I would dump your exceptionally and perfectly curved bum, in an instant, were Coach Eric Taylor interested in cheating on Tammy (even though I pretend that I would not hurt the sisterhood in this fashion, I would stab Tammy for a chance to fumble Coach Eric Taylor’s football). But that’s neither here nor there. What is both here and there is that to the list of descriptives you use when you are bored and sad and miss and talk about me to your friends, you may now add ‘fickle’, because I am back.
I am back and ask that you forgive me my indiscretions with Jared Padalecki. As much as I love his physique ability to speak to theology and politics, his hairstyle is setting alight dormant aspirations to hair dressing that I know will disappoint my mum (“some of my best friends are hair dressers…”). Also, Rigglett, unlike you when you are busily sexing your females, he doesn’t appear to make use of his tongue very often. Since we are all very aware of the Fact that tongues are the sisterhood’s BFF, this reality poses grave and disconcerting news for all, most especially I who – having waited 34 years – isn’t interested in a non-tonguer. (Thank you for your time Jared ‘non-tonguer’ Padalecki, and good bye.)
This morning, a reader sent me this fantastic video of you being dumb (and I mean, like, in the smartest most intelligent way) and cute and very British Columbian Canadian when you declare: “What? Are you? kidding me? This was. I can. Can I swear? Holy shit. Man. That’s the first time. He uh. He put the flies down. somethingsomethingmumbleTaylorhassomethinginhismouthanditsnotmesoIdontcare This is like. Do you know when you’re on tv? and the fuckers had the fish on the line and like? they just said action. This is insane man. somethingsomethingmumblemumble“.
Being an Ontario native, I have a very hard time fighting off the seductive prowess of West Coast hippies such as yourself. Will you take me back? If you’d like, I will send you a photo of myself in a bikini while wearing thigh-high rubber boots, with a FlyFishPole in one hand…if there is such a thing…and a potted plant in the other, and standing in a pool because rivers and ponds and lakes give me the heebie jeebies.
I look forward to our reunion, Maha P.S. I reserve the right to cheat on you again, with whomever pleases me.
Dear Readers,
Taylor Kitsch enjoys working with sick children. Anyone have a non-contagious one I can borrow?
Really, very grateful, Maha
Dear Dan Cone, FlyFishingFriend of Taylor Kitsch,
I really appreciate your use of the word “channelizes”; a word I did not even know existed until watching the above linked-to video. It is my word of the day: I am a girl who channelizes all of her energy into her make-believe cartoon life.
Hi Rigglett. How are you? I am very well – more so than usual, because Ramadan is over and I may now have my morning venti americano with a lot of milk.
Also, I have been cheating on you ever since Jared Padalecki took off his shirt. I thought you should know.
Thanks for the memories, Maha P.S. I hope you don’t think of me as a slut for cheating on you, unless, of course, you like cheating sluts, in which case, I remain yours forever.
Also, thank you for being the descendant of People With Fantastic Genes. Really, seriously. Unlike yours, my Tribe is not fitted up by People With Fantastic Genes, but rather People With Alright Genes And Every Once In A While, You Know…Not Too Shabby And We Can Really Surprise You.
Also, please undress more often. Er…! I hope you like the font color I have chosen in honor of you.
I love your body, Maha P.S. I am having great difficulty not calling you DEAN as I loved you very much on Gilmore Girls. Much more so than dirty Jess and definitely more so than the blonde man-child who Rori dated for much too long.
P.S. no 2 Please cut your hair, my love. Or grow it to one length. Anything but bangs..’cus bangs are for pixies. And, because your eyes are lovely and tiny, you should really watch out about water retention – it’ll show very quickly most around your eyes. (You’re welcome.)
Dear Connie Britton & Kyle Chandler,
HI! HOW ARE YOU? O! So happy that we’re talking again! I miss the both of you equally. I understand you will be away until the slut Executives at whichever stupid place you work for have decided it’s time for you to return because they are completely out of touch with reality the stupid wanks that they are.
I thought I would let you know that your absence is noted and you are missed by both myself and every single one of my 9 friends who I have introduced to Friday Night Lights.
That is all (insert sad emoticon here, please), Maha P.S. This shade of font is called “lavender blush”. I don’t get it, either. P.S. Coach Eric Taylor? I would trade both above mentioned children Taylor Kitsch and Jared Padalecki for you in your angry man shorts. xo
Hi. How are you? I like you very much. Who is this doppelganger pretending to be you, neither from Texas nor in angry man shorts, angry sunglasses nor angry headset? What the hokey pokey hell, Coach? My state of reality is highly fragile and I become discombobulated much faster than most. I am deeply troubled and I need you, Coach Eric Taylor, to point your right finger at me, whilst your left hand sits atop the angry belt of your angry man shorts and you state “nominate a teacher now, son. It’s what men do. It’s the right thing to do, son.” (For the record, Coach Eric Taylor: I don’t have a peen, and so am a girl, but will allow you to call me son.) Can you please record a new public service announcement for me?
Further, I would greatly appreciate if you were to wear your green t-shirt a little more often, thank you.
You are my angry hero in green, Coach Eric Taylor, and I am sincerely yours, Maha
Dear Connie Britton / Tammy Taylor –
Hi. How are you? I like you as much as I like your angry and oftentimes confused husband, Coach Eric Taylor. Please understand I would never make a pass at your husband, no matter how angry and hot he is in his angry man shorts and angry headset. I wouldn’t do that to the sisterhood, Principal Taylor. (Principal Taylor? I might be a liar.)
I am writing this to you because I was wondering: Would you like to have a drink with me sometime? In the future, I will probably have some boy problems that I will need to discuss with you because you are very clearly the world’s greatest listener of all time and I really like the way you communicate with your angry husband, Coach. I also wonder, do you ever call him ‘Coach’ when you are having adult private time? That just made me giggle. I hope you giggled too.
By the way, my best friend and I are going to a combo of Morocco, Turkey and / or Cairo this coming Christmas and we were wondering if you’d like to join us?
I’ve used three variations of the word ‘wonder’ in my letter to you. It’s because I like that word and you make me shy and nervous with your fantastic breasts and large pretty brown eyes. I wonder if I am now starting to creep you out? Please don’t be scared of me if I show up at your backyard and try to fix your broken air conditioning unit. It’s because I like you very much. (Also, I agreed with you about your dream home. I think you wanted to cry when Coach said no – I wanted to cry for you. I wonder, did you want to cry but the writers didn’t let you?)
I would like some pointers on how to do the same as you in the boobs department, please. (See what I just did there, Tammy? “Pointers”, like boobs? That made me giggle, too. I wonder if I can call you “Tammy”?).
I am yours in sisterly solidarity, Maha
Dear Tim Rigging / Taylor Kitsch -
Hi. How are you? I don’t squeal easily over boys, but I am squealing like a little school girl over you, my Rigglett. I become seriously frazzled every time that your 17-year-old self shows up on my screen.
I am writing to you because I would like you to please stop screaming on my screen. Unfortunately, every time you do scream, my Rigglett, I hurt my hand in my small effort to place a lozenge in your mouth. And honestly, a lozenge is all I would ever try to place in your mouth. (Tim Riggins? I might be a liar.)
I am also sending you this letter because I would like to know which name brand and colour of blush you use, please. If you can spare a further moment, I would also like to know what stain of lipstick you use. On. Your. Mouth. Your. Mouth. You have the greatest mouth in the history of mouths and if ever I meet you, my Rigglett, I will try to poke your mouth in an effort to see if it is, as it appears to be, very cushiony to the touch.
I’m pretty sure my vision just blurred a little, Rigglett.
I am yours with the sincerest of sentiments: I would very much like to touch your hair if only to shampoo it, Maha P.S. Do you like bubblegum? I do, very much. I thought you should know. Bazooka is my favourite. Bye.
I don’t have cable and tend to only watch television shows the DVDs of which my friends pass along. Since perhaps 4 years ago, I have not found anything worthwhile, preferring instead to geek it out inside of novels. For this reason, I rarely come across a television show which devastates me. Friday Night Lights is, undoubtedly, the most devastating of shows I have been an audience to in 30 years. (I love you, L for most recently handing me the DVDs; I have purchased seasons 1 & 2 so as to ensure that my support for the show is in fact counted.)
The family values, relationship and community values which this show speaks to are heartbreaking and hilarious and exactly where I wish to be.
Let me immediately get out of the way that: this is the best written, best directed and best acted show I have ever watched. In all technical incarnations, it is simply brilliant, filled with characters, each of whom is beautifully flawed and therefor more real than any famewh*re found in reality television; Friday Night Lights is a welcome slice of home-made pound cake. (As equally important is that there are no god-awful metrosexuals on this show; it is unapologetically a show where men are men and women are women, without falling into the stereotypical gender boundaries other television shows inevitably flop and default to because their writing team is a composite of idiots.)
Also, I am usually a crying mess at least once during every episode…
The characters This is a show of man meat. I should write Man Meat, more than man meat; everywhere there is Man Meat, and as follows.
Granmaw Saracen, who reminds me of my mama looks-wise and who I wish to hug every time she comes on to the screen. I love her so and hope the writers never take her off the show. Ever. And if they must, then that they would please write a new show called “Tiara, Pie & Eye Wear Shopping With Granmaw Saracen”. She breaks my heart every time and I love her as much as I love her fictional grandson… Mattew Saracen, the sweetest kid in the world and what every girl should want for her daughter’s first boyfriend; note, for our daughters not us, because we tend to be foolish and reckless and are instead drawn to the likes of… Tim Riggins, not nearly as pretty as I am. Troubled boy with a retarded body; the stripper with a heart of gold, only he’s not a stripper (‘why not’ is what I’d like to know, Writers?!). Perfect to look at, but not built for long-term situations; just let your imaginations run rip shod over the topography of that boy’s body and stop right there. Thirty-three also has a sort of mini-me, his brother… Billy Riggins, who could always use more chap-stick and who is all kinds of redneck funny and probably a lady killer, much like Tim, when he had more hair. (Writers! Please tell us more about Tim and Billy and their drunk dad.)
There’s also THE SMASH, who has the world’s greatest smile and who is cocksure and arrogant and sexy and still scared of… THE SMASH MOMMA, quite possibly the prettiest prettiest prettiest lady I have ever seen and on whose very large breasts I would like to be comforted and maybe take a nap, please. (Don’t judge me until you’ve seen how comfortable everyone looks when she hugs them.) A special shout out here to Nonni, THE SMASH SISTER, and an exquisite little actress.
Landry, hilarious geek who is the long-lost-cousin of Matt Damon, hopelessly in love with… Tyra, whose character development has been fascinating, though predictable. I guess the alternative would have been the crackwhore in Fame, and I’m happier with this sort of a Tyra, who far outdoes… Layla who, though am sure she is a really lovely girl in real life, I wish would just Stop. Nose-Whisper-Talking, please. But while you’re still there, why don’t you – on behalf of the sisterhood, that is – cup Riggins’ bum more often? And undo his shirt? And tousle his hair? And kiss his eyelids? And lick his neck? Wait. What? Oh…right. So, anyway, Layla is the daughter of… Buddy who I hated during season one and then sort of felt sorry for and started to love in season two. He is a sloppy sort of character who clearly eats much too much steak and chicken-fried-chicken and chicken-fried-steak, but who you cheer for in the darker recesses of your mind. (GO! BUDDY! GO!)
Jason Street, maybe the first major character in a show who happens to be a quadriplegic. Good for you FNL! Bravo indeed. Jason is an amazing character, so innocent and sweet and honest and loyal and all kinds of good even though he looks like Ray Liotta who is capable of much evil in character. Even when six is angry, he is adorable. His other quad friend, who is mean, but only because he really loves Jason (this sentence makes me sound as a 7 year old). I have forgotten his character’s name; no matter, he is brilliant like the rest.
Julie Taylor, the perfect moon-faced teenager, angry, frustrated, irritated, bratty, in love with Mattew Saracen and daughter of… Tammy Taylor, she of the greatest breasts on telly. Among the strongest female characters to ever hit the screen, with the perfect lines, always the perfect lines (e.g. “I gotta pump and dump, baby. I love you. Don’t touch me.”). (I would really like the Writers to have a phone line, where I could call in my problems, placed on pause, until they prattle off my next verbal strike.) The character is the perfect mix and balance of femininity, strength, devotion and loyalty without loss of self. The actress who plays Tammy is gorgeous – simply gorgeous and the chemistry between Tammy and her husband is palpable.
Who, then, is her husband?
The one man with whom I have fallen in love: Coach Eric Taylor. A man of very few but always intelligent words. (Dear Writer: Marry me?) I understand that I should be ogling the younger Man Meat, but I am much more turned on by this more mature male, it would seem (suspect it’s Riggins that the Writers wish for us to be eyesexing, but his boyishness can’t hold its own against the complete manliness of Coach).
Coach Taylor, with his angry hair and eyebrows, biting-of-his-inner-bottom-lip, and adorable man shorts makes me weak at the knees. Especially when he doesn’t know what to say, or is so frustrated all he can do is a sexy nose twitch in his terribly ugly sports sunglasses (which, by the way, ought to be outlawed and men only allowed to wear aviators).
Thisfictional character is, in my head and imagination, how a real man behaves. A man who fiercely loves and is devoted to his family and his team and his community; a man who really truly understands morality and does his absolute utmost to always maintain the fabric of that morality even while he knows he may be failing because he is, at the end of the day, only human.
(Is it a surprise that he is fictional? Honest question, this…)
My favourite lines uttered by Coach Taylor (thank you Writers!): “Women are to be respected.” & “You’re wrong. You are dead wrong.” I. Love. Coach.
My favourite scene, driving home the strength of this fictional character: When Tammy tells him she slapped Julie (who, let’s face it, deserved a solid beat down in that moment, if for no other reason than for dating what appeared to be an Elvin man-child.).
Why aren’t you watching this show yet? Please watch this show; it shall make your life a better place. Promise. (Don’t thieve download it, though; make sure you are making your viewing count, or it shall vanish to The Cemetery of Excellent Writing, Acting & Directing All But For A Crap Audience.)
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