It is What it Is

Part 2: My Top 10 TV Tearjerkers

Picking up right where we left off, with my great love for the fourth wall and all, here's the second part of my list:

5. Medium: Very Merry Maggie

So, I dig the shows where people talk to dead people. I can't help myself. In this one, the D.A., Manuel Devalos, and his wife Lily are dealing with the anniversary of their daughter's death. The wife has hired a supposed psychic to communicate with their daughter, and the D.A. becomes very angry. He then asks Alison about his daughter but all she does is write down the name of a place without realizing it.

Later, as Devalos and his wife are driving to visit their daughter's grave, they get into an argument. The wife thinks she should have come alone. They pull the car over. (Right past a sign with whatever word Alison had written down.) Devalos argues that when people are dead, they're just dead, and that's all there is to it. He can't get on board with his wife's need to believe in more.

They're out of the car having this argument, when they walk into a field of white zinnias (their daughter's favorite flower) blooming in the middle of January. And for a moment, they both believe and know their daughter is somewhere else, and she's OK.

It kills me. Every. Single. Time.

4. Dawson's Creek: All Good Things ... Must Come to an End

I won't lie to you. I stopped watching Dawson's Creek after season four. Season three was awesome -- Pacey buys Joey a wall, Pacey pulls the car over to kiss Joey after her disastrous weekend with college boy, Joey kisses Pacey while "Daydream Believer" plays in the background at Dawson's aunt's house, Pacey and Joey dance at the anti-prom and he knows that the bracelet she's wearing is her mother's and it all ends with the two of them taking off on a boat for the summer. It was perfect.

Part 1: My Top 10 TV Tearjjerkers

The other day, over Mexican food, the SO accidentally mistook Scott Bakula for Scott Wolf. While for most couples, this probably wouldn't have been a big deal, being the Quantum Leap fan that I am, this was something I had to correct and assure would never happen again. Somehow, I managed to go from telling him how to never mistake the two again to tearing up over salsa as I recounted the end of the Quantum Leap series and the most pivotal episodes that led to it.

I know.

So, in light of the fact that I've already almost started crying this week just telling the story of Quantum Leap's end, I thought I would take on the topic head-on and present my list of the most tear-jerking TV moments. Warning: there will be lots of spoilers. I also had to split this post in two because, apparently, I have a lot to say on this topic.

10. Alf's Special Christmas

It only seems fair to begin this list where it all began. In 1987, I was a big fan of Alf, the Alien Life Form, who lived with the Tanners. (He always wanted to eat the cat!) During that year's Christmas special, Alf somehow ended up in the hospital with a very sick girl named Tiffany. I think Tiffany had leukemia, and I also think she died or was dying. (This is hard to confirm through any Internet sources. It seems that no one has bothered to do an episode-by-episode breakdown of Alf, and I, for one, am shocked.) The idea of a dying child was too much for me, and I just started sobbing. I cried and cried. I cried so much, my father decided to have a talk with me about the difference between fantasy and reality and moving on.

Clearly, it didn't stick.

A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course

I think most little girls go through a phase when they're obsessed with horses. I'm not sure what it is about horses that's so fascinating when you have two X chromosomes and are under the age of 10, but there you have it.

At five, my favorite show to watch after school was Black Beauty. (At least, I think that's what it was called. There was a horse. It was black. It may or may not have been the main character, but it came on after Today's Special, and that's what I called it.) I had many My Little Ponies in addition to a score of off-brand plastic horses that I also liked to gallop across the living room floor. I even did my own horse impersonation that involved neighing. (I can only imagine now how annoying that must have been.)

A few years later, my horse obsession still strong but no longer My-Little-Pony-focused, I was a dedicated viewer or Mr. Ed on Nick at Nite. I watched that crazy talking horse every single night, and every single night, I hoped for Wilbur's sake that someone else would just hear that horse talk. Oh, that wily Mr. Ed -- he was a stinker.

From the Archives: Laurel and Annie Travel the World

Well, as we boarded the minibus bound from Pattaya to Bangkok, Annie found a large knot on her foot. It's probably some disease caused by the lizard that shared our tropical hell hotel room for a couple of days, but she took an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory right after the discovery, and we think she's going to make it.

She's a brave soul.

I think Annie and I have never been so happy to leave a place as when we left Bangkok. We were on an Air France flight and thanks to my high school French teacher always calling Air France "Air Chance," my anxiety level was a little high.

I was about to have my faith in the French restored merely by the presence of personal TV screens at your seat until we encountered the meanest French stewardess ever. She was downright scary, and I'm glad I got to sleep through most of the flight.

I did watch a nice French film as I tried to remain cultured despite the fact that my taste has been seriously deteriorating since we left the U.S. This is primarily due to the fact that every English-speaking program shown abroad sucks. Annie and I actually looked forward to seeing Yes Dear at our hotel in Pattaya. We also loved Sorority Boys . All sad but true.

Of course, my attempts to culture myself went awry when Annie convinced me to watch Kangaroo Jack after the French film. If I come home only interested in CBS and UPN programs, I'm sorry.

My Beef With Robert Redford

A few weeks ago, someone mentioned a new movie with Robert Redford that was coming out.

"I don't think I'll see that. I just haven't been able to forgive him for The Way We Were," I said. "I've given it a few years, but it's still just too hard for me."

"Uh-huh," she said, giving me the "you're an odd over-sharer" eye, "well, I'm able to separate actors from the characters they portray."

"That must be nice for you," I said enthusiastically. Then, I changed the subject.

I have trouble letting things go (surprise, surprise), and I've been known to hold the occasional grudge. I try to forgive, but I don't always forget.

When you combine this little shortcoming of mine with the fact that I am the perfect audience, trouble can ensue. (The Waitress incident is only a small example.) In fact, there are two actors I can seemingly never forgive -- and not in that Tom Cruise way of "why did I waste two hours of my life on Vanilla Sky" kind of way. I can't forgive what they did on screen.

I don't hold grudges for the actual personal lives of stars - a la Tiger Woods, Jesse James and Brad Pitt -- but when it comes to the characters they play, it's a whole different story. My head may know actors and characters are two separate entities, but my heart just hasn't gotten the message. That being said, here's my problem list:

What No One Tells You

I always thought that being able to work from home would be my perfect job. I think that's true for most Americans. After all, you can be in the comfort of your own home, work in jammies and avoid all of the office politics. There's no pretending to care about Peggy's photos from her trip to Phoenix, pressure to buy $10 gift wrap because Paul's kid has a school fund raiser or having to remember to swing by Winn Dixie at 7:30 a.m. because you're the one in charge of pimento cheese for the company pot luck.

Work from home, live the dream, right?

I once even accepted a piddly salary (that I later found out put me about $8,000 behind all of my male counterparts) because I was told there would be the possibility of working from home on some days. (Said possibility never materialized.) And every time I've been part of a large office and overheard someone talking about spreadsheets or how to shake the toner cartridge in the copier to get more life out of it, I've stared off into space and dreamed of doing my daily tasks from home. 

Let's just say that after a year of working from home, yet another of my dreams is dead. Here's the stuff they don't tell you about that domestic office:

Enough Already

We all know I love me some infomercials, but perhaps what you don't know is that my favorite aspect of the infomercial is how they portray life as so hard without the product being advertised -- as if everything sold on television is the equivalent of sliced bread or the light bulb.

My first example? The Snuggie, of course. Watching this now infamous infomercial, you'd think the most difficult task in the world was holding a phone while covered in a blanket.

And we thought the wheel changed the world.

If anyone actually finds it that taxing to grab the phone while covered in a blanket, they have much bigger problems than anything a Snuggie can fix. Every time I see the Snuggie advertised, and the travails of handling a remote control or phone while covered in a blanket are extolled, I can't help but think of the Friends episode when Joey starred on the infomercial touting a product that made it easier to open milk. Because everyone has so much trouble opening milk to begin with.

If you watch the commercial for Aqua Globes, you might think that watering plants is also one of the most painful and difficult tasks on the planet. At one point, the female actress is seen struggling with a dead fern -- like the rotting plant has attacked her or tried to drag her into its water-less and angry clutches.

Is watering plants easy to forget? Sure. Is it a life or death struggle along the lines of a real-life Little Shop of Horrors? Hardly.

On The Air

I've often considered that if I ever wanted to be on reality television, there isn't really a good fit for me.  (After all, doesn't temporary fame have some kind of appeal? If I could get paid to attend just one party -- a la Stephanie Pratt and Khloe Kardashian -- I could redo my entire kitchen.) Maybe there's no good fit because I'm not insane, but we'll leave that off the table for now.

I'm not an athlete or in top physical condition, so Survivor and The Amazing Race are out. I've aged out of anything on MTV. I cannot sing or dance, so goodbye American Idol. Dating is of no interest to me right now which eliminates The Bachelor, Blind Date and anything involving a millionaire, fake millionaire or getting to know one another in complete darkness. I'm not a real housewife of anywhere, and I'm unwilling to exploit my womb. (That last one might be a "for now." We'll see how this recession goes.) I also have no role in the wedding industry at the moment, which would take care of most of the programming on WE and the Style network.

(While on the subject of womb exploitation, I'd like to go ahead and nominate my two favorite tabloid stories of the year. Sure, this could be a little premature, but I'm feeling optimistic today. My runner-up for favorite tabloid story of the year is something I call, "Douche Does Yoga." Why this even made "the news" is completely beyond me. And this guy has more money than me. A crime against humanity? I think it's possible. My absolute favorite tabloid story of the year is "How I Lose 145 Pounds" courtesy of Nadya Sudelman, a.k.a. the Octomom. Yeah, I don't think dropping a litter out of one's uterus is an option for most women struggling with their weight, but thanks for the thought, Nadya.)

Haircut Hiccups

Week before last, I got a haircut. (I'm pictured at right, and even after my visit to the salon, I'm not blond.)

I decided it was time for a cut. I've worn my hair long for the last few years, and I needed a change. Since I've gone "freelance," much to my chagrin and that of the Significant Other, I've gotten a bit more lax about personal hygiene and dressing up. I can only think of two days out of the last 60 that my hair hasn't been in a ponytail. A shorter cut seemed like a good way to force my hair out of its rut.

(Laurel's two-step plan for improved physical appearance:

Step 1: New cut to avoid the ponytail.

Step 2: Change out sweatpants more than once per week.

I'll keep you posted on the progress of the second half of the plan.)

I've been very happy with my cut. I miss my hair some -- it's about six inches shorter -- but after the shock of that first shower when then just wasn't anything to wash, I've adjusted nicely. But, there's always been just one obstacle to my complete enjoyment of shorter hair.

You'll Have to Take my Word on This One

Now, I know this doesn't count as a celebrity sighting, but I swear that while I was in Florence, I saw the Gorton's fisherman.

I was in Swamper's, the hotel bar and lounge, and a local musician was on stage. The SO and his partners in crime were filming guests enjoying their drinks and fans listening to the music. I looked over towards the bar and saw an older gentleman with a short mess of gray hair and a beer in front of him. He was also wearing -- no joke -- a yellow rain jacket that ran down to his knees.

(I would have taken a picture for the sake of authenticity and verification, but I didn't think the SO would appreciate my taking photos of hotel patrons that look like popular trademarks for my own amusement while he was hard at work. I try not to embarrass him at work -- emphasis on try.)  

Of course, what really gave the icon away was the blank stare we're all so accustomed to seeing carved into wooden figurines that populate mantles all over the middle Atlantic.

I can only imagine the stock pile of fish sticks he had in his room.