This chipper lass reminded me of Kristen Schaal, the “ugly girl” on the new Fox hit Last Man On Earth, which we marathon-watched last weekend.
We rarely watch Fox, since it’s at the bottom of our channel list. It’s like when your real grocery store runs out of an item, and you have to go to the second-closest store. That’s what going down to channel 705 is like. But after watching clips of Will Forte’s new show on several late night talk shows, we decided to give it a chance.
With January Jones, a filthy margarita pool (out of which he drinks while lying in it), and a 300 lb “friggin’ fat dude” who becomes more desirable than Forte within the first ten minutes of his appearance, what’s not to like?
Well, Kristen’s character, Carol, for one.
Truth be told, Schaal’s high-pitched voice is more repugnant than her fairly normal facial features. In fact, it’s that grating voice that garnered her many animated roles. I’m all for grammar Nazis, of which Carol is one, but her incessant rule-abiding (including not running stop signs or parking in handicapped spots), when there were (at that point) only two people left on this side of the world, makes you want to roundhouse kick her. You root for Will (who plays Phil) and then you root against him. And back and forth until your head explodes.
But after the most recent episode, she’d begun to grow on us. It’s crazy farfetched; the (mostly white-ish and over 35) characters seem remarkably healthy (without fresh fruits, vegetables, dairy, or meat to sustain them, save a couple tomatoes) and fairly emotionally stable, considering a virus killed all their loved ones, including all animals except one cow. A cow–which they evidently can milk, although there is no sign of a calf nor the cow being pregnant. So you really have to suspend your belief here. But if you do, you’re in for a fun ride.
Thanks for stopping by for the final installment of sponges, something about which you’d never thought you’d waste five seconds of your (mostly half-lived) life reading. Fried shrimp and tobacco never looked so fun. One thing I’ve discovered is that the writers at NG were pretty clever. I especially enjoyed this reference to “Milady’s bath.” And now to the weird part of the Tarpon Springs culture, where young men (and future sponge-divers) dive into frosty January waters to retrieve an emblem. You know, like Labradors do. To the winner, go the spoils. You’d think having washboard abs is its own reward, but evidently the blessing was nice, too. Well, I hope you absorbed all that. Like. A. Sponge. Come on; I had to.
I scored some pretty cool National Geographics last weekend, including this one from January 1947. Although I’ve seen the yellow and black covers throughout my life, including an entire wall in my grandparents’ den, I know of no one my age who ever sat down and actually read one. Perhaps the boys flipped through them for images of topless tribal women, but not to read what I have realized are 50 page articles. FIFTY PAGES!! I guess that’s what you did in days before TV and WordPress and facebook updates. You sat and read about sponge diving for six days solid. I don’t have that kind of time, but I did learn from looking at pictures that a tube went directly from their helmets into their butts.
I also found out that ladies were paid to fashion sponges into fluffy wreaths, fit for a Christmas tree.