Wet Hot American Summer is the second-greatest story ever told.
Left to my own devices, I’ll watch it in its entireity for the third day in a row. The person I’m spending my Sunday morning with wants to watch the Food Network. The FOOD NETWORK. It’s like the network of beigeness. Also, I just don’t get watching people eat better food than I’m eating. “Hey, that gazpacho looks great–maybe I’ll pretend I’m eating that, and not these here bran flakes!”
There is something about musicians; at some point we all transition to this phase of food obsession. Still: she’s websurfing on her laptop right now, as I type this, and she says, “Hey, look at this!” She’s reading a Food Blog, and is eager to show me a posted photo of a Chicago-style hot dog.