I never expected events to turn like this when I first posted about Roseanne.
Truthfully, on that particular day, I felt completely devoid of writing material so I threw together a post on Roseanne and immediately started thinking about how we could coax the dog to dance for a future post.
But mere hours after blogging about the show, Netflix yanked it from its rotation. Which, honestly, made for great blogging. Anyways, we hate Netflix now.
But the plot thickens. The day after Netflix banished Roseanne, Roseanne Barr formally announced her Green Party candidacy.
Coincidence? I think not.
Ian's convinced the corporate wonders at Netflix are mad about Roseanne entering politics and thus dropped her show. I'm convinced my blog elevated Roseanne into the political stratosphere, making her a viable Green Party nominee.
As a candidate, Roseanne wants to end the money economy and establish a barter system instead. Which Ian and I would be fine with, since we will soon own chickens, eggs, and plenty of food crops. We also have a little white dog that Ian would love to use as barter.
Roseanne also wants to end the system of patriarchy in the U.S., saying, "Patriarchy is impotent and qualitatively unable to solve even the most
simple problems in the cosmos such as picking up their own socks or
placing a carton of milk back in the refrigerator after drinking from
it."
I can't think of anything more prolific than that. I highly respect any politician who explains or even notices man's incapability of folding towels or cleaning the bathtub.
Ergo, I feel it only right that Winiferd in the Burbs endorse Roseanne Barr as the Green Party candidate. And as for you, Jill Stein? Harley Mikkelson? Kent Mesplay? YOU ARE GOING DOWN.
Given my involvement with the political rise of Roseanne Barr, I'm hoping she'll hire me as her adviser. I will advise the following for her White House Cabinet:
Vice President
Dan Conner
Department of State
Aunt Jackie
Department of the Treasury
Showing posts with label Roseanne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roseanne. Show all posts
Monday, February 6, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
When Netflix Ruined Our Lives
There once was a time when Redbox nearly ruined our lives. There was also a time when Netflix saved us, and was a shining beacon of light and goodness in a dark and malevolent world.
We strode forth, believing Netflix to be the pinnacle of entertainment. Then they did that greedy, ridiculous price gouge, where people who rented DVDs and streamed video saw a whopping 60% price increase.
We dropped the DVD rental and opted for just streaming instead.
We saw the cracks. We ignored them. We reminded ourselves that streaming video is the future.
We felt safe and warm inside, like how rich white men must feel when they wrap themselves in a blanket of exorbitant wealth and white male superiority. We were safe.
Last week, we began obsessively watching Roseanne reruns on Netflix. This is the big time, baby! This is the future!
Mere hours after posting about our obsession with Roseanne, Netflix yanked the show. Ian and I arrived home from work, frothing for an escape into the world of low wages and working-class stress (my God, it's like they know us!).
Instead we discovered Netflix, in all its corporate wisdom, had banished the show from its rotation. Gone. Kaput.
They took Roseanne away from us when we were in the middle of season 5. It was the television equivalent of Hitler invading France. Netflix was a bastard. A traitor. A Benedict Arnold. Shit was gonna fly.
Ian: "I HATE MY LIFE. I HATE NETFLIX. I'M GOING TO CALL THEM AND COMPLAIN. NO, WAIT. I'M GOING TO CANCEL NETFLIX. THIS CRAP ISN'T WORTH THE MONEY. SEE YOU IN HELL, NETFLIX."
I reacted by scouring the internet for full Roseanne episodes for free. You see, I am extremely cheap and refuse to spend money on most modes of entertainment. Much like healthcare, I believe television should be free and easily accessible.
Luckily I was raised with no cable, so I knew exactly how to react in such a dire situation: I hopped on Youtube and found full-length episodes of Roseanne.
We air-played the episodes onto the TV, breathed a sigh of relief, and embraced the electronic fuzz of our blessed picture box.
And all was right with the world.
Postscript: We'll probably ditch Netflix in favor of a Hulu subscription. If things get crazy, I'll post a suitably hyperbolic response.
We strode forth, believing Netflix to be the pinnacle of entertainment. Then they did that greedy, ridiculous price gouge, where people who rented DVDs and streamed video saw a whopping 60% price increase.
We dropped the DVD rental and opted for just streaming instead.
We saw the cracks. We ignored them. We reminded ourselves that streaming video is the future.
We felt safe and warm inside, like how rich white men must feel when they wrap themselves in a blanket of exorbitant wealth and white male superiority. We were safe.
Last week, we began obsessively watching Roseanne reruns on Netflix. This is the big time, baby! This is the future!
Mere hours after posting about our obsession with Roseanne, Netflix yanked the show. Ian and I arrived home from work, frothing for an escape into the world of low wages and working-class stress (my God, it's like they know us!).
Instead we discovered Netflix, in all its corporate wisdom, had banished the show from its rotation. Gone. Kaput.
Wut.
They took Roseanne away from us when we were in the middle of season 5. It was the television equivalent of Hitler invading France. Netflix was a bastard. A traitor. A Benedict Arnold. Shit was gonna fly.
Ian: "I HATE MY LIFE. I HATE NETFLIX. I'M GOING TO CALL THEM AND COMPLAIN. NO, WAIT. I'M GOING TO CANCEL NETFLIX. THIS CRAP ISN'T WORTH THE MONEY. SEE YOU IN HELL, NETFLIX."
I reacted by scouring the internet for full Roseanne episodes for free. You see, I am extremely cheap and refuse to spend money on most modes of entertainment. Much like healthcare, I believe television should be free and easily accessible.
Luckily I was raised with no cable, so I knew exactly how to react in such a dire situation: I hopped on Youtube and found full-length episodes of Roseanne.
We air-played the episodes onto the TV, breathed a sigh of relief, and embraced the electronic fuzz of our blessed picture box.
And all was right with the world.
Postscript: We'll probably ditch Netflix in favor of a Hulu subscription. If things get crazy, I'll post a suitably hyperbolic response.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
When Roseanne Took Over Our Lives
The two major things happening at the Winiferd house are at once intertwined and incompatible. Brace yourselves for some heady stuff, people. This is about to get intense.
1. In the beginning of January, Netflix started offering every single episode of Roseanne. We realized this mid-January and have been steadily watching slews of episodes every night.
I'm a life-long fan of Roseanne. I can even forgive that last season, since Roseanne still offered us years of high-quality, cutting-edge comedy. Roseanne was way ahead of its time.
Even in 2012, Roseanne is way ahead of its time. No other show tackled issues of the working class, teenage sexuality, big corporations, and lack of a living wage the way Roseanne did.
Ian had never watched Roseanne. He had no idea what was coming.
I did. In college, I would stay up all night watching Roseanne reruns on Nick at Nite. It was a sickness.
So when Ian entered the world of Roseanne with his 9:00pm bedtime, I knew there would be issues. Deep issues. After watching six hours of Roseanne, we reach a manic point of internal conflict: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, WE MUST TURN OFF THIS SHOW; WE NEED TO SLEEP.
We struggle to rip ourselves away from Roseanne, or more accurately, Darlene and Dan. (BECAUSE YOU KNOW THEY'RE THE BEST CHARACTERS. YOU KNOW THEY ARE).
We stagger to bed far too late, reasoning that we've only lost about an hour of sleep. We'll be fine! Let's hit the hay!
2. Here comes the incompatible part: I have no idea why or how, but every single blasted animal living in our house innately knows when we go to bed late.
The night we go to bed late is the night Harvey scratches on the door frames until the wee hours, Spottswood pounds up and down the hallway, and Winnie barks manically at the wayward cats.
It's also the night Winnie needs three potty breaks in a matter of six hours. Dog, I thought you had outgrown this shit. And I'm not talking metaphorical shit. I'm talking literal shit.
We should rename the pets Roseanne One, Roseanne Two, and Roseanne Three, so we can remember the real reason for our lethargy and blame the culprit appropriately.
And you know how sleep-deprived people handle this situation? After a loooong day of feeling sluggish, they come home and watch eleven more hours of Roseanne.
Tonight will be vicious; I can feel it. This is the night Darlene leaves for art school, and you just can't rip yourself away from something like that.
We're only human. We bleed when cut.
Somebody. Anybody. Stage an intervention. PLEASE HELP US.
1. In the beginning of January, Netflix started offering every single episode of Roseanne. We realized this mid-January and have been steadily watching slews of episodes every night.
I'm a life-long fan of Roseanne. I can even forgive that last season, since Roseanne still offered us years of high-quality, cutting-edge comedy. Roseanne was way ahead of its time.
Even in 2012, Roseanne is way ahead of its time. No other show tackled issues of the working class, teenage sexuality, big corporations, and lack of a living wage the way Roseanne did.
Ian had never watched Roseanne. He had no idea what was coming.
I did. In college, I would stay up all night watching Roseanne reruns on Nick at Nite. It was a sickness.
So when Ian entered the world of Roseanne with his 9:00pm bedtime, I knew there would be issues. Deep issues. After watching six hours of Roseanne, we reach a manic point of internal conflict: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, WE MUST TURN OFF THIS SHOW; WE NEED TO SLEEP.
We struggle to rip ourselves away from Roseanne, or more accurately, Darlene and Dan. (BECAUSE YOU KNOW THEY'RE THE BEST CHARACTERS. YOU KNOW THEY ARE).
This family haunts us. They won't let us sleep.
We stagger to bed far too late, reasoning that we've only lost about an hour of sleep. We'll be fine! Let's hit the hay!
2. Here comes the incompatible part: I have no idea why or how, but every single blasted animal living in our house innately knows when we go to bed late.
The night we go to bed late is the night Harvey scratches on the door frames until the wee hours, Spottswood pounds up and down the hallway, and Winnie barks manically at the wayward cats.
It's also the night Winnie needs three potty breaks in a matter of six hours. Dog, I thought you had outgrown this shit. And I'm not talking metaphorical shit. I'm talking literal shit.
Do not be deceived. This dog has to doo doo.
And you know how sleep-deprived people handle this situation? After a loooong day of feeling sluggish, they come home and watch eleven more hours of Roseanne.
Tonight will be vicious; I can feel it. This is the night Darlene leaves for art school, and you just can't rip yourself away from something like that.
We're only human. We bleed when cut.
Somebody. Anybody. Stage an intervention. PLEASE HELP US.
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