Fascinoma

So, last weekend I undertook a difficult and dangerous mission to the Nutmeg State. This is a dangerous place, apparently awash with the sort of Islamo-Socialists who elect governors who at least give lip service to raising revenues by taxing the rich. I frequented the art galleries of New Haven and the better restaurants of the area so as not to associate with such Enemies of Private Property. (They were blessedly undergrad free, since they're all decamped for Spring Break to places without drinking ages.)

I got back in time to watch, at the Lobbysist's Pleasure Palace, the finale of Big Love which I thought they pulled off about as well as it could be done. I thought the little nod toward reconciliation between Nickie and her sexpot daughter made no sense whatsoever, and I didn't much care for Margene's haircut in the final scene, but in general it was good TV. Brilliant that the plodding, Bushite neighbor should assert his flagging manhood in such crystalline Second Amendment style. I mean, if you can't shoot a man for preëmptively sodding your lawn, what kind of country is this?

I was a little disappoint that there wasn't some graphic depiction of lesbian epiphany among the sister-wives, since it seemed to me that's the way the narrative really wanted to go. But maybe that's my series and not theirs.