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Tag: Weekend Viewing

Weekend Viewing: Rent-a-Cop

“Hold me, Burt, I’m sho shcared!”

It’s been an annoying last couple of weeks around here with medical appointments, my dog’s tooth saga, and too much ice and snow. With any luck, things will calm down now and I can resume watching terrible movies like Rent-a-Cop.

The original plan had been to spotlight this atrocity on February 11th, the national holiday known as Burt Reynolds’s birthday. Other things came up and now the aim is to watch it, deeply ponder it (as you might an ancient philosophical text), and then write about it next month, when Liza Minnelli turns sheventy-shixsh.

As for my dog, Muriel’s tooth was extracted yesterday. Even as she periodically whimpers from mouth pain, she’s aggrieved at not being permitted to gnaw on chew toys. (Little does she know this torturous deprivation will last for the next couple weeks.) And, like Liza recovering from another hip replacement, or Burt in the wake of his City Heat jaw injury, she prefers her pain pills wrapped in American cheese or a hickory-smoked Greenies pocket.

UPDATE – 03.12.2022: The Rent-a-Cop post was published today, on Liza’s 76th birthday.

Weekend Viewing: Sisters: Season One Edition

Four sisters, zero wig fur.

Every morning, while the rest of the house sleeps, I lumber around awkwardly in a running-adjacent kind of way until my watch says I can stop. For accompaniment I prefer TV to music. Having exhausted just about every Dateline episode on Peacock, I needed something new.

Sisters was my mom’s favorite show when I was around eight years old. My dad would flee to another room to watch sports whenever it was on and I’d stick around and only half-understand it. (Even then, though, before ever hearing the phrase “wig fur,” I knew Swoosie Kurtz was magnificent.) Now I’m older than my mother was then and figured I’d give it another chance.

Weekend Viewing: David Charvet (!) Edition

Not to be confused with Seduced and Abandoned, which people should actually watch.

Ah, the look on your wife’s face when she sees what came in the mail this week, knows it’s absurd, and is faintly fearful she might be expected to watch it. In light of extenuating circumstances (i.e., the mystery knot currently residing in my underarm and my stint under house arrest while COVID overwhelms our local hospitals), she wisely refrained from comment.

UPDATE: Here’s the review.

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