Dear Stupid Blog,

You know that grape-stomping lady? The one from that YouTube video several years back who falls over and groans in pain for, like, fifteen minutes? I hate that grape-stomping lady. Or maybe I like her and I just hate that video. It makes my everything hurt.

That kind of schadenfreude is not what Schadenfriday is about, Blog. Let's keep it light, K? K.

My cat doesn't seem to have much of an affinity for boxes, which is probably for the best. Otherwise I'd worry all day that she's stuck trying to back out of Kleenex™ boxes all day while I'm at work. Which I guess might be happening anyway? Why can't I just text her and be like, "Hey Violet, what's up? Are you stuck in a box? Just checking. Love love."

Can you believe that some people vote for these assholes? Can you believe it? I can hardly believe it. I hope that one guy explodes.

Background info here courtesy of ThinkProgress.

Dear Stupid Blog,

Last night's Top Chef All-Stars was awesome, am I right? After last week's exercise in frustration (more on which in a moment), this episode had it all: a big scary twist! The return of reigning champions! The King of Junkanoo, whatever the fuck that is! It also contained some weird fake storytelling that stuck out like a sore loser.

There the chefs are, toiling away and trying to assemble their dishes, when something totally catches on fire! OMG you guys! It's rull scary or whatever, and the chefs all have to evacuate the kitchen. The fire department is summoned for some reason. Then good old Tom Colicchio comes into the empty workspace to examine the damage. He looks around, does his best 'I'm not just here because the producers told me to come here' face for a second, and then informs the chefs that they're going to have to start cooking all over again. Which seems like it should be a really big deal, but ultimately isn't a big deal at all. Whatevs.

Point being: why did the decision to start from scratch have to seem like it came from Papa Tom? I hate this contrived idea that somehow everything that happens on these reality shows is dictated by the capricious whims of the hosts and/or judges. Like they are not salaried employees of, in this case, Bravo. As if Tom Colicchio and Padma Lakshmi are hosting this competition of their own free will because they didn't have any food in their cupboards so they figured they'd just create a TV show and get other people to cook for them. Give me a break.

Which brings me back to last week's episode. Bad enough that it was seven hundred hours long (OK, ninety minutes with commercials, whatever), but at the end of the challenge nobody got sent home. If I have one reality TV pet peeve, this is it. I tune into these shows for one reason: to see someone get kicked off, get teary, get their knives and get out. Those are the rules! You can't break the rules! Superman Returns broke the rules by having Superman lift a giant island made of kryptonite into outer space. He can't do that! He's Superman! Kryptonite is, like, his kryptonite! Which makes it appropriate that Superman Returns was a big confusing flop, and the next Superman movie is being directed by Zack Snyder (300, Watchen, whatever this CGI piece of trash is supposed to be), who is in turn my kryptonite.

When I watch Top Chef and nobody gets sent home, I feel like I've wasted my time. Granted, even when someone does get the boot I feel like I've wasted my time. Why do I keep watching? The world may never know.

Sometimes you end up friends with someone on Facebook for unknown reasons: maybe you met at a party, or you have a mutual friend, or they think they know you but it turns out they don't because you're not the only guy in Brooklyn - by a long shot - who vaguely resembles Gideon Yago. But sometimes one of those mystery friends turns out to be a limitless fountain of bubbling hatred, and you just have to stay tuned to see what insane bullshit is going to leap from her hideous (ideologically!) conservative maw next.

Have you ever been stranded on an inhospitable alien world and had your population ravaged by marauding packs of homicidal unicorns, left with no means of communication other than multicolored psychic squirrels while breathlessly anticipating the chance to seek murderous revenge against the race of space-men who left you to die? Yeah, me neither. It sounds like a total drag, other than the part about the psychic squirrels!

Fortunately for us, Blog, science fiction author Tom Godwin has us totally covered. His 1958 novel Space Prison imagines just such a scenario. I read it a few years back during one of my school's notoriously long winter breaks to keep myself from going crazy, and it really hit the spot. It's a quick read, especially if you are a blog who can probably read things reallyreallyfast, so check it out! Also humans should read it as it's super fun. I'm also shocked, frankly that it hasn't been scooped up and turned into a movie or, more logically, a TV series or mini-series. The story takes place across several generations, so it really lends itself to a long-form storytelling medium. I hear the BBC's new show Outcasts has a similar premise. I wonder if that's why I don't want to watch it? Oh no, wait, it's because Jamie Bamber is involved and I am still haunted by fat Lee Adama.

Best of all, since Space Prison is mad old, yo, it's available for free on Project Gutenberg! Click here to check it out. It's such an enjoyable, pulpy read, you'll tear through it in a few days. And then we can talk about how fun it is! It's gonna be great! It's gonna be great.

Anyway, preparing this post has lead me to the revelation that Space Prison is just the first in a series, followed by Space Barbarians! Which sounds maybe even more awesome, if you can believe that! I'll post a review after I devour it this week. Happy Tuesday, everyone!

I know, I know: Monday is almost over. The damage has been done. You stepped in that puddle, and when you made coffee at the office you spilled it down the front of your commemorative Hawaii 5-0 (original! Not reboot!) t-shirt, and you thought your hair looked good when you left home this morning but with this wind by the time you got to work you looked like the bride of Frankenstein, and you left your comb in your jeans that you accidentally shrunk last week which means that the comb has probably melted away to nothing.

Yikes! Sorry! Maybe dog train can help anyway? Maybe? Worth a shot?

Have you ever heard of Celebration, Florida? It's the scary fake town - sorry, I mean "master-planned community" - that Disney built in 2001. Today's Cure fo Monday was going to be all about how great it is not live in Celebration, since it is more or less the creepiest place in the known universe, but I dug around a bit and found it to be too creepy to even write about at any length. Also they just had their first homicide and police shootout (presumably these were not part of the master plan), and if anything screams Monday, it's a police shootout. 

So: water sculpture! Courtesy of the [evidently very talented or at least smart] Shinichi Maruyama.

Wow. For 29 seconds there it didn't feel like Monday at all! It felt more like a Wednesday. Which is the new Thursday, from what I understand. Thursday is the new Friday and Saturday, though. It's confusing.

(By the way, if you want more information on Celebration, I recommend taking a little tour on Google Street View. If you find it strangely, almost disturbingly empty, don't worry; that's just because you are alive.)