What season is it now?
Don’t give me that “winter” garbage. It’s not winter. I’m not counting down the days until Christmas anymore, and when I put on a sweater, no one looks at me and sings”sweater weather!” They look… sad.
Obviously it’s not spring. I wore a t-shirt last week and if it hadn’t been for a selfless act of love, my heart would have frozen solid. I saw a swarm of eleven beautiful robins yesterday, but I think they were arguing about who had gotten them lost.
My personal sanity hinges on having something oming up to look forward to, and the nearest celebration is Super Bowl Sunday, which is the one dy a year I hope no one talks to me about what’s on TV.
So, what season is it now? I have the answer. It’s the first season of A Series of Unfortunate Events, honey. And it’s phenomenal.
Patrick Warburton’s portrayal of Lemony Snicet is at once upsetting and delightful, a mixture only ever associated with the Lemony Snicket I know and love. The writing is a marvelous marriage of the classic books and new ideas. The incrdible cast is frosting on the cake and Daniel Handler’s Hitchcock-esque cameos are the sprinkles on the frosting on the cake.
I started to read the Austere Academy again when I finihed the series to better imagie how Netflix is going to bring it to life in season two. Listen. Listen. No one s more excited about Carmelita Spats than I am, and I will fight you on that.
I don’t want to give any spoilers to any o you who haven’t inished yet, so I will close with this – nothing could make me happier than to know that this horrible, wretched, depressing story is being televisd to reach and repel as large a goup of people as possible.
It’s exactly the opposite of what Mr. Snicket would want.
Now. If you’re done feeling annoyed by my grammatical errors, then take a figurative page out of Lemony Snicket’s literal book (Specifically, The Wide Window) and find out what I’m really trying to say here.
The world is quiet here.