Bad idea to watch the SuperBowl, Downton Abbey, and Sherlock in the same evening. I can’t even process.
Peyton Manning, I feel for the dude. He had an amazing year considering he had NECK SURGERY, started with a brand new team, and played like a transformer. Well, how a transformer might play if a transformer didn’t automatically crush a football or use it as an appetizer. Do transformers eat things? I’m not even sure because I’ve never seen one of the movies (although apparently they now turn into dinosaurs as if suspending reality before as they transformed into machines wasn’t enough) but I’m going with that vague mental picture of wow-machines-smash-win. No machine. The cog first slipped on the very first snap and the machine was all broken after that. All the hype beforehand of “Peyton vs. Seattle defense” was really not fair to the guy, because he clearly is a team player.
I will confess, as a Giants fan AND as a younger sibling, it’s nice to think that little brother Eli has two SuperBowl rings to Peyton’s one, but I still feel for the guy. And to my cousin who lives outside of Seattle, well, cheer on with your bad self.
Downton Abbey didn’t go overboard with the feels this time, but there was a sublime moment between Lady Mary, Thomas, and Lady Isobel that warmed my heart. (Originally I typed “the cockles of my heart” but I remembered I was always irritated with that phrase because have you ever seen a cockle diagramed in a science/anatomy text book? No, neither have I, so let’s just stop that nonsense, shall we? It’s the same irritation I have with cohort. How can you have a cohort when there’s no such thing as a hort? These are the thoughts that keep me gazing off in the distance.) They were all victims of lost spouses, and while it could have been absolutely gruesome and maudlin, it was actually sweet and lovely and honest and sincere.
I think it’s fashionable among the vast Web of Inter to diss Downton Abbey and project that it’s got nowhere to go, but I love a good costume escapist drama. My preferred Netflix watching is anything British television, so Downton is a good fit for me. Plus, I loved Julian Fellowes on Monarch of the Glen which is an added bonus.
Sherlock, on the other hand, is superb and frustrating and exciting and mesmerizing and (shakes fist a la David Tennant): MOFFAT!!!! This show is so gripping I can’t even knit during it, because I know I’ll miss something that will be referenced later as in “didn’t you see that newspaper headline that gave the clue to figure the whole thing out?” And I’ll be all “you mean that part where I selfishly decided to BLINK??? That part???” Older Daughter literally threw things at the end of the episode and I hugged a pillow and started to rock, knowing I’d have to wait Another. Two. Years.
My nerves can’t take this.
Time to shovel snow. Again.