Holly & Molly’s Epic Adventure

Sometimes my life gets interesting. Those moments are generally few and far between, but they make the monotony of class and work and well, routine, bearable. I’m glad I have friends that make me leave the comfort of my room, my laptop, my tv shows and my books and drag me on wild, unpredictable escapades. My most recent adventure started with a 10:30pm phone call from my friend Holly.

Holly: Hey, so what are you doing?

Me: Watching Supernatural.

H: Okay. Do you want to go to Delaware with me?

M: Like now? I mean, when would we get back? I don’t have class until 12:45 tomorrow, we could make this work.

H: I was thinking tomorrow. My brother-in-law’s mom has a casino voucher that expires tomorrow at midnight and if we go get it from their beach house we can cash it in and split the money.

M: How would we get there? How much is it worth?

H: We can borrow my sister’s car. If we leave after class tomorrow we can get to the beach house by seven. If we miss the metro we’ll just spend the night at my sister’s house and she’ll drop us off in the morning. We’d each get $130.

M: I’m pretty sure I can make this work. I can’t skip my classes, but if we leave right when I finish, we can pull it off.

So the next day I finished my classes, swung by the store, picked up some road-trip appropriate snacks (for inquiring minds: oreos, twizzlers, goldfish crackers and diet pepsi) ready for anything.

Cut to: hours on hours on hours of car travel. We passed the giant Mormon church(?). Giant spires in the sky, towering over the tree-line. I got to cross the Bay Bridge for the first time. But other than that the driving parts were fairly boring. We almost got lost trying to navigate to the Taco Bell (Maryland highway exits are weird sometimes. Also, their rumble strips are weak compared to those in Cleveland.) There were a lot of fields. And a lot of Adele. Not much Bon Iver, though, because Holly doesn’t appreciate that they’re good road trip music. I can understand that, though; I didn’t want her to fall asleep at the wheel.

But we made it to the coast of Delaware in good time even though TomTom had different ideas. Pulling into the beach house I couldn’t help but think the floors would be coated in sand, much like that two-part episode of Friends. It wasn’t. It also wasn’t on the water. But it was a gorgeous, if small, place. After fumbling around and misreading directions of where the voucher was hidden (right bedroom off of the left hallway, not right bedroom off of the right hallway. Duh), we left. Well, we tried to leave. Holly had a bit of an issue with arming the house and re-locking the doors. Luckily the alarm didn’t get activated and we didn’t have to deal with the local popo. I’m sure our story wouldn’t have gone over well.

Then we were off to Ocean City to hit the casino. It was the first time I’d ever been in a casino. The last time I was up at the Indian Reservation in New York, I was still too young to step foot inside. But Holly and I, we managed to look sketchy in a casino. Which, when you think about it, is difficult because casinos are inherently sketchy. It probably didn’t help that we went inside, had our IDs scrutinized by two rent-a-cops, cashed in the voucher and peaced. SUCCESS!

The drive back to White Flint was unremarkable. Dark skies and open roads. We forewent the WaWa’s because we were still full of off Taco Bell and Dairy Queen. We talked, we laughed, we sang. We got sleepy. Cash in hand we crashed in White Flint before Metro-ing to campus at the ungodly hour of 7am. Then it was business as usual.

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The League: In Which “Vulture” is a Verb

Episode 3×3:

Let’s just go ahead and assume that anything Taco-produced is wonderful in the way that it’s actually terrible. It’s so bad, it’s good. We start off the episode with Andre’s “I’m a Man”-themed video. Since Taco directed it, there are “subliminal messages” (animals copulating) that aren’t quite subliminal. Why does Andre need a man-themed self-aggrandizing advert you might ask? Because he’s turning to the internet to find potential dates. “Online dating services: where those who society has outcast get together and ideally colonize another planet.”

Meanwhile, Ruxin wants to hire a au pair since he failed so epically at getting baby Geoffry into a Jewish preschool. His justification for hiring an attractive au pair is so that his son can grow up used to being surrounded by hot girls.

Over at Plot Contrivance Central (Jenny’s Regional Real Estate Conference), Kevin and Taco spot ESPN “Fantasy Football expert,” Matthew Berry. Kevin dubs him the “prettiest girl in the bar” and tries too woo some football tips out of him. This is not unprecedented. Last season Kevin called Terry Bradshaw for advice. After a lot of flailing and floundering, Taco helps him out, getting Matthew’s card out of the deal.

Kevin is very excited about his potential relationship with Matthew Berry but doesn’t want to tell his wife Jenny. Really, though, I don’t see why he can’t come clean with her. She already knows he’s crap at fantasy football. The only seasons he even came close to the playoffs were when she was still covertly co-managing his team. Regardless, he doesn’t want to tell her. So, despite the fact that he’s a lawyer, Kevin can’t lie so he solicits Ruxin for some help. A couple of montages later and Kevin’s stuttering, “What? No!”s are turned into glib fibs.

The overarching theme of the episode which runs parallel to most of the plots is about vulturing. First, Pete’s fantasy football player vultures one of Andre’s player’s points. Pete deems it karma since Andre screwed Pete out of the 8-man mega-trade during the Sukkoth Pact 2011 last week. To rub salt in the wound, Pete later vultures one of Andre’s online dates. A couple of days later, when Andre and Kevin show up at the bar for their respective dates, Andre mistakenly believes that Mathew Berry is vulturing his date. She’s actually asking to be set up because Andre is a capital-C Creep. He proves this by picking a fight with unassuming Matthew Berry, coming on too strong, ultimately punching Kevin despite aiming for Matthew. Andre ruins both his and Kevin’s dates before they could even start.

Pete seems to be on fire this week, ending the episode by vulturing baby Geoffrey’s hot au pair.

That’s all for this week. Check back soon for next week’s recap. What did you think of the Au Pair. Hit the comments and let me know.

 

I don’t go to College, I go to Uni

Once again, I’ve neglected my blog. Which makes me, to quote Liz Lemon, the worst. I don’t have anything topical to discuss or rant about or write a poignant essay about. For now I’m just going to play catch-up and ramble about what I’ve been up to lately.

But, hey, remember when I was all “I’ll never have the perfect college experience?” and went on whinging about that for an entire blog post? Yeah, well I apologize and am currently retracting that statement. Kind of.

I’m 3000 miles from home and I found what I was looking for. When I was but an ideological high-schooler, dreaming of the perfect college  I pictured sprawling rural campus. I ended up in the middle of a city. Whatever, you know all this. But do you know how perfect the Sussex Uni campus is? It’s exactly what 16-year old me envisaged. Green everywhere, enclosed so you still have a campus feel but surrounded by bountiful (and beautiful) parkland. 20,000 students, but only about a third (all first years) live on campus.  The classrooms are mostly lecture halls, but instead of individual desks, they’re elongated and look like this picture, which I absolutely adore. And, AND, there are two pubs on campus. Yes, two. So close, so convenient, so deliciously cheap. So, no, I’m still not getting to tailgate, or go to football games, or whatever, but I actually feel like a college student. Going to lecture, taking notes in a notebook (not that many students use laptops in class), writing essays, and going out on the weekends! Unlike the States, where I can’t go out to bars or clubs and drink, I can do that here. I can, and do, go on pub crawls. I can now say that I’ve been to a house party. I’m meeting people! I’m getting drunk and attempting to navigate the bus system! And it’s legal! For the first time ever, I’ve been to a bar and had a cute guy buy me a drink (my tiny triumph of last weekend). So, despite the fact that I’m really looking forward to getting back to GW, I’m absolutely loving my time here. I’m really finding myself, getting comfortable in my own skin and just having fun.

Other little things:

  • I saw a fox! On campus! On the way to a bar! Everything about those statements makes me giddy. Foxes are my favorite animal. The fact that they run around campus just thrills me to death. It was a fun little surprise passing one on the way to Falmer Bar last weekend.
  • I got a job! Okay, to be technical, an unpaid position. But I’m writing recaps/reviews of one of my absolute favorite shows, Parks & Recreation. I adore both the show and the site that I’m writing them for, Off Color TV. It’s a really fun site to troll. I’m now a frequent reader and commenter. Everyone should definitely go and check it out. For those of you who know how much I love tv and recaps, you should know that I’m over the moon about doing this. Unfortunately there wasn’t a new Parks & Rec last night, but there will be a nice new post (by me) next Friday. I urge you all to read and comment on it.
  • This one’s a little old, but I organized a beer pong tournament on campus a couple weeks ago. I imagined we’d have ten people show up, but around 30 exchange students packed into one of the dorm kitchens and hung around for a few hours. Not too shabby.
  • I’m taking an archery class! That puts me one step closer to becoming Katniss Everdeen. 
  • You might’ve noticed that I posted a recap of the season premiere of “The League”. I’ll be doing that weekly. They may be a little late, but they’ll get posted, regardless. It’s just a little something I’m doing to contribute to my family’s fantasy football newsletter. Whatever keeps me writing.
  • I’ve been attempting (and mostly succeeding) to keep up with US television shows. Despite the fact that I have to watch them next-day (and avoid spoilers on Twitter) it’s been working out. I figure it’s acceptable since I’m still a social creature and not a complete recluse. Right?

The League: In Which there were fewer NFL references than Hart of Dixie

Episode 3×2:  This week on The League we learn that everyone’s draft experience sucked. Ultimately, Pete works out a multi-man trade, encouraging trust between league members. He beautifully engineers an 8-man trade on a white board which Andre notes is ”like a useless Good Will Hunting.” Everyone agrees to the Sukkoth Pact 2011, the deadline for the trade being the start of the Sukkoth ceremony. The trade goes through for everyone except Pete whom Andre screwed over in a fit of jealousy.

The main story focuses on Ruxin and his quest to get his son, Geoffrey, into a Jewish pre-school. To woo the school board, he holds a Sukkoth celebration (aka Jewish Bonnarroo) at Kevin and Jenny’s house.  Because it’s 2006, Ruxin sends out e-vites to all of the potential Sukkoth guests. He immediately retracts them because the attached Google-Maps picture of his house features himself spray-painting a swastika on the pothole in front of his driveway. It’s not (just) that he’s a self-hating Jew, but in their neighborhood of Chicago, racist graffiti gets taken care of lickity-split; he hoped the workers would notice the pothole and fix it as well.

At the event-proper, the final version of the porno is unveiled. The video plays on a big-screen TV affixed to the garage. Drawn to the commotion, everyone leaves the Sukkah that Taco, Ellie, and Ruxin built as part of a Hebrew Habitat for Humanity and see the film. Andre is, in turn, nauseated and pissed. The school administrator is disgusted bans Geoffrey from the school in after calling the event a “suburban Kristellnacht.”

Andre is understandably pissed about the porno. He had no clue that his apartment had been so terribly desecrated. It does explain how he managed to contract thrush. He couldn’t figure it out since he hasn’t been sexually active in quite some time. Because she is my favorite, Jenny makes a joke, calling Andre’s misfortune the “Immaculate Infection.”

In the episode’s C plot, Jenny returns to work as a realtor. She excitedly shows Kevin her new bench ad which reads “The best realtor in town. Period.” She becomes less than thrilled as a homeless man takes up residence on her bench. Though she looks stunning in the ad, she’s clearly been photshopped, which Taco points out. Jenny forces Kevin to attempt to evict the homeless man from the bench because she feels that the guy is detracting potential clients. In a misguided attempt to convince the homeless man to abandon Jenny’s bench, explaining that he’s simply trying to please his wife, which is especially difficult at the moment because she’s on her period. Of course the homeless guy defaces her bench, using this information and the unfortunate wording of her ad. In the end, Kevin’s solution to getting the bench restored to its former glory is to graffiti it with a swastika, knowing that the government will have to clean it.

Much to my chagrin, Ruxin’s Shiva Ring makes a reappearance when Andre finds it in his couch. Ruxin actually vomits when it touches him, which makes me happy in a sadistic way.

Overall, not much football talk this week. Honestly, I watched a CW show (Hart of Dixie) with more discussion of football than this week’s episode of The League (about ‘Bama and Mark Ingram, no less). That there is just wrong. Regardless, Roll Tide!

Thoughts, comments, reactions? Hit the comments and let me know. I’ll be right back with this week’s actual recap for “The Au Pair.”

“The Lockout”

Welcome to Season 3, Episode 1 of The League. This will be my first foray into recapping, but I’m hoping to make it a regular occurrence. My recaps of The League will be the full-length version of the ones that appear on my family’s fantasy football newsletter “The Crying Towel”. Without further ado:

Previously on The League: a bunch of friends in Chicago have a fantasy football, you guessed it, league. Aside from the few out of town, thereby off-screen, members, the league is made up of Ruxin, Taco, Jenny, Kevin, Pete, and Andre. Ruxin won last year’s season and is the current owner of the Shiva. Andre, however, had the worst season and is in possession of the Sacko.

We open on a video-forum that the league members share. In said video, Ruxin is exercising his bragging rights by making a not-so-terrible copy of the Bears’ “Super Bowl Shuffle” with his very own “Shiva Bowl Shuffle.” He even went so far as to recruit some of his fantasy league team members to provide backup: Maurice Jones-Drew, Brent Grimes, and Sidney Rice.

On the other hand, Andre, is being forced to serenade public transit users by playing flute and performing as a troubadour while his league-mates look on.

Later, at the bar, Ruxin, Kevin, and Pete mock Andre for his ridiculous hair, which he was forced to grow out as yet another Sacko punishment. This look favors neither his bone structure nor his severely receded hairline. According to his friends, he looks like a “magician who also rapes” (instead of a rapist who does magic) because, for Andre, magic always comes first.

As it turns out, Ruxin shows off the Shiva Bowl ring he had made. It is as gaudy as you would imagine (going so far as to say “Suck It” on the side). Andre makes a Lord of the Rings reference which no one gets or appreciates. Taco suddenly appears, home from his round-the-world trip, fresh out of the Taliban (“worst April of my life”) and a bona-fide television star. Well, at least in Algiers. Taco won a recurring role in an Arabic show, Sands of Passion as an “American rapper/cowboy/cautionary tale”, named Buck.  His catchphrase? “Bang, bang, what’s the hang?” The show included correct, if poorly pronounced Arabic, as well as an alternate ending to Taco’s story arc. Spoiler alert: he would either end up marrying his on-screen girlfriend or become a suicide bomber.

Meanwhile, Kevin’s wife Jenny is attempting to train their new puppy. While reading the training book, she realizes that it probably wouldn’t be that out of the question to train her husband using the same methods: lowering her voice and stomping a foot for emphasis. Because this is a TV show, it works. Normally, I would hate the trope of a wife “training” her husband, but in this case I’ll let it slide. He kind of deserves it for wanting to knock Jenny up just to prove his virility. It seems he’s feeling quite down because not only does he sucks as a team-owner, but his wife managed to make it to the Shiva Bowl. Anyway, Jenny’s training technique, while sound, clashes with Pete’s (a double-click on a pen). Adorably, both methods are reinforced by scratching Kevin’s ear. That right there is why you can’t blame Seth Rogen’s character for assuming them to be in a relationship. They’re just really cute together. Anyway, it turns out that Taco also has his brother trained. He “highnotized” him, or, hypnotized him whilst high.

Before we know it, the league, minus Ruxin, is assembled and ready to establish draft order. They have quorum, so they go ahead and start. Of course Ruxin’s name is picked first. Pete throws the paper back in and they re-pick. In a diabolical plan, Ruxin is made the penultimate pick so the draft doesn’t seem rigged and Andre gets the bottom slot as yet another Sacko punishment. When Ruxin appears, he calls bullshit and totes suspects their scheming. Before breezing out, he tells them the season will be suspect unless he wins. His parting line: “Pile into your clown car of lies, because you’re all going down.”

The next day (maybe? Who really knows?) everyone but Jenny and Andre are at the public library to meet with former league member Rafi who is day-drunk. I guess he really needed to distract himself from the fact that his Mexican child-bride was deported. Rafi’s there to help with the last Sacko punishment for Andre: banish him from his awesome apartment, despite the fact that it is draft headquarters, and film a Seth Rogen-directed porno before he returns.

Draft Day: Before the draft starts, everyone minus Andre, heads to the roof of Andre’s apartment where Ruxin has staged a Bachelor-esque celebration (complete with a single red rose and flutes of champagne) in honor of the new season. Taco goes inside to let the porn crew in, closing the patio door behind him. The rest of the group is, you guessed it, suffering a “Lockout.” While the actors are “acting” and the cameras are rolling, the auto-draft kicks in. Everyone gets stuck with terrible picks. (Poor Jenny gets two kickers and two defenses, both early in the draft). Andre, however, is furiously scanning Fantasy Football for Dummies, and is surprised by how quickly the draft is moving. He, too, drafts a terrible team.

After a brief reappearance of the Shiva ring, which we shall hopefully never see again, the episode ends and we’re left to wonder how bad the auto-drafted teams really are.

The End of an Era

My childhood is coming to an end in the most profound way imaginable – with a movie franchise. But honestly, it’s not just any franchise, it’s Harry freaking Potter. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Potty wee Potter. We’ve both grown up, and it’s time to part ways. But I’m not leaving his side without a fight. No way, no how. I’m taking the last stand at the Battle of Hogwarts. just like all of our classmates.

That’s right, our classmates. Because I was there, right along with him. Ever wonder why you don’t know all of the girls’ names in Harry’s year in Gryffindor house? Because one of them is me. Hermione, Parvati, Lavender, and Molly. Fit right in, don’t I?

And I’m trying really hard to keep my cool about the release of the final film. Though I know that I’m going to fail spectacularly, I have to at least try. Because, for the rest of the week, if not the entire summer, I’ll just be a blubbering mess.

The other day my brother said I used to be obsessed with Harry Potter. I thought it funny he used the past tense. I pointedly corrected him, saying that I am still very much obsessed with it and not at all ashamed. He found that odd, as he was used to using “Harry Potter fan” as a disparaging remark. He never really got Harry Potter, preferring JRR Tolkein’s world of Hobbits. To each his own, I guess, but I’ll stick with the wizarding world of Harry Potter, thank you very much. We got into a discussion of which world was superior, which characters stronger, who would reign supreme in a fight. (The wizards, obviously. All you need is the flick of the wand, and besides, Harry’s got the sword of Gryffindor on his side.)

One of my ongoing struggles with my dad is my seemingly futile attempt to get him to understand just how big a part Harry Potter has played in my life. I once told him that the best prank he ever could have played on me would have been to give me a fake acceptance letter to Hogwarts. He could’ve filmed it. My reaction would have been worth over a million hits on YouTube, easily. Because you better believe I waited for my letter. Not just when I was eleven, but until I was 20. I’ve now resigned myself to the fact that I’m probably just a Squib.

Anne and I have had many a conversation about Harry Potter, as well. Our topics of discussion would range from what house we’d be in to what classes we’d take. (Obviously I’m a Gryffindor, but I wouldn’t shirk away from being placed in Ravenclaw. Anne’s somewhere between a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw.) My favorite topics of thought tend to be what classes I’d get to take if I went to Hogwarts. Of course I’d take all of the basic, required courses, but when you get into your 3rd year at Hogwarts, you also sign up for some electives. Choices include: Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Whereas Anne would pull a Hermione and take all of them, I would restrain myself to Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

The thing that I don’t understand about Harry Potter, (that’s not true, there’s a whole litany of things coming in a different post) is how every muggle-born student doesn’t excel at their schoolwork? How could they not be so freaking excited about being magical that they wouldn’t devour every book placed in front of them? That they wouldn’t practice every spell, charm, enchantment, and jinx until they nailed it. Because that’s what I’d be like. I’d be another Hermione Granger and I would never, ever apologize for it.

I can’t fathom not being a complete geek about Harry Potter or his world. I let it pull me in like it was Devil’s Snare. Because Harry Potter has a real world, it’s just not tangible. I’ve been a part of the world for the last eleven years and I don’t plan on leaving any time soon. I’ll know the spells, the secret passageways in Hogwarts, Mr. Filch’s list of banned items, the members of the Order of the Phoenix. I’ll cower away from Fluffy and those damned Blast-Ended Skrewts. I’ll defend Neville and Luna, jinx Pansy Parkinson, and punch Draco Malfoy. I’ll attempt to disarm the Death Eaters I happen across. I’ll drive away dementors and obliterate boggarts. I’ll keep Hagrid and Fang company and be a faithful customer at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Hell, I’d probably have been one of their test subjects during the early days of their Skiving Snackboxes. (That’s not true, there’s too much Hermione in me; I’d try and confiscate their goods for my own nefarious purposes.) I’ll have an Arnold, a Crookshanks, and a Hedwig. I’ll own stock in sugar quills and always have a bottle of color-changing ink handy. But I will never, ever, buy that putrid pink parchment that the deplorable Dolores Umbridge favored. Oh, and I’ll own a broomstick, but I still haven’t decided between the new Cleansweep or the new Nimbus yet.

After tomorrow night, once I’ve seen the final premiere, can someone just come over and obliviate my memory? That way, I can enjoy Harry Potter again, just as if it were the first time. Otherwise I’ll just be here, sobbing. Because it’s the end of an era, dammit. At least I’ll have Pottermore to look forward to.

I’ve Got a lot of Angst (re: Sense & Sensibility)

I’ve slowly come to the crippling realization that I am my own worst enemy and it’s all Colonel Brandon’s fault.  See, it’s fairly simple. I hate Colonel Brandon. Absolutely loathe him.  He’s a sucky character and unworthy of the “hero” role into which Jane Austen so presumptuously thrust him in Sense & Sensibility. Perhaps I’m being unfair because S&S is my least favorite Austen novel. Maybe it’s because I have lofty ideals of an Austen hero challenging the heroine with his witty banter instead of swooping in to be her saving grace. There’s no maybe about that one, actually. I hate that Colonel Brandon saves Marianne. She shouldn’t need saving in the first place. (A lot of my anger might be misplaced, simply because I dislike Marianne). Furthermore, Colonel Brandon is too old for Marianne. It’s kind of skeevy (granted they live in the early 19th century).

But I’ve got my reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon. Here are some of them:

  • He’s too old for Marianne. Well, yes, that’s arguably true. But, at the same time, he’s not imposing or thrusting himself in her path. He’s patient and waits for her to come to him. He’s a friend to her in the meantime. And in the scope of Austen heroes, he’s well within an acceptable age-range. Knightley was almost 20 years older than Emma. Darcy’s probably 15 years older than Elizabeth. I’m just saying, he doesn’t really follow the “his age divided by 2 plus 7” rule.
  • There’s just no chemistry. Honestly, Col. Brandon has more chemistry with Mrs. Dashwood than he does with Marianne. Which, really, is reason enough to dislike his pursuing Mrs. Dashwood’s teenage daughter.
  • He’s so blah. No witty banter. None. He just seems old and tired. Run-down. He probably needs a vacation to Bath to lighten up. Jeesh. He’s practically curmudgeonly.
  • He’s old-school (unironically). Flannel waistcoats. Need I say more?

A lot of this I stand by. It’s not simply that he’s too old for her, it’s that he’s already been in love and only falls in love with Marianne because she reminds him of that girl he never had. The relationship between Marianne and Col. Brandon is one that has to be learned and I don’t like that. Marianne, at the end of the book, just kind of seems like, “Oh, very well. It’s not like I’ve got many other prospects, and this guy clearly loves me unconditionally…”

And they don’t really have chemistry. Austen novels teach us, over and over again, that chemistry is very important in a relationship. That witty banter is just a thin veil for their sexual tension. Compared to the sizzling dialogue between Elizabeth and Darcy, Marianne and Colonel Brandon are limp, overcooked noodles. I mean, sure, by the end of the novel Marianne is a different person than she was in the beginning. She knows that the “bad boy” Willoughby isn’t the best bet for a comfortable marriage. So she goes for his polar opposite: Colonel Brandon?

The thing that really kills me about Colonel Brandon, though, is that I can kind of identify with him. I see where he’s coming from. He’s lived, his heart’s been broken by unrequited love, he just wants to settle down. He doesn’t force Marianne into anything or make any presumptions. He doesn’t judge her. He lets her make her own choices, even when they (inevitably) lead to mistakes. I can respect that. Maybe Marianne will have to learn to love Colonel Brandon, but you know he won’t crowd her while that’s happening.

The single most way that I can identify with him, however, is in our infirmities. Neither of us are old. Well, I guess given life expectancies in early 19th century England, he was a little bit old. As a matter of fact, to him Marianne must be a veritable whippersnapper. But, alas, she was of age… Anyhow, infirmities. We both have them. Flannel waistcoat? He wears it. Sounds like something I would wear, too – and not just because of the implied hipster-ism. I’m not above admitting that I bust out the long-underwear every winter to stay nice and toasty.  Also, Colonel Brandon just strikes me as the kind of guy who frequently is in need of a hot water bottle. You and me both, mister. But, similarities aside, regardless of my respect for him, I have to say, he’s still my least favorite of Austen’s “heroes” and I’m not comfortable in casting him in such a light.

 “But at least, mama, you cannot deny the absurdity of the accusation, though you may not think it intentionally ill-natured. ColonelBrandon is certainly younger than Mrs. Jennings, but he is old enough to be my father; and if he were ever animated enough to be in love, must have long outlived every sensation of the kind. It is too ridiculous! When is a man to be safe from such wit, if age and infirmity will not protect him?” [Marianne]

“Infirmity!” said Elinor, “do you call ColonelBrandon infirm? I can easily suppose that his age may appear much greater to you than to my mother; but you can hardly deceive yourself as to his having the use of his limbs?”

“Did not you hear him complain of the rheumatism? and is not that the commonest infirmity of declining life?”

“My dearest child,” said her mother laughing, “at this rate, you must be in continual terror of my decay; and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.”

“Mama, you are not doing me justice. I know very well that ColonelBrandon is not old enough to make his friends yet apprehensive of losing him in the course of nature. He may live twenty years longer. But thirty-five has nothing to do with matrimony.”

“Perhaps,” said Elinor, “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have anything to do with matrimony together. But if there should by any chance happen to be a woman who is single at seven-and-twenty, I should not think Colonel Brandon’s being thirty-five any objection to his marrying her .”

And, yes, after reading scenes such as this, I do often wonder as to why the hell Elinor didn’t end up with Colonel Brandon. And then I remember that stupid Mr. Ferrars. (No, the other stupid Mr. Ferrars.)