Historians will wonder someday how a free press permitted the world's most important official to say such things without contradiction.

No, they won't. Because they'll know what we know -- that a large majority of the press is anything but free. It's been bought and paid for by large multimedia conglomorates, most of which are owned by moguls who sit politically far, far to the right, and dictate the content of their outlets' content with iron-fist-in-velvet-glove precision.

There's nothing free about most of the American Press.

~AmandaSo~

And why, when I slip and end up reading reviews, I find myself thinking the same thing: "Were we watching the same show?"

It's Mr. Manjoo's job to critique. To find fault. To pick and whine and bitch. In this way, this is a very effective review. So he sits in front of his television and watches, waiting for something he can bitch and whine about, then makes a note of it when it comes up. The West Wing was brilliant because never once did they ever talk down to their audience. They maintained that level of intelligence throughout, even through the last episode, though I'm sure it didn't meet Mr. Manjoo's exacting standards. Some shows did better than others. The end of Sorkin's reign and the beginning of the Wells' era was a bit bumpy, yes, but they weathered it and provided a final two seasons that were full of intelligence, wit and creativity.

A series finale, though, is not like any other episode in any show's history. Here's where the audience who has been loyally watching this show (unlike Mr. Manjoo, who I just know never watches television because he's too busy going to experimental theatre and book readings by obscure post-post-modern authors, and only watched this weekend because Salon offered to pay him to do it) gets to have what they want and edgy, avant garde crap isn't it. What we want after living with these characters for seven years -- after inviting them into our homes and watching them live and work and fall in love and break up and have babies and lose parents -- both in first-run and in syndication -- what we really want is to leave them knowing that they'll be okay. We want to let them go, knowing that they'll be in good hands, and that they'll live, if not happily ever after, then at least as happy as they could be for as long as they can be.

In this way, the finale was a complete and total slam dunk. The series and its witty, stylish dialogue, its intelligent subject matter, its quick, "keep-up-or-die" direction for most of the seven seasons it was on was so thrilling to watch, and we did, with gusto. That was all for the discerning eye of Mr. Manjoo.

Sunday's show, though, wasn't for critics, and it wasn't for newcomers and it wasn't for the network brass. It was for the writers, the actors and the loyal, long-time audience members, so we all could have a chance to tie things up, have one last laugh, and then say goodbye, knowing that characters that we'd come to care about were going to be just fine. That was our shindig, Mr. Manjoo, and you were nothing more than an uninvited guest. Bad form to crash our party and trash talk our hors d'oeuvre.

~AS~

What's this world coming to?

~AS~

Yogurt? A glass of cold water? Are you mad, woman? Listen to me and listen up good, sister. Oreos. With double stuff. And Haagen-Dasz (My choice: Vanilla Swiss Almond, but any flavor will do). My daughter just turned 18, and I'm telling you, these are the things that will get you through.

Hang in there, Annie. It gets better. A mere year can make the biggest difference. I swear.

~AS~

Based on the pre-premiere press, I was so prepared to hate this show. Polygamy, patriarchy, a touch of pedophilia and homophobia... What's to love?

But I admit, I love it. I hate that I love it. But I do so love it. Can't wait til it's back.

~AmandaSo~

When I was in school (back when dirt was a newfangled invention), school officials censored our literary magazines and our yearbooks with the argument that, as school-issued publications, they were entitled to monitor content. In several well-publicized court cases at the time, the law stood firmly on the side of the school administrators as arbiters for all things academic.

MySpace sites, whether they're public or private, are not school property. Period. If a student is caught updating their website from a school computer, that's one thing. But if a student accesses and updates his of her MySpace from a home computer, off school property, the question as to who can access the website is utterly without relevance. The school may not like what a student has to say, and they can certainly request that questionable material be taken down on the ground that it is inappropriate and hurtful. But they have no footing when it comes to punishment of the student.

Last time I checked, we still had a First Amendment (I have to keep checking regularly these days, but, yes, it's still in force). I hope Mr. Goodman starts taking these cases to court, and establishing legal precedence, so that school administrators can stop trolling MySpace and start doing what they were hired to do -- teach our kids.

And, by the way, in reference to a previous post -- Good parents not only read MySpace, they have one, so their kids know that they are an active presence online, in both a supportive and supervisory role.

~AS~