An update on 24

Dear 24,

Against my better judgment, I have started watching you again. Why do I do this? I don't know. I feel a bit like an abused wife.

"I know you didn't mean it —you were just drunk on your TV ratings!"

"Maybe this time it'll be different. I know you can change!"

At least so far this season no one has torn out someone else's jugular with their teeth. Small mercies.

See, this year I saw Katee Sackhoff was part of the lineup, and I thought "HOORAY! A strong female character at last!" Because, you know, 24, how disappointing you've been on that score. You keep introducing female characters who ought to be strong and awesome, and every single time you ruin them by having them be under some guy's thumb, one way or another.

I don't understand why I thought that you'd do something different with Katee Sackhoff's character. Maybe I was lulled into a false sense of security by her four years as Starbuck (who, sure, got ruined by the writers, but started out for the first two seasons being pretty freakin' awesome).

As it turns out, dear 24, you're not even four episodes in and you've wrecked the character's chances with me.

You know, 24, it's not even the fact that you can't pull a strong female character out of your ass that disappoints me. Having a show with an almost completely male bent to it isn't something I object to. I mean, look how obsessed I am with Supernatural, and that show kills off 99% of its women! Sure, I don't like that part of it all that much, but I love the show anyway. I just wish you'd learn and grow as a show, which you don't, not really. You've become practically a parody of yourself, which is sad.

Although having Jack Bauer say "I hate this place," while at CTU this season was a nice touch. I'll give you that. I would hate it too, in his shoes. ;)

I don't know why I'm disappointed, frankly. You'd think I would know better by now.

No love,

Me

Because when my life isn't about TV, it's about the cats

Pan-Pan has, of late, decided that he needs to live inside my ribcage. I keep trying to tell him there isn't enough room in there for both him and my internal organs, but he's hell-bent on testing the theory anyway.

I've turned up the heat a bit in the apartment in the vain hopes that it's only because he's feeling chilly that he keeps trying to burrow in under my spleen.

Ow.

Right now I've managed to persuade him to cuddle up with George on top of my feet. I now have no feeling at all in my toes, but it's better than the alternative.