Should I be flattered or extraordinarily disconcerted by the fact that a man (who looked like an escapee from Duck Dynasty) in the car parked next to mine was blatantly taking my picture last night?
I’m not famous. You don’t know me. You don’t look anything like a modeling agent scouting for new talent. All signs point to “extraordinarily disconcerted.”
You know, I really do like Debra Messing. Like every other gay boy, I loved her in Will & Grace. I suffered through the entire first season of Smash for her (and, you know, Anjelica Huston). I was also quite possibly the lone viewer who had his DVR set to record The Starter Wife. I would love it if she could successfully stage a comeback. But even I know, solely from viewing the trailer for the pilot, that The Mysteries of Laura won’t be the vehicle that allows for such a scenario to happen.
The Hollywood Reporter seems to agree with me and sums it up much more brilliantly and scathingly than I ever could:
"Periodically a television show comes along that makes you wonder if someone at the network declined to read the script and then, just to compound the issue, skipped watching the pilot but gave the green light anyway. That’s certainly a plausible solution to the mystery of how in the hell something as awful as The Mysteries of Laura got on the air. In 2014. On a broadcast network. Which employs people who should have never let it get this far."
Ouch. But admit it, you chuckled.
While all of the basics are fangirling over Lauren Conrad getting the cover of Us Weekly, I’m still obsessed with Naomi Campbell covering W.