I finished nearly half the first season of The West Wing* over the weekend, sacrificing other commitments of global importance like a visit to the beauty salon for a long overdue back massage.
That’s right, ladies and laddies, 13 episodes back to back. That’s probably how I picked up a somewhat unhealthy obsession for Bradley Whitford. No, I know, Rob Lowe is spreadable-on-a-jam-tart lovely, but Bradley Whitford – my god. One thousand points to Sorkin for creating Josh Lymann’s character, it is unimaginably awesome. Almost as good as Matt Albie in Studio 60, as a matter of fact.
And what I can’t get over is that the series was running on Zee Studio for an insanely long time and I never watched a single episode because I assumed it would be boring. Books, judgements, covers, etc.
* Courtesy Archer, who’s threatening to be a bitch and not give me Season 2 for another whole week. That boy will die at my hands, I tell you.