I Was Wrong About Weeds
I swore by Weeds for the first two seasons. My roommates and I watched it obsessively, lusting after Nancy, cheering as Silas got his first B.J., and laughing along with Councilman Doug’s shenanigans. Then I got on my elitist high horse and abandoned my beloved dramedy five episodes into season three. I ranted to total strangers at parties about how the whole U-Turn fiasco was the quintessential jump-the-shark moment and how it no longer even held on to the slightest fiber of reality.
Well, save this article. Put it away inside your secret drawer next to the bong, and bring it out for warmth and nostalgia every few months. It’s unlikely you’ll ever see anything even remotely resembling this nonsense again. I was wrong. Erroneous, false, incorrect in every conceivable way. That’s right. I’m finally admitting it. At this point I’ve lost just about everything I’ve ever held on to: dignity, virginity, my D.A.R.E. pledge. Go ahead and add my veracity to that list of failed objectives. It’s all been vanquished with more hell, fire, and brimstone than the South.
Weeds is awesome. Actually, it’s beyond awesome. It’s one of the best television programs of the last decade, right up there with Big Love and The Jerry Springer Show.
Here’s what happened: I was over at my buddy Eric’s house waiting for the Top Chef: Chicago reunion show to start (it was wonderous), and we decided to kill some time by watching the premiere of Weeds: Season Four On Demand. Naturally, I was more confused than an immigrant sauntering over the border, but it still provided a few laugh-out-loud moments. Maybe I reacted a little too harshly, I thought; so, I decided to devote my entire Thursday to re-watching all of season three.
In keeping with the vice-ridden hoopla, I picked up a few essential indulgences right after my Literature Between 1600 And 1800 class: Lebanese Cedar brand hookah flavorings, two bottles of twelve dollar Merlot, and a large thin crust pie from Pizza Hut. It took six hours, a bottle and a half of wine, and seven bowls of hookah, but I powered through the entire season, realizing a few things along the way.
Did Weeds jump-the-shark? Yes. It started out a touching, humorous program about a mother selling marijuana to help fend off the creditors and ended up a gangsta-fueled soap opera involving murder plots by the US Government, people speaking in tongues, and drive-by Prius shootings. And you know what? That’s okay.
Weeds didn’t get worse; it just evolved. It shifted from gritty indie drama to big-budget blockbuster, and that doesn’t necessarily tarnish its greatness. Grey’s Anatomy shot the goddamn shark and barbequed it like three seasons ago (Izzie performed CPR on a deer), and I’ve stuck with McDreamy and Meredith. Why not stick with Weeds too? It still makes me smile, and really, that seems reason enough to throw it back on the ToDo list.
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