I stopped writing here because I felt I had nothing to say that I haven’t already said. I still feel that but now I’m worried that “use it or lose it” might apply to my ability to put words together in a pleasing way. I just read some advice to writers from Ray Bradbury, and most of it involves activating your language skills on a daily basis. I’m not going to argue with Ray Bradbury; he taught me (and most of us) to love reading.

My brain is barely firing, due to boredom, advanced age, or all my meds. I now take a pinch of Adderall with my two antidepressants, not to mention the Ativan for sleep. And the weed of course. I believe this pharmaceutical medley has impaired my thinking but a dull brain is better than one that is squirming like a toad.

I can spend days without one real conversation, because talking to one’s spouse doesn’t count as conversation. It’s more like a series of utilitarian questions and requests, interspersed with sighs and eyerolling.

So let’s talk about TV, because that is my life, second in importance only to my hair.

We started to watch that new Nicole Kidman thing, even though I knew I’d have trouble with her face. The face did not disappoint, and she added a dopey Russian accent. All the elements looked stupid, but I was game to watch until the Dead Son theme reared it’s triggering head. If you watch a lot of cable TV, you will have noticed how often a Dead Son elemement pops up, presumably to supply a dose of grief-porn to the numb viewer.

I am tapped out on this, and can’t take any more unless there’s a compelling reason, which won’t be found in TV dramas. So I refused to watch it. After The White Lotus, it seemed especially pointless, right? I know you loved The White Lotus as much as I did. I hope the hotel manager wins an Emmy! Mike White is such a nut case, in the best possible way. If you haven’t seen “Chuck and Buck,” go find it. You’ll be traumatized, but that’s Art.

Chuck and Buck brings me to a movie called “Humpday” that I watched despite all odds because the NYT suggested it. It’s about a pair of old college friends who decide to have sex for an amateur porn film. Since they are both straight men, hilarity ensues, ahem. More like extreme discomfort, but again, it is Art. I loved it.

I’ve also watched a bunch of violent foreign crime dramas, and there is no body part I have not seen chopped off. There are always hookers and glowering, swarthy bad guys who are hard to tell apart. I have to keep asking my husband, “Which one is this guy?” A perfect example of marital conversation!

Oh wait, I almost forget to recommend “Dave” and “Flatbush Misdemeanors!” They are so delightful, both of them, sharing the virtues of fresh characters, dialogue, and the sense that anything might happen. Go find them and you will thank me.

Finally, I just started watching The Sweet Life Los Angeles. This is going to be my go-to TV when the chopped up body parts and cries of “Putain!” wear me out. It’s a wonderful reality show where everyone is feeling some kinda way, and they refer to each other’s attire as “fits.” It is fucking heaven.

Okay, this is 574 words and I’m hoping Ray Bradbury is satisfied. I really desperately want to communicate, but my tools are either rusty or long gone. Try to bear with me. And let’s hear what TV you’re watching, and what meds you’re on.

For me, this year’s show was all about Angelina‘s new boobs. I admit I have an unhealthy fixation on them. I just can’t get past the disproportionate size of them.

I believe that her surgery was just an excuse to get a new pair of whopping big tits, and god bless her for them, just don’t expect a Nobel prize for wanting enormous implants.

Somewhere, my sister saw a headline that read “Angie fearlessly displays her decolletage..” when the correct verb is “determinedly” or “insistently.” I’m disappointed that she didn’t get them out for a photo op but oh well, there’s still time for that.

Moving on to the awards, Lupita Nyong’o was absolutely stunning in pale blue Prada. What a charming and delightful person, I had no idea! Jared Leto was a dish of androgynous goodness as he delivered a wonderful tribute to him mom. Matthew McConaughey seemed nuts and Cate Blanchette proved that Woody Allen can do anything to anyone and still be the object of Hollywood’s slobbering admiration.

Most Messed-Up face goes to Kim Novak, with Goldie Hawn a close runner-up. Amy Adams looked fabulous and Sandra Bullock looked predictably blah and waxy, while Julia Roberts went all out to look frumpy and horse-faced.

Daniel Day Lewis is still hot in an old man kind of way, demonstrating for Harrison Ford that an earring is the wrong way to go. Brad Pitt needs to explain that awful hairstyle and I want it witnessed and notarized.

I had to cover my face upon seeing the tearful eyes of Barkhad Abdi, the guy who played the Somalian pirate. I need him to be happy! I hope he will go on to have a career in acting, instead of just being a novelty in a Tom Hanks movie.

Finally, it was a relief to only have to see Bono onstage once. It could have been so much worse.