Sunday night is one of my favorite times of the week—I have usually napped/eaten off my hangover by sunset, my roommates have prepared a family dinner of gargantuan proportions, I've Facebook stalked sufficiently enough to find out who went home with who after the tailgate, and I am finally ready for my few hours of weekend rest.
Luckily, there is nothing that goes better with faux-gourmet meals prepared in one's Towers kitchen than Sunday evening HBO. The Curb Your Enthusiasm—Bored To Death—Entourage trifecta is always an exquisitely pleasant end to my weekend and as fall evenings have been getting colder and my blanket and TV have been beckoning me closer, the seasons have continued to get witter and even more outrageous.
My Sunday night TV marathon starts at 8PM CT with the seventh season of Entourage. I'll admit, the first episode of the season left some laughs to be lacking—I (spoiler alert) missed Cheryl, found Larry's new girlfriend to be horribly irritating, and although I am happy that Jeff Garlin (Jeff Greene) has lost weight, he was considerably funnier twenty pounds chubbier. Three episodes into the season, I am as hooked as ever—the cast of Seinfeld has returned to Larry David and their antics are infusing new jokes and plotlines into the season.
Following Curb at 8:30CT is newbie Bored To Death, starring indie cutie Jason Shwartzman, The Hangover weirdo Zach Galifianakis and Olivia Thirlby of The Wackness and Juno fame. I may be biased because the main character, Shwartzman's Jonathan Ames, lives a mere few blocks from my New York street and I have caught my local coffee place in several scenes, but Shwartzman and Galifianakis' bromantic, noir wit coupled with the comedic yet utterly pathetic situations a recovering alcoholic (“white wine only, please”) Shwartman gets himself into (second base with a sixteen year old, storming in on his ex on a date and subsequently getting knocked out, getting arrested trying to stop domestic violence) have reeled me in, hook, line and sinker. Bored To Death is officially on my TiVo.
And finally—oh finally, Entourage. The season finale brought out the best sterotypes in all our favorite characters--Ari Gold's antics have never been as offensive and attractive, I have never wanted to hug Turtle more, and E's spot as favorite nice guy is officially secure in my heart. A surprise ending leaves a lot to look forward to next season, which I will unfortunately be watching significantly more sober and less full from my post-grad apartment rather than my beloved Towers suite.
