[We are delighted to welcome our newest writer, Shana Mlawski, to the blog. As new media moguls, we decided to abuse our awesome power to haze the new girl (mmm…girls…me rikey!) and, in so doing make her introduce herself to you. This post is the first part of the result. Oh, and the picture is not of her. –Ed.]

Hi. I’m new here.

In their wisdom, the founders of this weblog have set to hazing their new members with all manner of strange and intriguing questions so readers get to know us. To wit:

1. What’s the first album you ever bought for yourself? and how do you feel about that music today? (Do you still listen to it?)
2. What show did you mourn the most when it was cancelled, and what does it say about our society that it couldn’t find an audience?
3. What video game are you/were you the best at, and what was your greatest acheivement? Why are you more proud of this achievement than any other?
4. What movie will you always watch all the way through whenever it’s on TV, and why?
5. Under what circumstances did you first see “Akira”? Where, when, with whom, on what format? What does this tell us about you?

And a special bonus question on account of my va-jay-jay:

What are your thoughts on joining a blog that was, until you signed up, a sausage party?

Before I publish my first official post, then, I must endeavor to answer these questions for the Internet masses and my potential employers/Internet stalkers. Let’s start with question two.

[Extremely well-drawn and hie-larious comix post le jump. –Ed.]

Okay, I didn’t really mourn Ghostwriter. The show I mourned most, really, was Arrested Development. In fact, I went through the classic five stages of mourning with that show.

DENIAL: “No, it can’t be cancelled. In interviews, Michael Cera said they might bring it back for another season if they sell enough DVDs. Or at least a movie. For God’s sake at least a movie.”

ANGER: “Fox, this show is a fucking miracle and I want you to fucking acknowledge it!”

BARGAINING: “Hey, friends. I’ll hang out with you if you promise to buy the three Arrested Development DVD box sets and sign this petition I wrote!”

DEPRESSION: “Why is King of Queens still on the air? Why? Why?!”

ACCEPTANCE: “Well, at least I still have the Daily Show.”

But that’s not what this post is about. This post is about another canceled-too-soon show, the HBO series, Rome.

If you haven’t seen Rome yet, I highly recommend it as the best show ever produced for television, but with this proviso. It will ruin you for television, and it may ruin you for marriage.

Let me explain. Before Rome, I watched the crap we call television programming and enjoyed watching the same stories over and over. Husband and wife don’t get along or have trouble with their teenage kids. Character is greedy or jealous or selfish but learns a lesson by the end of the episode.

And the big one. The plot to end all plots. The Character A and Character B love each other but won’t get together until the last season because otherwise there will be no show plot.

In other words, the sexual tension plot.

Oh, it’s fun for a while. Will they or won’t they? Will they or won’t they? (Guess what: they won’t—until sweeps week.)

Until Rome. In Rome, this crap was laid to waste. Sexual tension lasted for—at most—an episode. Will they or wo—Oh crap they just did. As in the real world, the two people who wanted to jump each other’s bones didn’t beat around the bush, as it were. They plunged straight into the bush. (With their wangs.) Watching Rome, I saw playful sex, loving marital sex, sex with little boys, sex with little brothers, sex for money, sex for revenge, sadomasochistic sex, and—best of all—Ancient Egyptian sex. Because every time there was sexual tension, the show delivered. Instantly.

And then it was canceled. No more brilliant British scripts or brilliant British actors. And no more immediate television gratification.

So Rome ruined me for television. Every other show is a tease. Currently I’m watching Firefly, another died-too-young show, and I can’t take it that the captain and the ship prostitute have seething sexual tension but won’t go to bed with each other. And why won’t they? I mean, he has no reason not to have sex with her and, oh yeah!, SHE’S A FREAKING PROSTITUTE. But no. We have to leave the consummation of their mutual desire until the series finale in third season. Oh wait; there was no third season. Firefly got canceled after fifteen episodes. There was no sexy series finale. No sex. Just more unending frustrating as hell sexual tension. All the shows are like that, and I can no longer watch them.

So, for my sake, come back, Rome. I need you. I need you so, so bad.

Carpe diem,
Shanius Mlawskius