Made in Richmond

I have a nice little routine for when I need to work on my parenting column for RVANews.

Each Sunday evening, I go down to the basement (or “retreat to my lair”, as we sometimes call it) and settle in to the couch for an evening of writing…and watching eleventy million episodes of Dawson’s Creek.

Usually it takes me three or four hours to crank out words that aren’t horrible, so I’m witness to perhaps an unhealthy dose of Capeside drama each and every week. And it’s made me realize something.

Dawson. You suck.

I mean, I knew this to a certain degree when I watched the show off and on during it’s original run–especially when you compared him to the force that is/was/will always be Pacey Whitter. But watching the show now, with more mature and experienced eyes, I now understand that Dawson’s not just a angsty teen. He’s also just a jerk.

A big, giant, cry baby jerk:

I really don’t have anything else to say about this, other than “PACEY RULES, DAWSON RULES.”

(This post was brought to you buy the year 1998 and an extreme lack of sleep.)