Spoiler alert: I’m going to talk about the show, Weeds, produced by Showtime (or possibly Satan). And I’m not going to try to hide any details, so if you have your Tevo or DVR or Netflix queue or whatever all stocked up with the first two seasons of Weeds, a) you should stop reading this and b) you should also not watch any of those shows. Why? Because of…

Weeds Induced Depression!! (run for your lives!)

Don't let the smiles and flowers fool you…this show is sadsville. Image via wikipedia.

This show is DEE-pressing. I should know, because I watched exactly twelve episodes in rapid succession before I decided OH MY GOD IT’S LIKE BATTERY ACID FOR THE SOUL. (Side note: I just discovered that IMDb calls it a comedy! What?! Have they lost their minds?! Anyway…)

Here’s the rundown:

Weeds is a show about a suburban mom who, after her husband suddenly dies, decides that the best way to maintain the standard of living that she and her two teenage sons are used to is to start selling weed. It stars Mary Louise Parker, and I think she’s the one that tricked me in to watching so many freaking episodes even while my heart was bending into a permanent frowney face shape. But Ms. Parker is just so danged adorable and I couldn’t stop looking at her face. Even when she’s being terrible I kinda like her. But that’s the problem with Weeds: everyone is terrible all the time.

I mean, sure, there’s the drug dealers. But you kinda expect them to be terrible because they have to lie and cheat and threaten people with death to make a living, so they lost their nice-people skills a while back. But does everyone in the entire freaking town need to have ash and oily resin where their hearts used to be? Apparently the writers of this dreadful thing think the answer is yes. For your review, here is a partial list of the characters who are a-holes:

• Nancy Botwin (Mary Louise Parker), mother and drug dealer—the protagonist.
• Doug Wilson, the city councilman
• Celia, local mother, president of the PTA and future councilwoman
• Andy Botwin, the brother-in-law/uncle
• Peter Scottson, a DEA agent
• Yael Hoffman, the director of the local rabbinical school
• Silas Botwin, Nancy’s oldest child
• Shane Botwin, Nancy’s youngest son
• Isabelle Hodes, Celia’s daughter

Just look at that list! Town council members; mothers; law enforcement officials; the director of a religious school; the PROTAGONIST; and, last but not least, children. Yes, the children are a-holes. They’re just terrible, awful little buggers that make me fear for the future of the world. To watch this show is to expose yourself to continual and unrelenting disappointment in the portrayal of humans. Every character on the show, no matter how innocuous or even benevolent he/she may seem, is a secret agent of scary, sad things. This is what snuck up on me, eventually dragging me into the dreaded Weeds induced depression.

It took me a while to recognize what was happening. I’d watch, you know, three episodes in a row, then go for a walk. I just felt kinda bummed out, but that happens from time to time no matter who you are, so I didn’t think much of it. Then I started looking at people like, “I wonder what terrible thing they did before they got here.” Or I’d think, “That guy’s probably cheating on his wife or murdering baby seals or eating puppies for dinner or something.” A lingering disappointment and doubt had begun to hover around me like the dust pile around Pig-Pen. I mean, if children, mothers and nice Jewish ladies are actually dark black holes where goodness can’t survive, what hope do we have as a society? None. That’s how much.

Shortly after the DEA agent that was dating the drug dealer got murdered in the driveway by an Armenian gang after said DEA agent found out the drug dealer wasn’t in love with her, I realized that I was tailoring my hope for the future of the world based on a horrible television show (albeit one starring a very adorable woman) and somehow that didn’t seem prudent. So I decided to not watch that show anymore. Yep, that sounds like a better option.

Once again, the new year approaches. It’s tempting to try to come up with some life-changing resolution that will make me feel like a super human (like a mix of Michelle Obama, Ray Kurzweil and Nataly Dawn), but I think I’ll do something reasonable. I shall resolve not to watch any shows that make me think  the nice lady buying milk in front of me in the store is probably also selling meth. It’s a good start.