It's another one of those long, long days when all i really wanted was a hug, but instead i had to turn to the burrito. I've spent the evening thus far watching the first season of That 70's Show, for which i refuse to apologize, and you can't make me. I won't even write about the '70s retro schtick in the context of the themes of global reconfiguration of sovereignty and production as forumlated by Negri and Hardt in Empire (the walmartization of the economy, the offshoring of production and the rise of affective labor, (Red's layoff, the scene at the TGIFriday's Style restaurant in which the salad bar becomes the site at which (post)modernization rears its ugly head, (some of these are themes which i attempted to address in my senior essay)--what valences might the 1970s have for the present moment of global restructuring, in which the series is written, produced, and consumed? -- And of course, the construction and deconstruction of the family are ultimately at the center of the show's narrative, though one could write a dissertation about Wilder Valderrama's character, nostalgia and "the new immigration," and the Latinization of stereotypes formerly coded as primarily African American. Although there's even more there than that, and i'm not sufficiently satisfied with the way i'm dealing with the sentence immediately preceeding this one, which strikes me as both overly simplistic and clearly "looks from above" in ways which miss things. Shit. I guess i just wrote about what I said i wasn't going to write about. And I'm still watching, and writing about, a pretty terrible TV show. And i'm sick of them scheduling fucking conference calls on a saturday.