In Defense of Boys

...My Boys, that is.

(No, this isn't an April Fool's joke.)

Normally I'm the first person to dismiss these stupid basic-cable sitcoms. Hell, I'm usually the first person to dismiss all sitcoms. (Pipe down, HIMYM people.) But I love My Boys. There. I've said it. I feel like Starbuck and Apollo that night on New Caprica.

I won't say it's perfect. Last night's ep suffered from a few groan-worthy running gags (though personally I found the idea of a mustache contest to be both realistic and hilarious), and sometimes PJ's VO's fall flatter than any Gossip Girl punnery could.

And I will admit that half my love probably stems from the fact that the show is based in Chicago, my favoritest city in the entire universe. (Suck it, New York.) It's kind of like Chicago porn, really. You've got Cubs references, shots of the loop and the river (those Yankee Hotel Foxtrot buildings!), an Old Town setting. It's comforting.

The dialogue's not half bad, either. And it's refreshing to see a sort-of tomboy who can actually adapt and function in adult society. So often we only see girls who are too much like "one of the boys," and they never get any guys and are relegated to perpetual friend status. And they only ever wear dude-like clothes. Here, PJ has a girl bestie, dresses up occasionally and goes on dates, drinks and plays poker with her boys, and balances it all with grace and charm.

Basically, it gives all of us non-Conde-Nast-like women hope. Except instead of sports, I'm into LotR. It's...almost the same? Sort of?