Please, ditch the Spokesmodel, I beg of thee. She looks like a deer and needs three jumpcuts to drone one phrase. "Plzzzzz.... pack.... your.... knivvvvvvves.... and GO." Gah.
Chef Tom, so much love. Gail... okay, love. This group of contestants, WOW. What a bunch of losers. I love them all desperately. Cheating, backstabbing, weeping, drinking to stupidity, "molecular gastronomy," getting spanked by the dude from TGI Fridays (ahahaha).... this is going to be a great season. I feel it.
Okay, yes, when they gave What's Her Face the special knives, I cried. A little. I just - NO. Don't ask me, because I have no idea.
Holy shit, when that girl's voice said, "Hello?" in the basement of the Stanley Hotel, I almost lost it. Grant and J, of course, just looked at each other with fierce glee. When she said, "Hello," again and laughed, and it sounded like she was right there but they were surrounded by dark and empty cramped rooms and nobody, and Grant said, "It's like she's trying to communicate with us," well! It does not get better than that.
And upstairs in Room 401, camera trained on the closet door overnight as J snored on, and the door swung open and thuds and bangs from inside and the glass on the bedside table cracked spontaneously, ting! And J rubbed his face and said into the camera, "Time check, guys, review this section, okay?" and climbed back into bed, wtf, I was dying. Then we saw the door swing shut on its own as he slept on, and I will never be that cool and collected on an investigation, never. Not with a monster in the closet.
And Paul Winfield just slurred something about a "heaping side of hell." City Confidential, I love you, too.
So, yes. I'm filled with equal parts squee, hmm, and flail over my sesa assignment. I think... is good. Sesa! Sesa! YAY.