Well, the television season pretty much wraps up this week and I have to say that it couldn’t end soon enough for me.

I used to watch more tv than I do now. I’m not sure whether that’s because I have more of a life now than I did when I lived in Connecticut, I am pickier about what I watch now, or because this season’s crop didn’t live up to past viewing season.

The highlights of the season:

The only new show to get added to the roster was FOX’s House, a medical drama featuring an arrogant, crabby doctor of last resort who, with his crack crew of residents, comes up with miraculous diagnoses for rare diseases. It’s a lot like a cop show, except the illness is the criminal you’re searching out. The show is well written, the cast (including Hugh Laurie of Jeeves & Wooster fame, Omar Epps, and Robert Sean Leonard from Dead Poets Society; Sela Ward played a recurring role in the final two episodes of the season and seems likely to return next year) is excellent, and there’s usually a happy ending. I can’t ask for more in my dramas. Thanks to Gramma for the recommendation on this one.

The West Wing made a turn back from the dark side this season. When it started, it was excellent — so excellent that I was certain it would be cancelled because it was above the average viewer. But they surprised me and it’s hung around for quite a long time now. I do have to say that I’m ready for next season to be the final one. There have been some weak plot lines and some character changes I didn’t agree with. (For instance, what in the world happend to the idealistic Will? Who would have believed he’d sell out to the VP, especially if you saw the episodes he appeared in early on?) While generally I believe this season was better than last (especially with the addition of Jimmy Smits, Alan Alda, and Patricia Richardson to the cast) and while I enjoyed reliving some of the better moments of life in a campaign, I’m ready for the Bartletts to head back to New Hampshire, for Zoey and Charlie to feature in a storyline that doesn’t end in disaster, and for Donna and Josh to finally end up together. Apparently network execs agree, because they’ve moved the show to 8 p.m. on Sunday next fall — a switch likely to lose them viewers. May they be like Friends and go out on a truly high note.

Joan of Arcadia has lost its bid to stay on tv, just as the show was gearing up for Joan to have to face the Devil next season. I liked Joan and her family and I particularly liked how Joan was a reluctant vehicle for god’s good works. Most people who know me find it hard to believe that I follow a faith-based show on a regular basis. But I liked the fact that the writers generally believed that god with a lower case “g” could be a universal theme — embodied in any number of bodies — as opposed to God with an upper case “G,” which could have divided people along religious lines. Ultimately Joan wasn’t a religious show, so much as one in which the characters struggle to live moral lives — sometimes without fully understanding the choices they’re presented with.

Everwood limped into the season on the back of a poor plot decision by the writers and never made a great recovery. I like many of the characters in the show, but I just don’t see it making the weekly cut next season. I think with Rose’s illness at the end of this season, it completely jumped the shark. Too bad.

Finally, I will admit to watching one reality tv show: Extreme Makeover Home Edition: How’d They Do That? I’m not quite sure how we got sucked into that one, but I like the fact that they help needy families get a leg up. I once had a conversation with a homeless man who was working at a farmer’s market and at a nightclub in San Francisco. He said, “I don’t want a hand out; I just want a hand up.” And I think that’s generally what this show strives for: a way to give a hand up to people who are too busy helping others to help themselves or to those who’ve been knocked flat on their backs. Yes, they only help a few families. And, yes, they provide a ridiculously opulent lifestyle for those families they do choose. But they do seem to go in with good intentions every week. And it’s nice to see there’s good in the world, even if it is done for ratings. Survivor goes for ratings, too, and I challenge anyone to find the good in people in that show.

Hopefully next season will bring me some good comedies. This season, sadly, the best I’ve found is Stacked, which isn’t saying much. It’s not nearly as bad as I suspected it would be, but that’s not saying it’s good. I’d like something good please, network execs. Please see what you can do, okay?

Congratulations to Frankie, the oldest of the “little” cousins on my dad’s side of the family, who graduated yesterday from Central Connecticut State University.

I see Dad’s side of the family maybe only once a year, so it was nice of Frankie to graduate and to give us a reason to come together once more.

Kudos, Frankie, and good luck with the job search. (And if anyone knows of an entry-level job out there for a freshly minted computer science degree, let me know.)

I won’t go into details about Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith because nothing annoys me more than spoilers before I’ve seen a movie, but I will note that I was disappointed. Perhaps I wanted to believe the hype too much. I mean, the illustrious New York Times did say it was the second-best of the six.

But I didn’t feel the film lived up to its destiny. It was too long in the insignificant battle scenes, too rushed in crucial life-altering scenes. It relied too heavily on special effects, mostly because no one in the movie could act adequately (Jimmy Smits seemed to be the sole exception to this problem, giving me some hope for The West Wing next year). The Jedi were weak and foolish and surprisingly responsible for the downfall of the Republic.

Even Yoda disappointed me tonight.

Where was the Han Solo-type character, a cowboy whose temperament is smoldering and overwhelming and wrong (but necessary)?

I wanted to see some passion in an epic battle of good versus evil, but the only sparks that flew were from the Emperor’s fingers. Yes, yes, everything we knew had to happen did. It’s just sad that we cared so little as it occurred.

Turns out the Jedi were wrong. You have to find a way to temper the knowledge of what’s right and wrong with some passion for a life that’s worth living. Otherwise everyone loses.

I’m feeling remarkably productive this morning (an oxymoronic statement for me, really). It’s not even 7:30 and I’ve got a loaf of bread on (to take to NYC as a gift), have had some tea, and feel relatively confident we could actually be out the door in an hour.

Now if I could translate this a.m. productivity to a more daily schedule, I’d be all set.

Of course, I don’t normally have the allure of an hour’s nap mid-morning to get me through the dull ache of actually being awake at this hour, either, do I?

Today is Rudi’s birthday.

I could go on and on about what a wonderul guy he is — how he cooks a delicious dinner almost every night and actually seems to enjoy it, how his enjoyment for bicycling is contagious, how I admire his ability to sit through long, boring meetings, how cute he looks in the morning on the rare occasion I rise before he does and he and the cats stay asleep curled up together, how his tongue sticks out just a tiny bit when he’s concentrating on writing something, how he knits his brow when he sings and plays the guitar, how he let a friend come live with us for a month in the Burrow because she needed a place to stay and never complained.

I could go on. But I won’t. That might induce sugar shock for the rest of you. He knows I love him dearly. And now you do, too.

We are celebrating by having a birthday picnic with some friends this evening at Malcolm X Park. Tomorrow we jet off to NYC for a 24-hour celebration marathon. Thursday, Rudi has managed to convince George Lucas to put on a little show for us at the Uptown.

Head on over to Rudi’s website and wish him a happy birthday. He is old today (he has nine whole months on me so I can say that with a straight face), but his gray streaks suit him.

Happy birthday, Rudi!

When we moved into The Burrow (a one-ish bedroom apartment) from Connecticut (where we lived in a spacious apartment that took up the entire second floor of a large house plus a small portion of the first floor), we were aghast at how little space we had. The Burrow was really only the size of our living room and kitchen combined of the old place. How would we decide what should come with us and what should stay behind in my parents’ basement?

But decide we did.

And then each time we went up to Connecticut we found a few more things we thought we could fit in — a coat rack, the butcher’s block, the bike rack. And new things seemed to find us down here, too — a mail sorting shelf we house cds in, a comfy chair from my folks’ apartment, a bike for me, the breadmaker.

The only problem with this is that we never actually went about organizing the space in the Burrow. So now it actually resembles a burrow, with stuff all around us.

Friends will tell you that our Connecticut apartment also suffered from the clutter problem. But the difference is that there we had room for clutter. There was no impetus for us to get rid of things — we just reallocated it around the apartment. But here, there is no extra room. The closets are full. The shelves are full. The floor is … ummm… do we still have a floor in here?

But luckily someone else must have had this problem before us because there exists a ritual for people just like us: spring cleaning. We dread it — much like taxes — but once it’s done, we’ll be glad we started.

So the only option left is to start the spring cleaning process and hope that it gets easier as we go along — that we find that we’re getting back a little something in the end, that even if we don’t manage to get rid of any stuff that we can at least get rid of some of the piles of paper that seem to accumulate around us. Because we may have reached the point where the Burrow can expand no more. And it would be nice to find a little breathing room. I know it’s in here someplace … probably under a pile of papers.