When I was a kid, I got really excited about getting a My Pet Monster.

My Pet Monster was this big purple creature that you could buy at your local toy store. He had protruding snaggleteeth, demonic-looking eyes, horns and purple fur. The clincher, though, was that he came with his own shackles that you could put on yourself. And, since the shackles were pre-broken and could be easily torn apart, you could make a big show out of breaking free of your constraints with your My Pet Monster and wreaking havoc on the neighborhood, presumably sullying old ladies’ flower beds and dousing rope-skipping girls with a garden hose. The commercials made all of these activities seem like the logical extension of owning a My Pet Monster.

When I finally attained said creature, though, few of these shennanigans actually came to be. There’s something less satisfying about playing in your family’s basement, breaking free of these pretend shackles with no one around to fear you.

This was one of my early experiences with disappointment — to be followed in later years by my abysmal job hunting experience in Boston, my trip to Fairbanks, Alaska, and my inability to fly (despite wishing for it as I blew out my birthday candles until the age of seven or eight).

On that note, this trailer for the Parker Posey/Lauren Ambrose sitcom The Return of Jezebel James shouldn’t be too devastating. I mean, our attitude all along has been “cautiously optimistic,” right?

[kml_flashembed movie="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fw3Xvw6lTAY" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]

Maybe it can get better? That cartwheel thing was kind of funny… ish…

I really have no idea why Barefoot Contessa is as compelling as it is.

Ina Garten’s personality isn’t as dynamic as, say, Bobby Flay’s, and she doesn’t have the smoldering hotness of Giada (or Nigella — to appease her seemingly rabid fanbase) to enhance the entertainment value.

Sporting a brown bob and large collection of multi-hued, blousy collared shirts, Garten has the patient, staid demeanor of veteran elementary school reading teacher. Her personality can sort of be defined thusly: she’s kind of like your long-married, but childless aunt who, when you visited as a child, forbade you from touching anything in her intricately decorated porcelain house. During dinner, she’d talk about politics with your parents while you squirmed in your seat and played with the mashed potatoes on your Wedgewood plate. But then, when you least expected it, she’d give you access hidden cache of cookies that was meant to be a secret between you and her. So, even though you were bored off your ass as a seven-year-old, you’ve forged an honest respect for the dame. Later, when you’ve grown up, you realize what a kick-ass cook she always was and you didn’t appreciate it as a kid because you were dumb and would rather have had a bowl of half Cinnamon Toast Crunch and half Lucky Charms with a coke to drink. Furthermore, lame Aunt Ina was actually a pretty badass outspoken liberal and way ahead of her time.

So, yeah, her appeal is complicated.

Ina’s creations are probably best described as new American comfort food. She doesn’t really do anything revolutionary — just putting her own Ina spin on time-tested favorites. She is a stronger baker than most chefs, and always has an elaborate dessert with every meal.

Ina prepares everything in her kitchen in the East Hamptons, where most residents spend their days — presumably — boating, playing badminton and throwing away their one and five dollar bills because those small ones are just annoying. She often refers to her absentee husband Jeffrey, who is a Yale professor, as if he were Maris on Frasier (“Jeffrey loves my almond biscotti.” “Jeffrey would always rather have sweet potatoes than regular potatoes.”). And then, once in a while, he’ll actually show up and you’re kind of surprised he’s actually a person.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t cover a vital part of her show — which is her seemingly never-ending supply of aged, colorful sweater-wearing gays. Her gays, who are obviously all wealthy entrepreneurs, supply her with freshly cut flowers, and carry coolers for her when they have picnics. These are all her real life friends, so it adds an extra, lovely dimension to her that she’s a connoisseur of the homosexuals.

It’s much more satisfying to write with them…

• Mandy Patinkin will be in one scene of Criminal Minds next season (which hopefully someone here watches, because why I am I even reporting this?) to tie up the loose ends. And apparently all his other cast members think he’s a bastard.
• Another Star Trek alum will have a role on next season’s Heroes.
• Desperate Housewives has cast its gay neighbors, who are, weirdly, named after Bob Woodruff and his wife.
• Kristen Bell breaks our hearts a little more, saying that there likely won’t be a Veronica Mars movie.
• D.L. Hughley post-mortems Studio 60 for the AV Club.
• Time weighs the possibility of a Deadwood movie.
• Richard Branson and Stephen Colbert got into it.