Californication AKA my inability to fixate on a "real" male

I'm behind on the "hip" TV shows. Weeds lost my attention this season (Nancy Botwin, you are a mess) and as much as I love Belle De Jour's blog (and Billie Piper's ass for that matter) I'm not interested in the second season. Last season of Dexter was too awesome and I refuse to watch it anymore since nothing else will make me go, "WHAT?! WHAAAAT!" more than the last season's final episode.

That being said, I've blown through the first season of the X-Files in my post-surgery "not allowed to do anything fun" fest. My nerdy mind has exploded. I decided to watch Duchovney's new show, Californication... little did I know some writer somewhere had loved Bukowski's "Women" (which reminds me, I lent out my copy of it... now to whom...) as much as I did. This writer presumably went out and consumed as much cheap wine/whiskey as humanly possible then wrote a whole series about it.

First off, the main character's name is Hank. Second, he's a sex addict. Third, he's in love with a woman whose the love of his life but he can never have back (due to their emotional fuck ups). He's a mysogonist, acerbic, sardonic, charismatic, drinks Jameson straight, and is going through a writing funk. My god.

Since my infuatation with Fox Mulder (it's easier to like people who aren't real, they never disapoint, make you cry, never not call, etc.) knows no bounds, I think it's perfectly rational to say that I'll be watching the rest of Season 1 tonight, while doing my internship reading.

It's easier for me to drown myself in fiction (science, non, anything) than to deal with the "what if's" of reality right now.