I think it’s time to ejaculate some positivity into this here blog. I’m far too negative. I have love to give. And you’re going to take my love whether you like it or not. Earlier, I wrote of things that are quite plainly overrated, and now, it’s time to reverse course. Siddown. Have some chai. Let me massage your feet.

Let’s talk about things that are surprisingly not overrated. They probably should be. I mean, these things have achieved oversaturation — they’re highly lauded or loved by many, and often, “loved by many” translates into “lowest common denominator.” Not these, boy. Not for me.

Of course, feel free to disagree in the comments, or add your own.

Caveat: disagreeing will earn you panther bites. Meaning, I will sic a panther on you. It’s a white panther, on which rides a lovely pop goddess.

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Okay, cross-promo over. Moving on to — the list.

NCIS

I wanted to hate NCIS. I really did. I have little interest in the military. I have little love for raw procedurals on TV. Ratings-wise, NCIS is a fackin’ juggernaut, guffawing and tumbling forth like the boulder that almost crushed Indiana Jones — and, of course, Big Ratings on CBS often means Shitty Show (ahem, Two and a Half Men, Big Bang Theory, I’m lookin’ at you). Not so with NCIS. The characters are just tasty enough. The plots are sordid and violent. The special effects are awesomely grisly (holy crap bear attack). The writing is funny, sharp, not in love with itself. Plus! C’mon. Mark Harmon as Jethro? C’moooon. If you don’t dig the Harmon, go back, revisit Summer School, and see if you still hold that opinion. Oh, and… well. Abby. Pauley Perrette. Raspy voice. Giggly goth. Scientist. (Also: proof that the ladies can look better with age, her being 40 and all.) Even the seemingly overplayed joke on the show where nobody knows what “NCIS” is or stands for gets me every time. What can I say? I’m a sucker for this.

At one point, Will “The Distant Hindmarches” Hindmarch asked upon this very blog, “What show would you want to write, you stupid bastard?”

I dunno why he’s always so angry, calling me “bastard.” Not that he’s wrong. Anyway.

NCIS is my answer. Much as I think the procedural thing works for the show, I’d love to take a season, or a 13-episode arc, and just blow the show wide open. One major case with some minor threads woven throughout. Better still, I’d dig real deep into what makes the characters awesome. The show constantly flirts with their backstories without ever getting deep. I’d change that.

Of course, I’d probably ruin the show in the process.

The iPhone

The most hyped cell phone in history? Yes. Emblem of the Cult of Mac? Sure. Some people think that the iPhone is better than Jesus, sliced bread, pizza, clean water, the Polio vaccine, gravity, and sex with acrobats. That’s totally because it is. I’ll admit it. I’m a whore for the iPhone. I am rubbing mine on my thighs right now. Circular motions, nice and slow. Mmmmm. If I had a webcam, I’d show you. Why do I love my iPhone? Let me count the ways. My productivity has skyrocketed since getting hold of this puppy. No, really. Emails, mind maps, notes when I have them and need them (as opposed to forgetting them when I get home), social media, voice-activated Google search from anywhere, maps, everything ever oh my God the angels did sing.

Mmm-hmm, I know. The iPhone has its problems. And it does. It has a shitty battery life, but so does my laptop, and so did my last phone. In fact, any problem I have with the phone were problems experienced — often in greater frequency — with previous phones. And, those previous phones sucked. They were basically little bricks. I’ve heard that the iPhone is a crappy phone (but a great computer), and to that, I say, Fie! Nay! Poo! Boo! Once more, my iPhone is a better phone than my Blackjack II was.

Of course, the sucktacular part is that AT&T charges me approximately One Human Infant a month to keep this puppy running. But, it’s worth it. I don’t even notice their crying anymore as I hand them over to the demonic tendrils that appear out of my heating ducts to claim their prize. Plus, human infants are totally tax deductible. Score.

Twitter

Fuck you, I love Twitter. Shut up. … Wait, I’m supposed to be positive and upbeat. Uhh. Hey, guy! Cool! Twitter! High-five! You look really good today! Nice corduroy! Eeee!

There. Good enough.

So, why do I love Twitter? Why do I think it’s not just a fad?

Twitter, for me, is Human Google. Google is great, sure. I love me some Google. I can tell Google, “Give me a recipe involving yak blood, red onions, beef stock and umeboshi,” and wham, 30,000 recipes. But those recipes have little context. They’re just links in a list. Ahh! But along comes Twitter. I say to Twitter, “Hey, tweeps, I need a cookie dough recipe involving puffer fish toxin, rhino horn, yams, and the screams of the unjust,” and I get maybe one, maybe three responses. But those are responses with context, responses from people I trust. I can ask questions. “Where do you procure your screams of the unjust? Oh, Trader Joe’s? Sweet!” It’s a dialogue.

Better still, it’s a goddamn hive mind. I’m tapping into the colony’s brainthink. I’m crowdsourcing my sanity and my soul, and that’s fandiddlytastic.

Of course, it’s also a fantastic waste of time, but it wastes my time in tiny bites. You read ten tweets, and you’re done. Get back to work. It can be a diversion, but it’s merely crumbs of diversion. Plus, while the whole 140-characters thing is seemingly a step backwards and needlessly restrictive, I love it. Brevity is the soul of wit and all that. Tweet are like a game of poetry.

Shit, you could probably write some cool poetry that way, actually. And by “cool,” I mean, “hilariously terrible.”

Let’s try. Five random tweets.

the blue cars matched the owners 993 cab (@melvinferrer)

School then work from 12 to 3 then an hour break then working (@devon_michelle)

Back in the office, but this time it’s a lot closer to home (@dcipjr)

Why is the last hour of sleep always so restless? (@francesemily)

Ain’t no rain gonna dampen my mood. Ain’t no cloud gonna dark my day. (@brainwise)

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Okay, that poem sucked. Moving on.

Modern Warfare 2: Call of Duty

(Heh. Call of Doody.)

(Don’t you judge me.)

I’ll admit: games have been disappointing me lately. Brutal Legend was awesome at the start, and then was a series of diminishing returns. Dragon Age is slow at the start, and offers combat so unorganized I might as well upend a box of starving rats on the floor and see where they run. Beatles Rock Band painted my soul gray. (Though, Batman: Arkham Asylum ruled.) And now? Boom! Modern Warfare 2, baby. What a goddamn action movie this game is. I loves it. I’m geeked. Snowmobiles! Explosions! Humvee rides! Terrorist attack where I’m one of the… terrorists? Wait, what? (In case you didn’t know, the game offers a rather disturbing controversial level in an airport where you accompany terrorists as they gun down hapless innocents. The innocents scream and try to help each other. They drag one another to safety. They get murdered in crowds. It’s actually kind of horrible, but I get it, and it’s a powerful level.) The game really shouldn’t be this good. That much hype, I was bound to be disappointed. I’m not. Now, okay, I’ve only played it for a day, but it’s hot. It’s crispy hot. It’s Pauley Perrette hot. If you got the game, remember — my GamerTag is weaver42.

Pixar

Pixar should’ve dicked something up by now. They keep releasing movie after movie, and somewhere along the way they should’ve had a grand misfire. Maybe not a bad movie, but a really… ehhh, broken one. Not yet. Oh, they’ve done some A-minus work, maybe (Ratatouille, Bug’s Life), but compare it to just about anything else, and it’s goddamn golden. Somehow, they keep knocking them out of the park. They’re not just great kids movies, or great cartoons, they’re really great films. Every summer, I seem to have a new favorite.

Up is so good, so good — I didn’t think anything would beat Wall-E, and then along comes Carl Fredrickson and Dug and Russell and… man. So good. And the Incredibles! And Monsters, Inc.! I thought I’d hate Cars. I didn’t! It was great! Screw you, Pixar! You’re too good for this broken world.

Just when you think it’s not possible, they surprise you. I expect to hear, “In June of 2014, Pixar brings you a tale of magic and mystery — it’s Flipperboy, the wondrous story of a hilarious little miscarriage that survived! Join him and his buddies Abortion Eddie and Obi-Gyn Kenobi as they learn important lessons about life,” and then I’ll be all like, “Hah! Ah-ha! Pixar, you finally fucked one up, that sounds horrible! You’re screwed, blued, and tattooed!”

Except, it’ll be awesome. The first fifteen minutes will make me cry. The last fifteen minutes will have me cheering in my seat. It’ll be in 3D.

I’ll buy the Blu-Ray, even though I don’t have Blu-Ray.