Perhaps you’ve heard about a little show on Netflix called “House of Cards”?
Chances are, if you’re not already immersed and completely addicted to this, then you have a Facebook friend or two who mysteriously vanished over the past weekend. More than one of mine disappeared with a simple “#HouseOfCards! See you Monday!”
Sunday night, I finally hit play on my laptop.
And holy shit.
I didn’t need much convincing. “House of Cards” was on my list to watch because based on what I knew about it (admittedly, very little) this was my kind of show.
And what a show it is. I knew this was a political drama “with some serious sex,” as a few friends categorized it when I asked about the appropriateness of watching this with newly-minted 13-year-olds in the general vicinity of the television. (“Hell to the no!” was the most popular response and indeed, y’all were right about that and I thank you kindly.)
I’m six episodes into Season One and I. AM. HOOKED. Truth be told, I was sold from the first scene. This also means that I have watched about six hours of television this week, which is practically unheard of for me.
I just can’t get enough.
Not to mention that I am loving every single one of the Philly references in the first six episodes of the first season.
Speaking of love, it is nice to be in love with a show again, especially one that The Husband and I can both agree on and obsess over together. We’ve had a few over the years, most notably “The Sopranos,” “Six Feet Under,” “Big Love,” “Rescue Me,” “Mad Men,” and most recently, the all-too-short-lived and cancelled-too-damn-soon “Dallas.”
So yes, I am living in a house of cards this week.
Home sweet home.