She's Come Undone.

If any of you have clicked on the link to the left for my sister-in-law's blog, and read for even five minutes any of her entries, you'd know that she is hysterically funny, and also that she is a bit of an entertainment junkie. She subscribes to all of the movie rags, she is an Al Pacino Devotee of the highest order, which includes the Godfather as being her all-time favorite movie(s), and she was with me when I jumped on stage with George Michael (right behind me really, about to take her turn until a beefy security guard caught on to what was going on). She loves anything to do with the entertainment world, and in fact, produced a short film that was featured at DeNiro's TriBeca film festival. If being in the know about any and all entertainment trivia makes a person deserving of street cred, Ruth's got it.

Or did, until yesterday.

If you've been reading my blog since way back in...let's see, how long has it been now? I forget. Oh, I know. June. If you've been reading my blog since June, you would know that I am a huge fan of Six Feet Under, and have been more than a little distraught that the last episode ever was on Sunday night. I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing that even if you didn't read my blog, you might have read some bona fide news organization's article about the fact that it was going off the air. And if you don't read the paper much, you might have caught an episode of Access Hollywood that mentioned the show was ending. And, if you don't read the papers or watch tv, you might have overheard a conversation at the grocery, as I did, between two cashiers indicating that they were bummed out that Six Feet Under was going off the air, because how cool was it that there was a show about funeral homes. Dude.

Not to mention the fact that in Ruth and my most recent 78 hours of phone conversation, I may have devoted a total of 3 1/2 hours to talking about Six Feet Under going off the air. (I never said I was interesting to talk to, but I will keep you on the phone for two hours. When Ruth and I talk? Let's just say SBC may call us to ask that we not use up all the phone juice for the Eastern Seaboard.)

In other words, it was public knowledge. It's not like HBO was keeping it a big secret or anything, sharing it only with me as they're prone to doing when they make programming decisions. Except for Sex and the City. They did not ask me about keeping that show on the air. Clearly.

So she calls me yesterday after getting back from her week-long vacation in some southern state where they obviously have no media (although I bet somewhere in Appalachia there was a toothless plaid-shirted guy watching the series finale, wiping tears from his eyes, "Dang how ah did luve that Nate fella!") and says, "Sooooo, yeah. I watched Six Feet Under the other night. Was that the last episode ever, because I don't see how they're going to continue the show next year once we know how everyone's going to die."

This is me being speechless. :-0

Maybe it was too hot down there in South Carolina and it fried the right part of her brain. Or maybe one of her sons pilfered a few Entertainment Weeklies over the summer to wipe up beer instead of using her good towels. There must be some reason for it, because for Ruth to not know some piece of entertainment news might just be one of the signs of the Apocolypse.

I might have to get the peanut butter and hide in the basement.