Ronna BenjaminEditor’s Note: A few days ago, I watched a bizarre trailer for Season 3 of House of Cards, one of my favorite Netflix shows, which is coming out on February 27 (check it out below if you haven’t seen it- perhaps before reading this post.) I couldn’t help but think that many of us in the Boston area are now living in our own House of Cards….at least I am….
In their House of Cards, there is a cigar burning in an ashtray in a dark room, portending something ominous. It’s a room in the White House. The tables are the finest mahogany, the light fixtures the finest crystal. There are whispers. There are high heels on the carpet with red soles. Are they Louboutins? What do they mean?
In my House of Cards, there is the slow drip, drip, drip, of water from a light fixture recently taken down from the ceiling; a ping with each drip into the bucket, portending something ominous. It’s a room in a house that used to be white. Now, there’s a wall that looks like someone threw coffee at it, the ceilings are dotted with dark spots that threaten to explode with the next thaw. The snow piled up on the windows blocks even the slightest hint of sun through the clouds. There are soft cries. There are flat healed waterproof boots sitting in a puddle of brown melted snow in the corner. Are they Uggs? What do they mean?
TV: In their House of Cards, the first lady is icy calm, cool and collected. She is totally in charge. She is planning, plotting. She has it figured out before anyone else even knows there’s a problem. Hunt or be hunted. Get it done. Make it happen.
In my House of Cards, the first lady is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She’s on the phone with a crazed roofer who has promised to come for three days in a row, but has not. She’s begging, bringing up her dead mother for sympathy. It doesn’t help. She is the helpless victim of angry weather and overwhelmed contractors. Drip, drip, drip.
In their House of Cards, the first lady is wearing a chic, tailored black dress. Her teeth shine white, her eyes are bright, and her nails red with a recent manicure. Her makeup is flawless. Her cropped, streaked-blond hair styled to perfection.
In my House of Cards, the first lady’s gray roots are showing through her streaks – her last two appointments have been cancelled due to snow storms and there is no where to park anyway. Her teeth are stained from the coffee she’s been drinking. She is wearing old sweats, two sweaters, and she carries around the afghan her grandmother crocheted around her shoulders because It never seems to get warm enough in this House of Cards. And makeup? Are you kidding?
In their House of Cards, the first lady is eating…nothing. She has her figure to maintain, other things to do, places to go, people to screw.
In my House of Cards, the first lady hasn’t been doing much other than eating. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do but eat and work. The first lady ate a bag of Ginger snaps loaded with peanut butter for lunch, with a mug of hot chocolate to wash it down. She is about to attack the quart of ice cream in the freezer for dessert. She is eyeing the chocolate sauce.
In their House of Cards, there is a crystal glass on the kitchen counter, its caramel colored water the remnants of last night’s scotch.
In my House of Cards….Well, yeah… there’s a crystal glass on the kitchen counter, caramel colored with the remnants of last nights scotch. I suppose we do have that much in common.
No matter where you live, you are probably very much looking forward to the escape of bingeing on the new season of House of Cards. But if you live in New England, the escape will be all that much sweeter. Here is my hope that those of us in Boston will no longer live in their Houses of Cards well before the trailer for Season 4 is available.
There was a less weird trailer released during the Oscars, but this is the trailer I was watching…