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I’ve recently become an Entourage fan. I fork over the big bucks for digital cable, and a few weeks ago, after I’d exhausted all of the Sopranos and Real Time with Bill Maher back episodes, I delved into season one of HBO’s male version of Sex and the City. I was hooked after the pilot, watched the rest of the season in one weekend, and have been watching season two with an enthusiasm I’m a little embarrassed about.<\/p>\n
If you’re not familiar, the show centers on four friends from Queens, one of whom is an up-and-coming actor, living it up in Los Angeles. It’s the ultimate boy fantasy: girls, parties, VIP seating in the hot bars, huge houses, and fast cars. So why do I like it? I’m not a boy. I have never had any fantasies about living it up in LA. Every time I watch it, I’m further convinced that the city of Angels is, in fact, the last place I’d ever want to call home. And would I ever entertain the idea of hanging out with any of the characters from the show: in a word, HELL NO. (That’s two words, I know.)<\/p>\n
But I’m still addicted. I missed the most recent episode when it aired last Sunday. The beauty of HBO though is that they replay all their shows a million times, so I got to see it last night. I don’t want to ruin anything for you if you haven’t been paying attention, so I won’t reveal the plot twist that kept me up half the night worrying about Vince and the boys. Suffice it to say the most infamous entourage boy figures prominently. Fucking Leo.<\/p>\n