My name is Karen and I’m an AMC Addict.  No, I’m not talking about movies from the 70s and 80s and advertising themed television shows with great vintage fashion and lots of cigarettes (although that could be another blog post once I get caught up on Mad Men).  I’m talking about the soon-to-be-off-the-air All My Children.  Never in my life did I ever think I would be hooked on a soap opera at the ripe old age of 44. 

It happened a few months ago.  I was browsing Hulu and saw that they had all the standard soaps available for on demand.  It not only proved to me once and for all that Hulu is just as good, if not better than that rip-off DishNetwork; it also peaked my interest in All My Children.  Since it was mid-May and all my other shows had ended for the season I decided to give the old soap a try.  I’d already heard it was going to be cancelled but I wasn’t sure when.  Besides, I figured I would be bored in a weeks time anyway. 

I booted up the most recent episode and was hooked by the first commercial break.  Not only that but I immediately felt some kind of weird kinship to the characters.  The show opened at the coffee shop/bar with Krystal and Tad right there.  Then came Bianca.  I shrieked her name out loud when I saw her.  “Is Bianca still a lesbian?” I asked no one in particular.  “Where’s Erica?”  (Causing Jerry to growl “Who are you talking to?” from the next room.)  I knew these people!  But how?  I had never watched the show before.  All My Children was such a part of our day to day culture that it was a household name even for people who didn’t watch the show. 

Erica Kane finally made her appearance looking a little too fabulous for her age.  I was fascinated by how preserved Susan Lucci appeared to be at what has to be age 65.  The poor woman must be half bionic and wax by now.  However it was the final scene of that first episode that sealed me to the show when it was revealed to me that the Erica Kane I had been seeing was actually an imposter and the real Erica was still kidnapped. 

After that I found myself watching every night.  It turned into a part of my day that needed to happen.  If I missed a day or two I began to get lonely to the characters.  I needed to see what was happening with the developing relationships of Kendall and Griffin and Kara and Tad.  I had to find out what fake Erica was doing to ruin real Erica’s life.  Suddenly the idea of living without these characters when the show ended in September concerned me.  I started to look around for another soap to watch but alas, General Hospital and Days of Our Lives can not take the place of All My Children. 

It was actually a good thing that I didn’t get attached to another soap anyway.  What little free time I had was now being dominated by All My Children.  I didn’t watch anything else.  I also wasn’t reading as much or keeping up with my blog.  All My Children was taking over my life so a few weeks ago I decided to wean myself off.  I still watch every episode but only on the weekends.  With only a week to go before the final episode and a bizarre storyline, including characters returning from the dead wearing chicken suits, reunions at Oakhaven Mental Hospital and Erica Kane walking over Susan Lucci’s star on Hollywood Boulevard, I think I’m now prepared to let the show go entirely. 

I know that All My Children has been licensed to Prospect Park which is planning to continue the show on the internet.  I may give it a try but I’m not optimistic.  I can’t see any of the major characters continuing with the show and don’t think I’d want to.  Besides, keeping up with a daily soap opera is hard work! 

A couple of years ago when the final Harry Potter book released, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I rushed out to get a copy (which I found at Fry’s Electronics oddly enough).  After three days of solid reading, including an all night bender to get through the final 300 pages I was thoroughly satisfied with the ending. For days I basked in the afterglow of destroyed horcruxes, wand lore and the truth, which I suspected all along, that Snape was not such a bad guy.  In the midst of all theses things I also had a revelation about the writing process.  It was something I never really took to heart even though people had been saying as much all along: writing means writing a lot.  

Based on what I’ve read about J.K. Rowling, she had all seven books plotted out before she started them.  The further you read into the Harry Potter books the more you realize how deep the story is.  Each side story and character is essential to the grand plot with all loose ends tied together securely in the end.  It took years of writing to bring everything all together and not just what we see in the books.  I like to think that J.K. Rowling has mountains of notebooks filled with stories and material we may never see, like the fully story of Neville’s parents, more on Dumbledore’s early years, details about spells and potions and maybe, if we really care but probably do not, what ever happened to the Dursleys. 

Rowling has launched a website, Pottermore, which is supposed to be a whole new way to experience the Harry Potter stories and it’s likely we may get a glimpse of the extra details she likely had to write in order to bring us the books.  Regardless the message to me is still the same: write and write and write some more and then pick out the cream to make butter. 

Case in point: I wrote a whole other blog post on a completely different book before I came up with this one.  It was when I realized I got that really good dairy reference I finally knew I had the right thing to say. 

(by Bunnybunns Cedar Jones CC BY-NC 2.0)

I’m struggling to come up with an appropriate adjective that will sufficiently describe the feeling I had today when I bit into a delicious piece of creamy smoked gouda.  For now suffice it to say that it was a very intimate moment with me and my cheese. 

Let’s address the elephant in the room shall we?  You may not know what I’m talking about but I do.  The thing I could definitely live without (but probably won’t) is alcohol.  I drink more than I should.  And I depend on it more than I should.  A quick review of my recent Twitter pictures says it all: