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Younger Redux
Season 5 of Younger, a rich source of “Screen Time” material, managed to slip through the cracks for me last year, but I was finally able to stream the show. It did not disappoint.
Watching it from Portland, though, I worried (just a bit) about how at some point I will no longer recognize NYC venues or have first-hand experience with au courant references.
Bar Pleiades Liza: No weird hipster places where you have to walk through a fake barbershop to get to the bar.
Kelsey: Don’t worry, we’’ll go to one of your places.
Checking out the millennials 
Lauren: Oh my god. I’m sorry, is this an assisted living facility? What are we doing here?!
Kelsey and Lauren leave and get a car to The Cock while Liza decides to go back into the bar. She sits next to the ogler.
Guy: I saw you and your friends making fun of me. I used to make fun of guys my age.
Liza: I’m 41.
The truth is freeing.
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I Can’t Figure Out How to Watch Younger…
…is it because I’m Older?
It took ¾ of the year to finally cut the cord I said I would in January. It’s great. I’m in control. It’s possibly shifted something in my brain. I’ve cobbled together Netflix (ex’s login), Hulu (friend’s login) and paid Sling TV and HBO Now, and it covers 90% of my needs.
However, I don’t appear to have access to TV Land, home of the best 40-year-old (Liza must be 41 by now?) posing as 26 farce. And this will not do.
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Screen Time: Younger
There is a new TV show on Nickelodeon (or is that nick@nite, asks the grandma?) called Younger, based on the premise that a 40-year-old New Jersey woman recently left by her husband for a younger woman natch (kids say that, right?) can pass as 26 to get a job in publishing.
Nine minutes in, and it’s already surpassed all expectations.
Liza meets her bestie, a lesbian played by Debi Mazar, at Matchless and peak Brooklyn humor ensues: “Excuse me, I moved to Brooklyn because I couldn’t afford Manhattan. And now thanks to all these bearded cheesemongers and chicks that look like Macaulay Culkin, I can’t afford Brooklyn.”
A tattoo artist, Josh, who looks straight up 1999, orders shots of bourbon–skinny margaritas be gone!–and cracks a Lena Dunham joke before putting his number in her phone.
Liza gets made fun of for saying tattoo “parlor,” which Josh calls a lounge and reinforces his 1999-ness and conflicts with the olde-timey Brooklyn shtick being made fun of minutes early. Liza does not know who Lena Dunham is (there’s a Matchless connection). She also thinks Mumbai is still called Bombay, has an AOL email address, and no idea what Pinterest, Twitter, Instagram, Tinder, or any social media are.
I’m not sure if I can handle the remaining 51 minutes.
