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Dick Clark is dead. He is sorely missed.

My wife and I watched Mike Birbiglia’s movie Don’t Think Twice last night. 

Excellent film. Gillian Jacob’s performance was especially good. 

At 11:57, we switched over to network television to watch the ball drop. We watched as a female singer (later identified as Mel B) pretended to beg off Carson Daly’s pleas to perform. The two went back in forth in faux disagreement, and then with less than two minutes to go, she  threw off her large, fur coat, revealing a sparkly dress beneath and launched into “All That Jazz” as backup dancers conveniently appeared behind her and joined in. 

Even though Elysha and I joined the banter mid-stream, it was clear that it was a set up. We all knew that Mel B would be singing something. 

It was also the stuff of a middle school talent show. Truly.

About 30 seconds before midnight, Mel B informed us that she was so excited that she might pee. 

I stared at the screen and thought, “Someone was paid to write this bit. Millions of people are watching and listening this terrible dialogue.”

Then another thought: “This is why network TV is dying.”

It was especially depressing having just watched a film filled with excellent dialogue. 

Sadly, Elysha and I didn’t even get to see the ball drop. Either ABC doesn’t have the rights to air the ball as it descends or they screwed up their camera angles. Either way, we missed it. After the stroke of midnight, we quickly switched over to NBC, only to be greeted by a platform of shirt-tugging douchebags surrounding that guy from American Idol. 

Next year, I think we’ll just count down to midnight on our iPhones.