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.

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.)

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.

HBO: Entourage

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