In more prosperous times, we watched Antiques Roadshow. We sighed an involuntary “awwww” as a dear, sweet old woman from Peoria with pink cheeks and hair like a fluffy white cloud of cotton candy, showed off the sturdy wooden chair that had been in her family for generations with pride and satisfaction like a well-fed grandchild freshly stuffed with warm blueberry pie and vanilla ice cream. Our hearts went pitter pat as we saw not one but BOTH Keno twins standing tall and erect in their matching black suits gleefully eyeballing the chair, barely able to contain their enthusiasm like a pair of gay cartoon crows at the gym in West Hollywood or inappropriately chipper undertakers with a super-fun celebrity corpse (like that contestant from RuPaul’s Drag Race who just dropped dead- what was his name- Savannah something?  Come on, I can’t watch EVERY bad TV show. I DO have a life, you know). The suspense grew intolerable as the Kenos enthusiastically described every single aspect of the chair when all we wanted them to tell us was how much the damn thing was worth (“look at these terrific glue blocks on the underside of the seat. These are white ash which was not commonly used in Philadelphia between 1763-1790, but was more typical of Baltimore chair makers from 1750- 1780. We know it’s a Philadelphia chair, though, because of the mahogany scrollwork on the cabriole legs, which was typical of Philadelphia makers in the late 1780’s.”) I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. I DON’T CARE. JUST TELL ME HOW MUCH THE FUCKING CHAIR IS WORTH! Then, when they had said every single possible thing that a human being could conceivably say about a chair (“Notice that one of the threads...