Whenever her book came out a friend of mine mentioned that she was reading Mindy Kaling’s, I guess, memoir?, and I was all, “How is it?” and she was all, “She is the most self-satisfied person in the world,” which I kind of discounted because, Women: Who knows what crazy reasons they choose that day to hate somebody for? But then yesterday I read that profile of her in New York and I was also all, “Oh my God, SMUG,” which then made me think, WOULD YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT A MAN? Because men do that shit all the time (although, if bad social science is to be believed, they need to) and I never give it a second thought. Which is when I did give things a second thought: Why am I wasting so much time thinking about Mindy Kaling? And I am a person who spends most of his day trying to figure out what the people at Huy Fong put in their chili garlic sauce to make it so goddamn addictive (at this point I have narrowed it down to either garlic or chili), so I certainly have plenty of time to spare. At the end of the day, it is still TV, which, I’m sorry, is not Shakespeare, no matter what you tell yourself to justify your investment in that show where Claire Danes plays the crazy chick working for the CIA or whatever. Anyway, Mindy Kaling? It doesn’t matter! Good for her. The first episode of her show seems amusing. It’s nice that Ivy League grads are allowed to run shows in our racist society. Let’s all do our best to be happy with what we’ve got. Also, this is probably right.