The life of a graduating senior is a strange one. You’re told to look to the future with ambitious fervor, while at the same time, you’re tethered to the past by classes with all of their papers and effort. It’s like being in a state of arrested development. Hey! That’s the name of my favorite show!

What’s that? You’ve never heard of “Arrested Development?” Come on!

“Arrested Development” tells the story of a wealthy family who lost everything and the one son who had no choice but to keep them all together.

There’s Michael Bluth, the good son mentioned above and a know-it-all jerk who’s only saving grace is being the lone sane soul in a whirlwind of insanity. The rest of the ensemble is a goldmine of comic absurdism: his venomous mother Lucille, his dweeb of a younger brother Buster, his trapped-in-the closet brother-in-law, Tobias and the rest.

Picking a favorite would be fruitless (except for Tobias), and capturing their perfect construction on my own would be futile. The only way I can tell you about the beauty of “Arrested” is to show you like a journalist is supposed to do. So, sit back and enjoy as I tell you how “Arrested Development” has ruined my life while flooding you with witty references you won’t understand.

Actually, that might be a bad strategy, because I think that might be why “Arrested” isn’t as popular as it should be. I’ll be the first to admit that “Arrested” fans are obnoxious automatons that scurry up to unsuspecting civilians ranting about frozen bananas and ‘cornballing’ until they run away and seek refuge in an episode of “According to Jim.”

I’ll also be the first to admit that I’m one of those rabid fans. You could ask one of my friends, but they got so tired of hearing me try to explain what a never-nude is (it’s basically just what it sounds like) that the ones who didn’t head for the hills headed to Hulu, watched the series for themselves and became converts.

Thus, I have successfully insulated myself with a layer of folks who enable my addiction to quoting this show of shows.

Nothing has done more to eat away at my verbal dexterity than “Arrested Development.” I can’t construct a decent sentence without a sly “Arrested” reference worming its way in.

I can’t meet someone without branding them a George Michael or a Tobias Finke. I can’t even take a shower without donning a pair of cut-off jeans.
I find these things hilarious. “Arrested” neophytes are nonplussed. I have alienated friends and family, and yet I can’t stop the references.

Perhaps I should see an analyst to solve this problem. Or a therapist. Or an analyst and a therapist . Wait. Have I stopped making sense? That’s because I’ve slipped back into the “Arrested” references. Blerg. Oh no! “Blerg” is a “30 Rock” reference. The only reason my hair is so big is that it’s full of references. Damn; that’s a Mean Girls reference. This babbling brook of pop culture references is getting as ridiculous as that time that Adam Lambert was almost eliminated last night. I need to stop. It’s time for me to go back to my apartment, pack my bags and go . home. Dear God, that one’s from “America’s Next Top Model.”

Help me.

Windmills of My Mind is a column written by a different contributor every week on memories about a film, book, play, song, or piece of art. Interested in writing one? E-mail the editor at [email protected].