Nurse Jackie isn't top tier. I get it. Vulture has never recapped it and AV Club isn't covering this season. Sometimes it's hokey and a little on the nose. (I wanted to say chick lit-like but that's insulting. I only mean that it seems very much targeted at women and there's a lot of wish fulfillment plots.) And yet, I still watch it because I love a good female fuck-up. When you think there's redemption, there is not, just more depravity and downward spiraling in a way that's not unappealing. (I thought perhaps I was twisted in this stance, but Joyce Wadler–I love Joyce Wadler almost as much as I love Nurse Jackie–seemed to agree, much to the consternation of her fuddy-duddy commenters.) If anything, I just like how solidly middle-aged, Astoria-dwelling Jackie is now banging a hipster drug dealer in what appears to be North Brooklyn (and stole his girlfriend's Rag & Bone jacket) and engaging in oral sex in public bathrooms (receiving, not giving, which is an important distinction and rare–the last time I recall the act not being played for laughs [the best comedic scene in recent history belongs to Broad City] was in Top of the Lake, also in public restroom, naturally).
In case you were wondering about my opinion of heel heights on the recently ended half-season of Mad Men, they are perfect! The skirts are comically mini (how do you even bend over or sit down?) yet the shoes worn with them–and their sturdy, chunky heels, rarely more than two inches high–are the opposite, all practical cuteness.
Also, I've been remiss in documenting the vomit scenes in Silicon Valley–one which capped off the season finale with a dumpster moment–because turmoil-driven barfing is a recurring trait of the protagonist, and therefore neutralized.