December 06, 2005
I'm not eschewing the need for books. I go through 2-3 books a week but perhaps as a card-carrying American, I feel the need to have a TV. People with no televisions are not artsy in my world-they are strange, lost in a generation gap that somehow swallows up the past 60 years, or just generally need to get over their bad artsy selves and admit that the box can be as good a lover as any.
Sometimes better.
I'm just saying.
As an American in England-land, I am pleased to say that we even took it one step further and installed satellite TV. Satellite TV. That means there is always something on, unless you count early insomnia driven Saturday mornings or times when Angus is around, because while we are compatible on many, many levels, we don't align on TV shows (that's TV programmes to you, darling.)
Case in point-on Sunday morning before the posh party lunch we were watching a show Angus enjoys called How Is It Made?, which tells you how they make anything from honey roasted peanuts to fiberglass boats to bubblegum (the bubblegum part, however, was actually very interesting). I think I lost my will to live somewhere around the time they showed how the inside of a dryer is made. The words "This applies to my life how, exactly?" booted around in my head a good dozen times as the narrator talked with wonder about the inside dryer barrel.
So we tend to diverge on TV, and thus my favorite thing to do is to record my shows on DVD (we have a DVD recorder, too. Satellite, a plasma screen, surround sound and a DVD recorder/player. It's like a digital orgasm in our living room.) and watch them when Angus isn't around. For reasons why, see the Lost description below.
My current favorite shows are Grey's Anatomy and Lost. I watch Grey's Anatomy and think-Dude. Doctor McDreamy. I remember you in that movie where you had to pay that blond chick to date you and make you cool, and you rode a tractor, and I thought you were an idiot yet you have a fantastic career and I so want to have wild naked monkey sex with you...and whatever happened to that blond chick? Wasn't she on some kind of angsty 80's yuppie highly acclaimed TV show that inevitably starred Peter Horton and asked us to examine our inner child with crystals and healing light?
I also love me some Grey's Anatomy. I know it's not remotely realistic. I know it's not. I've had a few surgeries in my lifetime to know that while they all seem to have the bitchy attitude of Sandra Oh's character, none of them have ever been anywhere near as cute as that cast of characters (not even my Scottish gastroenterologist, who I thought was nice and average looking until she told me she just loves scoping nice clean bowels. Talk about off-putting.) But while we are very far behind here in England (so please, no one give it away!) I have a feeling McDreamy will choose his scary looking but remarkably pleasant ex-wife over the oddly fish-lipped Meredith. Scary baby-eating ex-wife has a soul (note to self: remember that "I screwed your best friend to get your attention" defense) and somehow, I almost like her (bizarre best-friend screwing defense aside).
But we just had the episode where Dr. Burke crawls in bed with his emotionally frozen just-ectopiced pregnancy girlfriend (like I said, we are behind here). And Dr. Burke is a big, burning hot hunk of man. So ABC, please do not ever dress Dr. Burke in clothes that could be construed with the time period in which Dr. Burke would utter the words "love machine" or "can you dig it, baby?" m'kay? The polyester turtleneck and bad jacket are SO OVER.
I am also a huge fan of Lost. We are still in Season 1 here, and Angus tried to watch the first episode with me but the part where a guy got sucked into the engine was nearly too much for him. There was the kind of indignant shouting at the TV that generally occurs whenever there's a car chase scene on TV ("What, so now it's going to burst into a fireball, isn't it? Go ahead! Explode the car! Go ahead, you know you will! AHA! See! Useless wankers!"). I was able to keep him in the room, despite the man-into-turbine suckage, but when the polar bear showed up it was a step too far for him and he outright hates the show now.
And in some ways I understand-there are elements of the show that I hate. I hate that the Kate chick is always looking wistfully into the sea as though the answer lies just over that wave...no, that wave...no that one. I hate the fact that everyone is so nuts about Charlie because of his dreamy English accent when-hello?-it's bordering on perverted. How can anyone find a hobbit dreamy, isn't that like some kind of weird and pervy elf porn, to lust after a hobbit? Imagine the Dr. Scholl's intake that would be needed. I hate that I can't decide if Locke is so cool I want to love him up or if he's really the Antichrist. I hate that no one seems to be having sex on that island-isn't that what grown-ups do when there's nothing else going on? I hate that half of them are half-shaven and you know there's going to be an outright bitchfight over the last tube of toothpaste, as in someone will die. That's not even thinking about the tampon shortage that's bound to occur, especially once the women learn that palm fronds? Not so absorbant after all. It's going to have to be re-named "Island of Funky Beaver" when it comes to that point.
But there's a lot of it I like, enough of it to keep me glued to my seat in anticipation each week. I have only missed one episode of it, and I confess I need to get my Dr. Jack fix on a weekly basis. It's just as well I do, as they haven't started showing the second season of Desperate Housewives here yet, so for all I know Zack's gunned down everyone on Wisteria Lane and is running an organ donation scam while his teenage bride Julie is pregnant and enjoying the remarkable career she has as a dental hygenist.
I was watching Weeds for a while, as I would switch teams for Mary Louise Parker, but I started to go off it. Angus and I watched a depressing but great miniseries called Auschwitz which ran last year and then again this year. They ran a reality show here called The F***king Fulfords, about a repugnant and thoroughly digusting git of a Lord and his tumbling down castle. He's so miserable, they gave him a spin-off series (don't take offense, last week's episode was called "Why England is F***ked"). We were huge fans of a great show that I think only ran here in the UK called Love Soup, an uncomfortable comedy (but not as toe-curling uncomfortable as The Office, that was a whole new level) about two lovelorn people (an Englishwoman working in a cosmetics shop and an American comedy writer) who dated all the wrong people on their way to finding each other...then the series ended and, of course, they didn't find each other.
In case you were looking for more depression.
And I have to confess-I am a closet fan of Extreme Makeover-Home Edition. Even though Ty and his megaphone get on my very last fucking nerve and Connie the Wonder Wuss always sobs about how blessed everyone is, I enjoy it. Even though every time they make a 7 year-old girl a pink cowgirl fairy princess Barbie pony room I smack my head and think: In 4 years that child is going to hunt you down and punish you for that tiara-shaped bed, I love that show. Angus can't stand the shouting they do, and the fact that when the people see their re-made home they invariably jump up and down screaming "Oh my God! Oh my God! Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod!" and cry like mad (Angus does a good impersonation of said moment which I like to call "The Demented Leprechaun"). I find that part endearing, after all, in England they don't have the show (for good reason, as we have a running joke that an English family would perhaps be more reserved, and would, after the politely clapping neighborhood ceased their ruckus and asked kindly: "Bus driver? I say...could you please move that bus? You could? Yes, thanks very much indeed.", the family would smile kindly and nod to Ty. "Yes," said polite family says politely. "I do think that this abode will do very well indeed. Jolly good. Rather."
See, there's just no need for that kind of outpouring of emotion.
So when the Americans go nuts and jump around and scream and cry, I laugh.
And if Angus isn't in the room, I tear up myself but please don't tell him that.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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