Tag Archives: TV

What price hike?

I have a reputation for not watching anything, ever.  I hate going to the movie theater.   I’ve never had a Netflix subscription.  And I was one of the first people I know to cancel my cable TV.

But I have a secret: I watch stuff from the library all the time.

Right now I’m in the middle of a Terminator marathon.  I’d already seen The Terminator and Terminator 2, but last night I watched Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines for the first time.  I’m going to stick it out and watch Terminator: Salvation, for completeness’ sake.  After that my queue includes refreshing my memory of Ghostbusters, catching up on the Harry Potter movies, and revisiting the current Batman arc before the next one debuts.

I also feel like I watch a lot of TV, even without cable.  Slowly but surely, I’ve been working my way through Mad Men.  But now I’m waiting for the most current season, so I have to decide what to order next.  Before Mad Men I was on a Big Love kick, but I ran out.  There’s finally a new season, so I might go back to it.  And before Big Love, I was about halfway through The Sopranos, but I lost interest.  I had just watched The Wire, which was a tough act to follow… and okay, perhaps I was getting a little violence fatigued.

And here’s my biggest confession – I’ve even been to the theater recently, to see X-Men: First Class (which isn’t available from the library yet, but you can read the comics while you wait).  But it was only for the air conditioning, I swear!



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Notes from a Sick Room

During an ongoing, week-long battle with a virulent batch of Pennsylvania brand flu, my doctor’s advice was simple: plenty of liquids, bed rest, pain reliever of choice, sleep, soup, etc. In other words, exactly what Mom always said.

Which, of course, translates into: time to self-medicate!

There were three creative artists that got me through this week, standing as they did at the foot of my bed like the three angels in Procol Harum‘s ode to the near-death experience, Juicy John Pink: Marcel Proust, David Lynch, and Robert E. Howard.

Proust, a neurasthenic who makes hypochondria look like an Olympic sport, is the perfect sickbed companion. Currently in the thrall of the last volume, Finding Time Again, of his monumental In Search of Lost Time, I spent a great deal of my time in surreal reverie, floating freely among endless sentences and phrases modifying constructs seemingly chapters apart, as all time came together and drifted away, all threaded together with regulated doses of Tylenol and 55-gallon drums of chicken soup.

And surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the auteur David Lynch’s Twin Peaks: the Gold Box Edition; suffice to say that, for 29-plus episodes, a bedridden flu victim could put aside the chicken soup and, at least in one’s mind, dream of endless servings of huckleberry pie (and murder, intrigue, and Log Lady’s zen-like approach to early 90’s tv).

Finally, what would staying home sick be without the comfort of a comic or graphic novel when the printed word or surreal video becomes too overwhelming? Childlike, I retreated into the arms of the ultimate hero, Conan the Barbarian, and, yes, found much comfort there. There is nothing confusing for Robert E. Howard’s most famous hero; good and evil, wrong and right, all is as it should be, at least in the land of Aquilonia after the fall of Atlantis but before recorded history.

I spent a great deal more time than I should have thinking about the relationships between these 3 creative artists, aside from the obvious fact that they are all available at the library (and, at the time, were standing at the foot of my bed). I found my conclusions rather unsettling, and had only to remind myself that my illness-addled brain was obviously seeing things that weren’t there.

Or was it?

Let the self-medicating continue!


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