I am a sucker for pathos, it is true. Especially, probably not surprisingly, when it comes to adolescents and drugs and death.
I've been watching Skins, a rather shockingly graphic British television series about a bunch of fucked up to varying degrees teenagers. 90210 gone bad, if you will.
The acting is good, the music is decent, and the stories are dirty and mean and sweet.
Sid, one of our angsty young heroes, wakes up one morning to find his father dead in his easy chair, presumably from a stroke or some other abruptly instantaneous demise. (The father, a gentle and worn down soul, still has one hand curled around a glass of whiskey; the other dangles a cigarette burned down to the nub.)
Sid, in shock, goes to school and spends the day staring into the void, not telling anyone about the nightmare that is waiting for him back home. Later that night his best friend Tony drags him out to a club to see Crystal Castles, and this is what happens there. Pathos enough to make you cry. (And buy a Crystal Castles song, at least if you are like me, and a sucker for such things.)
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, February 25, 2011
just another friday night apocalypse
Watched the series premier of Survivors tonight. Was thrilled to see Freema Agyeman (of Martha Jones fame), and then equally glad she was killed off in the first half hour -- Martha always did get on my nerves a bit. Was thrilled to hear Radiohead's Talk Show Host, one of my favorite songs ever since seeing Baz Luhrman's Romeo & Juliet* at the old Worldwide Plaza $2 movie house in midtown.
And of course there's the unstoppable flu pandemic post-apocalypse aspect to it: that wholly irresistible end of the world thing that I just can't seem to get enough of. (As if it isn't enough I'm reading this during moments of downtime in the midst of jury duty this week.)
Even so, it wasn't very good and I couldn't recommend it, despite my end of the world obsession.
P.S. Once upon a time I could sing (badly) every word to this song. Now I cannot. But it still has one of my favorite lines of all time: "Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline..." Always was a stubborn one.
*Also Whatever and #1 Crush, both of which I adored (and years later was wonderfully amused to watch Shirley Manson in an ongoing role on The Sarah Connor Chronicles, which, yeah, I kind of loved. I mean seriously, who ever imagined Brian Austin Green would grow up to be so damned hot?)
And of course there's the unstoppable flu pandemic post-apocalypse aspect to it: that wholly irresistible end of the world thing that I just can't seem to get enough of. (As if it isn't enough I'm reading this during moments of downtime in the midst of jury duty this week.)
Even so, it wasn't very good and I couldn't recommend it, despite my end of the world obsession.
P.S. Once upon a time I could sing (badly) every word to this song. Now I cannot. But it still has one of my favorite lines of all time: "Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline..." Always was a stubborn one.
*Also Whatever and #1 Crush, both of which I adored (and years later was wonderfully amused to watch Shirley Manson in an ongoing role on The Sarah Connor Chronicles, which, yeah, I kind of loved. I mean seriously, who ever imagined Brian Austin Green would grow up to be so damned hot?)
Monday, February 21, 2011
smashmortion & television, or, yet another reason i love friday night lights
Show me a woman who has never endured a moment of panic at the thought that she might be pregnant and I'll show you a virgin or a liar.
I've been thinking a lot this week about abortion. My own. Others'. All those millions who have had one, or who have chosen not to. I've been thinking about the beauty of choice, and how that single word carries within it all the myriad decisions women make. How sometimes it carries within it motherhood. How sometimes it carries within it death. How sometimes it carries within it an inarguable sense of freedom tempered perhaps with grief. How always it carries within it responsibility: for ourselves, for all that comes from us, and for all that does not.
Planned Parenthood is in danger of losing its federal funding, and this, I can tell you, is a travesty.* Planned Parenthood was the place I turned to when I found myself trapped in that moment of panic, but it was also the place that made sure, afterward, that I went back for check-ups, for better birth control, for counseling, for a clean bill of health.
Planned Parenthood has been and will continue to be a voice of reason in the face of ongoing attempts, both culturally and legislatively, to control women's sexuality and reproductive freedom. Bombastic? Perhaps. But also true.
In Georgia there is legislation pending that would require that every single miscarriage in that state be fully investigated to see if it was actually (as they ever so delicately put it) "prenatal murder." The language of this bill is horrifying, and worth the reading. It lays out an argument that Supreme Court decisions don't apply to Georgia in this case. It lays out what is to be done if the fetal death takes place in a hospital, in a home, in a moving vehicle, across state lines. It explains that prenatal murder "does not include a naturally occurring expulsion of a fetus known medically as a 'spontaneous abortion' and popularly as a 'miscarriage' so long as there is no human involvement whatsoever in the causation of such event."** Which of course does nothing to allay my perhaps overblown fears that any behavior a woman commits could potentially be construed as human involvement in her miscarriage. A fender bender. A fall down the stairs or trip on the sidewalk. Not eating enough vegetables during her pregnancy. Smoking. Exercising too much. Exercising not enough. Having a glass of champagne before (or after) knowing she was pregnant. And so on and so forth.
In Kansas, George Tiller, a longtime abortion provider, was assassinated in the foyer of his church in the morning of May 31st, 2009.
In Ohio in 2007 legislation was proposed that would require that any woman seeking an abortion first get permission from the father of the fetus. No matter the circumstances. No matter that the Supreme Court already found in Planned Parenthood v. Casey that a woman doesn't even need her husband's consent, let alone anyone else's consent, to obtain an abortion.
Legislators in South Dakota recently attempted to pass a bill that could be interpreted as allowing for the murder of abortion providers. (It has since been shelved, at least for now.)
And then there was Justice Kennedy's disturbing justification for banning some types of abortion procedures in Gonzalez v. Carhart also back in 2007: that women are sometimes so traumatized by choosing to have an abortion that we need to be protected from our own poor decision-making skills.
And then there's abortion in popular culture. Party of Five almost got us there, but our heroine conveniently miscarried on her way to the abortion clinic. Felicity did get us there, but the girl in question turned out to have cheated on her boyfriend so it was okay that she decided to abort her pregnancy: she was bad already anyway. Judd Apatow's Knocked Up, while coming from a self-proclaimed pro-choice liberal, avoided the word itself like the plague.
Which brings me, in my ever roundabout way, to Friday Night Lights. I don't get football but I freaking love Friday Night Lights. It's got not only great characters but also wonderful character development. It's got some fun songs. And it's dealt, over the course of its five seasons, with lots of prickly issues from serious football injuries to drug-addled parents to teen sex. Becky, one of our small town high schools girls, finds herself in dire straits after a romantic night with one of our intrepid football players. Miraculously, the show not only lets her have an abortion, but also lets her continue to be a decent and normal teenager after the fact.
And made a big splash in the process.
I just started the no-longer-quite-new fifth season this evening and it's looking good for our Dillon, Texas friends so far. And oh how I still adore those opening credits.
Oh, also, please please please take a moment to write to your congresspeople and tell them not to cut federal funding for Planned Parenthood and all the much-needed services they provide. Abortions, STD testing, contraception, cancer screening, and information on everything from pregnancy to quitting smoking to getting the flu vaccine.
*To put this loss of funding in perspective: Planned Parenthood is already committed to not spending federal funds on abortion services, but rather uses this money for its many, many other services. And while abortion makes up a sizable portion of what Planned Parenthood does, this is largely because abortion services have been segregated from all other health care services and organizations such as Planned Parenthood have had to pick up the slack. So all the conservatives hellbent on punishing Planned Parenthood aren't stopping abortions, they're cutting funds to services that help to prevent more abortions and more unwanted pregnancies.
**Italics mine. Creepily enough this section contains the only mention of the word "woman", except where the bill states that it repeals the Woman's Right To Know Act which provides that all women seeking an abortion must be offered the chance to see their sonogram and listen to their baby's heartbeat. Now that all abortions and possibly miscarriages are to be criminalized, the Woman's Right To Know Act is, of course, no longer necessary.
I've been thinking a lot this week about abortion. My own. Others'. All those millions who have had one, or who have chosen not to. I've been thinking about the beauty of choice, and how that single word carries within it all the myriad decisions women make. How sometimes it carries within it motherhood. How sometimes it carries within it death. How sometimes it carries within it an inarguable sense of freedom tempered perhaps with grief. How always it carries within it responsibility: for ourselves, for all that comes from us, and for all that does not.
Planned Parenthood is in danger of losing its federal funding, and this, I can tell you, is a travesty.* Planned Parenthood was the place I turned to when I found myself trapped in that moment of panic, but it was also the place that made sure, afterward, that I went back for check-ups, for better birth control, for counseling, for a clean bill of health.
Planned Parenthood has been and will continue to be a voice of reason in the face of ongoing attempts, both culturally and legislatively, to control women's sexuality and reproductive freedom. Bombastic? Perhaps. But also true.
In Georgia there is legislation pending that would require that every single miscarriage in that state be fully investigated to see if it was actually (as they ever so delicately put it) "prenatal murder." The language of this bill is horrifying, and worth the reading. It lays out an argument that Supreme Court decisions don't apply to Georgia in this case. It lays out what is to be done if the fetal death takes place in a hospital, in a home, in a moving vehicle, across state lines. It explains that prenatal murder "does not include a naturally occurring expulsion of a fetus known medically as a 'spontaneous abortion' and popularly as a 'miscarriage' so long as there is no human involvement whatsoever in the causation of such event."** Which of course does nothing to allay my perhaps overblown fears that any behavior a woman commits could potentially be construed as human involvement in her miscarriage. A fender bender. A fall down the stairs or trip on the sidewalk. Not eating enough vegetables during her pregnancy. Smoking. Exercising too much. Exercising not enough. Having a glass of champagne before (or after) knowing she was pregnant. And so on and so forth.
In Kansas, George Tiller, a longtime abortion provider, was assassinated in the foyer of his church in the morning of May 31st, 2009.
In Ohio in 2007 legislation was proposed that would require that any woman seeking an abortion first get permission from the father of the fetus. No matter the circumstances. No matter that the Supreme Court already found in Planned Parenthood v. Casey that a woman doesn't even need her husband's consent, let alone anyone else's consent, to obtain an abortion.
Legislators in South Dakota recently attempted to pass a bill that could be interpreted as allowing for the murder of abortion providers. (It has since been shelved, at least for now.)
And then there was Justice Kennedy's disturbing justification for banning some types of abortion procedures in Gonzalez v. Carhart also back in 2007: that women are sometimes so traumatized by choosing to have an abortion that we need to be protected from our own poor decision-making skills.
And then there's abortion in popular culture. Party of Five almost got us there, but our heroine conveniently miscarried on her way to the abortion clinic. Felicity did get us there, but the girl in question turned out to have cheated on her boyfriend so it was okay that she decided to abort her pregnancy: she was bad already anyway. Judd Apatow's Knocked Up, while coming from a self-proclaimed pro-choice liberal, avoided the word itself like the plague.
Which brings me, in my ever roundabout way, to Friday Night Lights. I don't get football but I freaking love Friday Night Lights. It's got not only great characters but also wonderful character development. It's got some fun songs. And it's dealt, over the course of its five seasons, with lots of prickly issues from serious football injuries to drug-addled parents to teen sex. Becky, one of our small town high schools girls, finds herself in dire straits after a romantic night with one of our intrepid football players. Miraculously, the show not only lets her have an abortion, but also lets her continue to be a decent and normal teenager after the fact.
And made a big splash in the process.
I just started the no-longer-quite-new fifth season this evening and it's looking good for our Dillon, Texas friends so far. And oh how I still adore those opening credits.
Oh, also, please please please take a moment to write to your congresspeople and tell them not to cut federal funding for Planned Parenthood and all the much-needed services they provide. Abortions, STD testing, contraception, cancer screening, and information on everything from pregnancy to quitting smoking to getting the flu vaccine.
*To put this loss of funding in perspective: Planned Parenthood is already committed to not spending federal funds on abortion services, but rather uses this money for its many, many other services. And while abortion makes up a sizable portion of what Planned Parenthood does, this is largely because abortion services have been segregated from all other health care services and organizations such as Planned Parenthood have had to pick up the slack. So all the conservatives hellbent on punishing Planned Parenthood aren't stopping abortions, they're cutting funds to services that help to prevent more abortions and more unwanted pregnancies.
**Italics mine. Creepily enough this section contains the only mention of the word "woman", except where the bill states that it repeals the Woman's Right To Know Act which provides that all women seeking an abortion must be offered the chance to see their sonogram and listen to their baby's heartbeat. Now that all abortions and possibly miscarriages are to be criminalized, the Woman's Right To Know Act is, of course, no longer necessary.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
coffee & ice & television & clothes
We've been watching The Big Bang Theory these past few weeks and I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit how much I'm enjoying it. Laughing out loud enjoying it. Gales of uncontrollable laughter enjoying it. And then a self-conscious glance sideways at my boy to gauge his response. I've generally been relieved to find him smiling too, though it's entirely possible he's merely suppressing laughter at me, his girl. Have I mentioned what a great boyfriend he is?
I've also finally been watching the rest of the West Wing DVDs friend Marti was kind enough to loan me last January. The other morning, as I was finishing the last few rows of this shawl, I watched the episode where Leo McGarry, whom I adore, has a heart attack in the woods of Camp David. I sat there on the couch in the just barely dawn light (I was trying to finish the shawl as early as possible so I could wash it and block it and leave for the UN before noon), tears streaming down my face. The thought of him being so alone, and in such pain, was too much to bear. My father, in the same pain, at least was surrounded by people. Of course, I was the only one there who loved him, and I couldn't bring myself to go to him. Or maybe they wouldn't let me, it's hard to remember now. This was all the more heartbreaking because the actor who played Leo McGarry died of a heart attack not long after that episode.
This morning is weather like I haven't seen in a long, long time. It's raining, or mostly raining, with some slushing sleeting icy stuff mixed in. The intersections are flooded, the drains are clogged, and there's a thin hard layer of ice covering almost everything. The corner outside my building where I wait for the M4 and the little kids wait for the school bus was a veritable skating rink. They slid, I slid, their parents slid almost off the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. I finally waded across Broadway at 116th Street, skidded across College Walk and down the stairs to Hamilton Deli, where I stood dripping slush and ice and rain onto their cardboard-covered floor. I looked up to find my coffee men (and woman) staring at me, and we all burst out laughing and smiled sympathetically and wished each other a safe morning. Then I made my way to work, coffee clutched in hand, and found a Ghirardelli Square (dark chocolate with raspberry filling) on my desk. I am eating it now and thinking this is not the worst day.
Yesterday I emailed friend Erik this link, showing off of course, and was so tickled by his one-line response that I smiled for much of the rest of the afternoon: "You have a red dress?"
I've also finally been watching the rest of the West Wing DVDs friend Marti was kind enough to loan me last January. The other morning, as I was finishing the last few rows of this shawl, I watched the episode where Leo McGarry, whom I adore, has a heart attack in the woods of Camp David. I sat there on the couch in the just barely dawn light (I was trying to finish the shawl as early as possible so I could wash it and block it and leave for the UN before noon), tears streaming down my face. The thought of him being so alone, and in such pain, was too much to bear. My father, in the same pain, at least was surrounded by people. Of course, I was the only one there who loved him, and I couldn't bring myself to go to him. Or maybe they wouldn't let me, it's hard to remember now. This was all the more heartbreaking because the actor who played Leo McGarry died of a heart attack not long after that episode.
This morning is weather like I haven't seen in a long, long time. It's raining, or mostly raining, with some slushing sleeting icy stuff mixed in. The intersections are flooded, the drains are clogged, and there's a thin hard layer of ice covering almost everything. The corner outside my building where I wait for the M4 and the little kids wait for the school bus was a veritable skating rink. They slid, I slid, their parents slid almost off the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. I finally waded across Broadway at 116th Street, skidded across College Walk and down the stairs to Hamilton Deli, where I stood dripping slush and ice and rain onto their cardboard-covered floor. I looked up to find my coffee men (and woman) staring at me, and we all burst out laughing and smiled sympathetically and wished each other a safe morning. Then I made my way to work, coffee clutched in hand, and found a Ghirardelli Square (dark chocolate with raspberry filling) on my desk. I am eating it now and thinking this is not the worst day.
Yesterday I emailed friend Erik this link, showing off of course, and was so tickled by his one-line response that I smiled for much of the rest of the afternoon: "You have a red dress?"
Thursday, July 22, 2010
oh veronica
I confess. I have been watching an obscene amount of Veronica Mars these last few weeks. I love rich bad boy Logan and rich good(ish) boy Duncan and sweet best friend Wallace and computer geek Mac and sexy Jackie and dead Lily and even whip-smart (if sometimes incredibly stupid and often incredibly annoying) Veronica. But most of all, I think, I adore the relationship between Veronica and her father, former local sheriff turned private investigator extraordinaire, Keith Mars. (So I have a soft spot for bald guys, what can I say? Luckily for me, this show also sports Francis Capra.)
Also, the music. Seriously, any show that navigates from 46Bliss (just wait, it gets so good) to Leonard Cohen to Pete Yorn to Neko Case to Thievery Corporation to Sia (remixed) to Tegan & Sara to Spoon to dear old M. Doughty, doesn't have an absolutely horrible theme song, has a character who reminds me a little bit of an old friend (and who turns out to be a suicidal psycho killer), and manages to work in Willow, Cordelia, and a Joss Whedon cameo pretty much rocks in my book.
Except that Kristen Bell looked so much hotter (more hot?) with her choppy 'do of the show's early days. Her latter-day long and golden curls, not so much.
Also, the music. Seriously, any show that navigates from 46Bliss (just wait, it gets so good) to Leonard Cohen to Pete Yorn to Neko Case to Thievery Corporation to Sia (remixed) to Tegan & Sara to Spoon to dear old M. Doughty, doesn't have an absolutely horrible theme song, has a character who reminds me a little bit of an old friend (and who turns out to be a suicidal psycho killer), and manages to work in Willow, Cordelia, and a Joss Whedon cameo pretty much rocks in my book.
Except that Kristen Bell looked so much hotter (more hot?) with her choppy 'do of the show's early days. Her latter-day long and golden curls, not so much.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
random musing
I was watching Caprica last night and thinking, "Jesus, they're really making this blowing-up-a-train thing all about religion?" and then I thought about real life terrorism and remembered it's all about religion.
Monday, March 02, 2009
oh joss, how i love thee
Boyd, handing gun to Echo: You know how to use this?
Echo: Four brothers. None of them Democrats.
(Joss Whedon, Dollhouse)
Echo: Four brothers. None of them Democrats.
(Joss Whedon, Dollhouse)
Monday, February 23, 2009
'let me ask you this...'
"Let me ask you this. Red meat has been found to cause cancer in white rats. Maraschino cherries have been found to cause cancer in white rats. Cellular phones have been found to cause cancer in white rats. Has anyone examined the possibility that cancer might be hereditary in white rats?"
-Margaret, The West Wing
-Margaret, The West Wing
Monday, February 09, 2009
confession (also, corn soup)
I spent the weekend out on Long Island visiting Lauren. We had a lovely time together, but she, being a first grade teacher, had some school work to get done while I was there. And it was while she was grading spelling tests that I got into trouble.
I was just trying to read my book, curled up on the couch, surrounded by two attention-hogging pitbulls, not paying much attention to the television playing in the background. Until I looked up to see, on Bravo, a show by the name of the Millionaire Matchmaker. The next thing I knew it was two hours later, two hours of my life gone that I'm never going to get back, and Lauren was asking, "Are you okay over there?"
I'm still amazed that the people on that show breathe the same atmosphere that I breathe, because damn if they don''t seem like a bunch of strange and alien creatures.
Eventually I managed to tear myself away, and then we went and made a big batch of corn soup.
Indian-Style Corn Soup:
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 teaspoon fresh thyme or 1/2 teaspoon dried
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 cups corn kernels (6-8 ears or 2 10-oz frozen packages)
3 cups water, vegetable, or chicken broth
1 teaspoon curry powder
1 cup coconut milk
1 teaspoon sugar
2 teaspoons fresh lime or lemon juice
2 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro leaves
salt
Cook the onion, garlic, and thyme in 2 tablespoons butter in a 4-quart pot over medium heat until the onion turns translucent, about 10 minutes.
Add the corn and half the water, cover partially, and simmer until the kernels are soft, about 15 minutes.
Heat the remaining tablespoon of butter in a small saucepan over low to medium heat. Stir in the curry powder and heat gently for 1 minute to wake up its aroma, but be careful not to let burn. Remove the pan from the heat.
Puree the corn mixture in a blender or food processor and then strain it through a food mill with a medium disk or a medium-mesh strainer. If you want a smoother texture, strain it again through a fine-mesh strainer. Add the rest of the water or broth to the strained mixture.
Whisk the cooked curry, coconut milk, sugar, lime or lemon juice, and cilantro into the soup a minute or two before serving. Season with salt.
(from James Peterson's Splendid Soups)
This was incredibly easy, especially when you ignore some of the directions. We did cook the curry separately but really there's not much need to do that. We also used a stick blender to blend it right in the soup pot and didn't bother with the straining at all. And the frozen corn is pretty good, especially for this time of year, and a hell of a lot easier (and less messy) than cutting the kernels off ears of corn.
Were I to make it again, I'd forgo the thyme, which has never been one of my favorite spices, and double the curry and garlic. Tonight, for my leftovers, I tossed in a couple diced plum tomatoes. Delicious.
I was just trying to read my book, curled up on the couch, surrounded by two attention-hogging pitbulls, not paying much attention to the television playing in the background. Until I looked up to see, on Bravo, a show by the name of the Millionaire Matchmaker. The next thing I knew it was two hours later, two hours of my life gone that I'm never going to get back, and Lauren was asking, "Are you okay over there?"
I'm still amazed that the people on that show breathe the same atmosphere that I breathe, because damn if they don''t seem like a bunch of strange and alien creatures.
Eventually I managed to tear myself away, and then we went and made a big batch of corn soup.
Indian-Style Corn Soup:
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 teaspoon fresh thyme or 1/2 teaspoon dried
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 cups corn kernels (6-8 ears or 2 10-oz frozen packages)
3 cups water, vegetable, or chicken broth
1 teaspoon curry powder
1 cup coconut milk
1 teaspoon sugar
2 teaspoons fresh lime or lemon juice
2 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro leaves
salt
Cook the onion, garlic, and thyme in 2 tablespoons butter in a 4-quart pot over medium heat until the onion turns translucent, about 10 minutes.
Add the corn and half the water, cover partially, and simmer until the kernels are soft, about 15 minutes.
Heat the remaining tablespoon of butter in a small saucepan over low to medium heat. Stir in the curry powder and heat gently for 1 minute to wake up its aroma, but be careful not to let burn. Remove the pan from the heat.
Puree the corn mixture in a blender or food processor and then strain it through a food mill with a medium disk or a medium-mesh strainer. If you want a smoother texture, strain it again through a fine-mesh strainer. Add the rest of the water or broth to the strained mixture.
Whisk the cooked curry, coconut milk, sugar, lime or lemon juice, and cilantro into the soup a minute or two before serving. Season with salt.
(from James Peterson's Splendid Soups)
This was incredibly easy, especially when you ignore some of the directions. We did cook the curry separately but really there's not much need to do that. We also used a stick blender to blend it right in the soup pot and didn't bother with the straining at all. And the frozen corn is pretty good, especially for this time of year, and a hell of a lot easier (and less messy) than cutting the kernels off ears of corn.
Were I to make it again, I'd forgo the thyme, which has never been one of my favorite spices, and double the curry and garlic. Tonight, for my leftovers, I tossed in a couple diced plum tomatoes. Delicious.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
intro to the wire
Detective McNulty: Let me understand you. Every Friday night you and your boys shoot crap, right? And every Friday night your pal 'Snot Boogie,' he'd wait till there was cash on the ground and then he would grab the money and run away?"
Witness: [nods]
Detective McNulty: And you'd let him do that?
Witness: We'd catch 'im and beat his ass but ain't nobody let it go past that.
Long pause.
Detective McNulty: I gotta ask you. If every time 'Snot Boogie' would grab the money and run away, why'd you even let him in the game?
Witness: What?
Detective McNulty: If 'Snot Boogie' always stole the money, why'd you let him play?
Witness: Got to. This is America, man.
(The Wire, Season 1, Episode 1. I think I'm beginning to get why Nate & Shanna are so addicted to this show.)
Witness: [nods]
Detective McNulty: And you'd let him do that?
Witness: We'd catch 'im and beat his ass but ain't nobody let it go past that.
Long pause.
Detective McNulty: I gotta ask you. If every time 'Snot Boogie' would grab the money and run away, why'd you even let him in the game?
Witness: What?
Detective McNulty: If 'Snot Boogie' always stole the money, why'd you let him play?
Witness: Got to. This is America, man.
(The Wire, Season 1, Episode 1. I think I'm beginning to get why Nate & Shanna are so addicted to this show.)
Friday, March 28, 2008
tv
I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit that I wish I had HBO right now. I couldn't have cared less about Tony Soprano, and though I hear The Wire's amazing I'm happy enough to just Netflix it (yes, Netflix is now a verb, just for the record). But what I'm really wanting to watch is HBO's In Treatment. Silly, I know, but there it is. I love Gabriel Byrne, am convinced he's one of the sexiest men alive. And I have a soft spot for Dianne Wiest, not only because of her stellar turn as the DA on Law & Order but also because I almost knocked her down on the corner of 79th & Broadway a couple years back, not watching where I was going (as is, alas, so often the case), and she didn't seem to mind.
And then there was this fascinating article in the Times not too long ago that just made me want to watch it all the more. For free, of course.
And then there was this fascinating article in the Times not too long ago that just made me want to watch it all the more. For free, of course.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
how times change
“These early ‘Sesame Street’ episodes are intended for grown-ups, and may not suit the needs of today’s preschool child.”
This on the packaging of the first two seasons of Sesame Street, recently released on DVD.
Huh. And here I thought we'd all turned out okay.
This on the packaging of the first two seasons of Sesame Street, recently released on DVD.
Huh. And here I thought we'd all turned out okay.
On another note, I was up too late last night watching Daily Show clips. Not having Comedy Central and kind of being oblivious to the fact that a lot of this stuff is on line these days, I just discovered this yesterday while reading about the writers' strike. That Jon Stewart, man, he's awfully clever.
Monday, September 17, 2007
shout out to nick, or, why i love freaks & geeks
Sam, Neil, & Bill Philosophize
Bill: She's the kind of woman you could cut the cheese in front of.
Sam: Oh yeah, Bill, that's what love is all about.
Bill: It is! I mean you couldn't be in love with someone, if you couldn't. Think about it.
Neil: That's true. I mean, you have to sleep with your wife every night of your life. If you couldn't blast one in bed, you'd get physically ill!
Sam: Oh come on, guys! You can't fart in front of a woman!
Bill: What do you think you do, get up and run outside every time you have to let one rip? You'd never get any sleep.
Freaks & Geeks, "Carded & Discarded"
Bill: She's the kind of woman you could cut the cheese in front of.
Sam: Oh yeah, Bill, that's what love is all about.
Bill: It is! I mean you couldn't be in love with someone, if you couldn't. Think about it.
Neil: That's true. I mean, you have to sleep with your wife every night of your life. If you couldn't blast one in bed, you'd get physically ill!
Sam: Oh come on, guys! You can't fart in front of a woman!
Bill: What do you think you do, get up and run outside every time you have to let one rip? You'd never get any sleep.
Freaks & Geeks, "Carded & Discarded"
Friday, April 28, 2006
house
Chris was working late a few nights last week, and inevitably when he does that I end up watching a bit too much TV and knitting until my fingers hurt. So last week I saw my second episode ever of House, yet another hospital drama in which poor, sick patients are plagued (literally, in that this particular poor patient had the Black Plague!) with unknown yet horribly gruesome ailments. And I realized the show is really pretty sadistic. This poor woman was being driven insane by insomnia, suffered nose bleeds and rectal bleeds and internal hemorhaging and the painful ministrations of the doctors (can I just say rectal exam, and the camera focusing on her face contorting in agony? ugh!) and ultimately liver failure. But of course in the end, her lesbian lover whom she wants to dump donates half a liver in order to be her heroine and save her and trap her into never leaving, so she lives and it's all okay. And the show opens with a Massive Attack song which is certainly something you don't hear every day on TV. But I think I've had enough of House for a little while. Coming up on my Netflix queue in not too long is Anne of Green Gables, the mini-series that they showed on Sunday nights on PBS back in 1985 and that I adored. In fact, I remember one Sunday night when the Emanuels came over for dinner and Jill and Lauren wanted to watch Punky Brewster which, of course, was on at the same time as my beloved Anne, and we got into an argument about what to watch. I think we ended up in separate rooms. Not sure if I ever confessed to the fact that we had already set up the VCR to record it...
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