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rushthatspeaksI have been watching television.
I reveal this with the slightly defiant and naughty yet unrepentant air of someone who has just informed you that, instead of actually paying attention in her calculus class, she has written a song. This is my default emotion about television in general, and it gets much worse if I'm actually watching something on the thing *as it airs*, which... hm, I haven't done this calendar year, but must have done at least twice last year. (Anime does not count as television in my brain, somehow. I suppose it ought to, but it doesn't.) Even with DVDs, though, there's this vague sense that there is something illicit about the whole enterprise.
It's because I was raised in a household without one, and because my father violently refuses to consider the possibility that a television may be worthwhile for more than national election tally-watching, ever. Television, saith my father, is the opiate of the masses. Or if he hasn't got round to saying it, he will eventually. Consequently, during my teen years I used to be as secretive about my Animaniacs addiction as I was about my erotica collection. The concept of live-action TV as either art or genuine quality entertainment has certainly gotten to my intellect, but hasn't quite reached my hindbrain yet.
Carnivale is art. And quality entertainment. And genuinely on occasion causes me to think of Ray Bradbury, which is astounding. We finished season one tonight, and oh, the writing, the writing.
Wonderfalls is just crack. I've seen two discs of that (and don't want to hear about any upcoming plot), and I think the title song has been stuck in my head, literally without a break, for a week. I keep muttering dialogue to myself and laughing.
The boy is threatening to make me watch Battlestar Galactica.
It all feels vaguely like a slippery slope.
In other news, I managed to get a backup copy of the hard drive of the computer that died on me six months ago too quickly for me to finish a back-up, and so am getting back to work on the three separate WIPs that have been marooned there taking up all my spare brooding.
And I've applied for a really, really cool and interesting job in my areas of expertise, which some of you may have vaguely heard about in passing, and am waiting for a response. I don't want to go into detail on it because I don't want to jinx it, but it is a thing with the potential to be very useful and happy.
Somehow, none of this feels particularly worth writing up, even though it's all both important and interesting. Maybe it's because I'm in suspense, or because writing and television are both things which are kind of in some ways you-had-to-be-there. Anyhow, I am feeling better and being productive, which is good.
I reveal this with the slightly defiant and naughty yet unrepentant air of someone who has just informed you that, instead of actually paying attention in her calculus class, she has written a song. This is my default emotion about television in general, and it gets much worse if I'm actually watching something on the thing *as it airs*, which... hm, I haven't done this calendar year, but must have done at least twice last year. (Anime does not count as television in my brain, somehow. I suppose it ought to, but it doesn't.) Even with DVDs, though, there's this vague sense that there is something illicit about the whole enterprise.
It's because I was raised in a household without one, and because my father violently refuses to consider the possibility that a television may be worthwhile for more than national election tally-watching, ever. Television, saith my father, is the opiate of the masses. Or if he hasn't got round to saying it, he will eventually. Consequently, during my teen years I used to be as secretive about my Animaniacs addiction as I was about my erotica collection. The concept of live-action TV as either art or genuine quality entertainment has certainly gotten to my intellect, but hasn't quite reached my hindbrain yet.
Carnivale is art. And quality entertainment. And genuinely on occasion causes me to think of Ray Bradbury, which is astounding. We finished season one tonight, and oh, the writing, the writing.
Wonderfalls is just crack. I've seen two discs of that (and don't want to hear about any upcoming plot), and I think the title song has been stuck in my head, literally without a break, for a week. I keep muttering dialogue to myself and laughing.
The boy is threatening to make me watch Battlestar Galactica.
It all feels vaguely like a slippery slope.
In other news, I managed to get a backup copy of the hard drive of the computer that died on me six months ago too quickly for me to finish a back-up, and so am getting back to work on the three separate WIPs that have been marooned there taking up all my spare brooding.
And I've applied for a really, really cool and interesting job in my areas of expertise, which some of you may have vaguely heard about in passing, and am waiting for a response. I don't want to go into detail on it because I don't want to jinx it, but it is a thing with the potential to be very useful and happy.
Somehow, none of this feels particularly worth writing up, even though it's all both important and interesting. Maybe it's because I'm in suspense, or because writing and television are both things which are kind of in some ways you-had-to-be-there. Anyhow, I am feeling better and being productive, which is good.
