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aruanThe DVR box and I are in the first heady flush. I spent an embarrassing solid two hours Friday just pressing buttons and scrolling through endless programming lists and randomly recording everything from bad vampire movies (so many of them!) to Tour de France nostalgia. Seriously, Colin Firth's episode of Saturday Night Live has singlehandedly made the investment worthwhile. Besides Colin's adorably self-deprecating, very tall and classically trained attemps at slapstick American humor, it's the only episode I've seen in which Darrel Hammond cracks up. Also, his impression of Bill Clinton is never disappointing.
Listening to the testimony of FEMA officials on C-SPAN was a fascinating exercise. Michael Brown is a lot less of the spineless brainwormed crony of Bush than I thought, which I don't think would've come across in the next day's New York Times article. He seemed like he did his job notifying the White House, and then desperately sat around because he wasn't being given the resources to do what needed to be done, and frankly, he's sick and tired of being the administration's scapegoat for its own inefficiency.
Gilmore Girls is a fabulous show and there isn't a single excuse in this universe as to why I'm not watching it lots and lots. Though I hear it's taken a downturn, but at the moment Rory's going to Yale (!) and Jess isn't going to school and when oh when are Luke and Lorelai going to buy a clue?
May have mentioned this before, but the merely watching Vince D'Onofrio think on Criminal Intent is unspeakably hot.
The gold-medal winner in men's Olympic figure skating, Yevgeny Plushenko (yes, I had to copy/paste his name) - yeah, his jumps looked effortless and extraordinary, but I didn't feel any soul in what he did. It was all technical. And it was near-perfect at that. But Canada's answer to Zack Morris? Was delightful. It helped that he was skating to Big Band skat jazz, but mostly it's the presentation. He smiled darlingly the whole time, was light and quick in his footwork, responded to the beats in the music instead of just keeping with the rhythm, radiated charm even through his disappointment. If he could just go into his jumps a little faster and keep his form a little tigher.
And yeah, okay, Stargate SG-1 rocks, too. Damn but I like Daniel and Sam lots and lots. And Jack says all the smart-ass things we're all thinking through the episode. But yeah, I like the flawed characters and natural camp of Atlantis much more. Good plot is fine, but it's the flawed underdogs who win my heart.
Speaking of which, Boston Legal is like Ally McBeal but grown up. Sort of. What I mean is that David E. Kelley's gift for making psychosis both hilarious and deeply tragic (not to mention that every episode teeters on the brink of turning into a full-blown musical production) makes for incredible television. Ally McBeal began during my freshman year of high school, when I was having the most difficult year of my life personally, socially, familially, and educationally. And here were these very strange little people with their nose whistles and easy arrogance and hopeless clumsiness and being caught dancing in the bathroom to songs nobody else could hear, yet they were successful and loved. It was such a comforting thing. And since it doesn't look like they're going to put it out on DVD anytime soon, in the States anyway, I'm taking what I can get. Which, not too shabby, especially where William Shatner's concerned.
Coldplay's White Shadows (YSI link) played over sunset in my living room this afternoon. My sliding glass door has a slightly northwest exposure, so the rays catch in the tall palm tree in my courtyard and play across my dining room table while the Venetian blinds create more languid stripes along the carpet. Everything is bathed in lovely reds and oranges, and for the first time ever I'm rueing that work only allows me to be here for it on the weekend.
Among an adequately short list of activities a "Sunday" should entail, I properly keyworded my icons and shuffled in some new stuff. Sharing was a leery concept until I sat up and went ooh, pretteh, which as we all know trumps all.
Listening to the testimony of FEMA officials on C-SPAN was a fascinating exercise. Michael Brown is a lot less of the spineless brainwormed crony of Bush than I thought, which I don't think would've come across in the next day's New York Times article. He seemed like he did his job notifying the White House, and then desperately sat around because he wasn't being given the resources to do what needed to be done, and frankly, he's sick and tired of being the administration's scapegoat for its own inefficiency.
Gilmore Girls is a fabulous show and there isn't a single excuse in this universe as to why I'm not watching it lots and lots. Though I hear it's taken a downturn, but at the moment Rory's going to Yale (!) and Jess isn't going to school and when oh when are Luke and Lorelai going to buy a clue?
May have mentioned this before, but the merely watching Vince D'Onofrio think on Criminal Intent is unspeakably hot.
The gold-medal winner in men's Olympic figure skating, Yevgeny Plushenko (yes, I had to copy/paste his name) - yeah, his jumps looked effortless and extraordinary, but I didn't feel any soul in what he did. It was all technical. And it was near-perfect at that. But Canada's answer to Zack Morris? Was delightful. It helped that he was skating to Big Band skat jazz, but mostly it's the presentation. He smiled darlingly the whole time, was light and quick in his footwork, responded to the beats in the music instead of just keeping with the rhythm, radiated charm even through his disappointment. If he could just go into his jumps a little faster and keep his form a little tigher.
And yeah, okay, Stargate SG-1 rocks, too. Damn but I like Daniel and Sam lots and lots. And Jack says all the smart-ass things we're all thinking through the episode. But yeah, I like the flawed characters and natural camp of Atlantis much more. Good plot is fine, but it's the flawed underdogs who win my heart.
Speaking of which, Boston Legal is like Ally McBeal but grown up. Sort of. What I mean is that David E. Kelley's gift for making psychosis both hilarious and deeply tragic (not to mention that every episode teeters on the brink of turning into a full-blown musical production) makes for incredible television. Ally McBeal began during my freshman year of high school, when I was having the most difficult year of my life personally, socially, familially, and educationally. And here were these very strange little people with their nose whistles and easy arrogance and hopeless clumsiness and being caught dancing in the bathroom to songs nobody else could hear, yet they were successful and loved. It was such a comforting thing. And since it doesn't look like they're going to put it out on DVD anytime soon, in the States anyway, I'm taking what I can get. Which, not too shabby, especially where William Shatner's concerned.
Coldplay's White Shadows (YSI link) played over sunset in my living room this afternoon. My sliding glass door has a slightly northwest exposure, so the rays catch in the tall palm tree in my courtyard and play across my dining room table while the Venetian blinds create more languid stripes along the carpet. Everything is bathed in lovely reds and oranges, and for the first time ever I'm rueing that work only allows me to be here for it on the weekend.
Among an adequately short list of activities a "Sunday" should entail, I properly keyworded my icons and shuffled in some new stuff. Sharing was a leery concept until I sat up and went ooh, pretteh, which as we all know trumps all.
