Xena vs. Sherlock - Stocking My DVD Shelf

Not all TV should be great.

Which isn't to say that I think all TV should be bad. But good television comes in many forms, and I don't really think that all of those forms are necessarily universal. It's like a really fantastic mystery novel. I have no doubt that the best of them are truly amazing, and that people who like that kind of thing have a moment of utter bliss upon the ultimate crime ever conceived of in fiction being solved by some brainy detective or bumbling buffoon.

But I don't like mystery novels, which has been a great source of self-loathing and rending of hair throughout the years. I mean, I've tried to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes three times, have gotten through "A Scandal in Bohemia" on each occasion, and have then decided upon each conclusion that I couldn't be bothered with the rest of the book. I just felt that one story was all I really needed. It's not that I think the story wasn't good, or that other people shouldn't love the collection... It's just that I couldn't bring myself to enjoy it all that much.

Dexter 5x08 - Take It! (and seasons 1 through 5)

I love "Dexter."

I've loved it from episode one. A friend shoved the DVDs at me three-odd years ago, made me watch the pilot, and I didn't stop for eight hours. For this I am forever in Josh's debt. And he knows it.

There's something about Michael C. Hall (aside from my raging infatuation with him) that makes it impossible for me to look away when he's onscreen. (Admittedly, the crush helps with this.) Whether he's playing David Fisher on "Six Feet Under" (an amazing show that I'm slowly making my way through - and will be writing a ton about once I finish up), an utter psycho in what I maintain is the stupidest movie ever made, "Gamer,"or a serial killer with a heart of gold, I'm riveted by how well he can inhabit a role and make me care about the character. Especially impressive as Dexter Morgan, a man who has to kill in order to satisfy his 'dark passenger.' After all, it's no easy task to make someone feel compassion for a man whose past-time is to systematically slaughter people. Which is sort of the point. The question we, and Dexter, are forced to grapple with throughout all of the first season of the show is whether or not a murderer has to be a monster. (The exploration of this topic is one of the many areas in which the source material - Jeff Lindsay's Darkly Dreaming Dexter series - and the show depart paths. But I digress...)

It's a good question, and it's a credit to Hall that he can bring enough humanity to the role that we don't dismiss it immediately upon seeing him kill his first victim of the series - all of three minutes into the pilot.

To be fair, "Dexter" has changed a lot since season one. I'm glad the excessive melodrama has been replaced with a wry, sarcastic wit, and I'm happy that the voice-over from the days of olde has ceased to be a crutch for the writers and has become an enjoyable story-telling device, truly a character all its own.

That being said, not all of the show has been good. I hated season two, was bored to tears by season three, and was suspicious of season four until John Lithgow proved just how much of an acting bad ass he was and jumped up to my favorite series guest star in the history of ever. (I would have never guessed how brilliant he is just from watching "3rd Rock From the Sun." Go figure.) Good characters (and actors) were squandered, stupid characters were expanded upon in far too much detail, story arcs were plain idiotic, and many a filler episode was to be had.

But dammit, I haven't been able to stop watching.

And thank goodness, because season five and the role Julia Stiles's character is playing in Dexter's life would have been a shame to miss.

(Spoilers for the whole series. Back, yee who do not watch!)

Glee 2x06 - Never Been Kissed

When I snagged this (very idiotic, in retrospect) domain name about two-odd years ago, the intention was to just talk about TV. Because, hey, I watch a lot of it and have plenty of opinions about it.

Except I never have terribly reliable access to it (we don't even own a TV set at my place), I usually never watch things until a week after I have access to them anyway, and I haven't seen plenty of shows that any TV connoisseur would punch me in the face for. (Seriously. I've been threatened.)

So this leaves any TV blog I try to write in an awkward place. I'm writing about stuff a few days/weeks after it airs, a few years after it airs, or seconds after consumption. In any case, it seems sort of silly to even bother, given TV blogging culture and how, by it's very nature, it needs to be immediate, relevant, and, you know. Smart.

But, then I realized, hell. It's my blog. Forget convention. Let's be bold!

Let's talk about "Glee."

Side Note -

BTW, I had no idea about the comments people had already posted on various entries.

I heart comments. Communication through comments is awesome.

Rules are just posted to satisfy my paranoia before I get super-nuerotic.

Which, you know. I do.

A lot.

Poop is Private - Rules for Reading/Writing this Blog

I have never written a public blog before. Where people know it's me, I don't place my settings as 'friends only,' and I try to have actual opinions about stuff.

Two posts in, I'm not sure if I like it all that much.

See, last night I had a conversation that went (loosely) like this:

Z: Why do X and Y keep having facebook updates about poop?
W: I don't know. They're bored and have nothing better to do? They want to warn us all about the dangers of eating too many beans and not chewing corn properly?
Z: They might think it's cute. I wouldn't know why, but still. Their optimism about the adorableness of their bodily wastes is to be appreciated.
Me: *with the utmost seriousness and terror* No one in the history of all creation could think poop is cute.
W: The history of all creation?
Z: I'm sensing deep-seated issues here.
Me: No. It's just, well... Poop is private.

Gang, this blog is designed to be my poop.

This is the stuff I've consumed (media, life interactions, books, etc.) and digested (thought about some). It looks gross (or reads like the confessional of a neurotic eleven year-old watching TV she really shouldn't have access to without adult supervision (no offense to any eleven year-olds in the crowd)), reeks (of pretentiousness, narcissism and self-importance), and is a bit embarrassing to show to other people.

First of all, it should be clear by this point that no one should ever show off poop to me. Good? Great.

Second, I'm abandoning the poop comparison, because now it's just getting weird.

Third, I think it's time to set some ground rules. For me, for you, for the great internetz at large. Just so I can go through the 'verbalizing' portion of my insanity and move onto a good emotional place for blogging.

(Yes. For me blogging is an emotional space I'll be occupying. And yes, you should be mocking me now.)

So, without further delay...

Thoughts on a Cosmological Scale - No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July

Today on the train I finished No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July.

Maybe I'm not deep enough, but I really didn't enjoy the collection until the last story, which is probably because I don't typically like shorter pieces of prose. There's something about growing with a book that I appreciate, and that I can't seem to get out of short fiction. It's not that collections can't impact me, because they can. And it certainly isn't because they're not any good, because they are. It's just that when reading shorter stuff, I never feel as if there's enough time for the stories to really capture me.