nothing mister but boring stories of

February 18, 2016

I have just decided that as opposed to simply mostly liking old lady television, I also and even more so just like television that is for people who like books better.

TV and movies are a part of my daily life now, just like audiobooks; I listen to them negligently while my forebrain focuses on the task at hand every afternoon that I work from home. I have to have my mornings for music or quiet though, or the chitchat in my brain goes from pleasant to overpowering.

I have been giving a decent amount of thought to my viewing selections lately. I think this is probably just the thing to do and since everyone else seems to I do as well; and also I really do think it has some interesting things to say about me psychologically, and I am totally into anything that will talk to me about myself, so.

It is true that I love old lady tv. My only relationship with tv other than lingering in that aisle during thrift or electronic store excursions and picking up just enough of a storyline to tantalize, was watching it when I went to my grandparents’ house. On Saturday morning, the most blissful time of them all, I was allowed to have the tv while my grandparents bustled about their regular weekend morning things, and I reveled in all the usual kid cartoon things. During the week days though while my parents worked, during my preschool years, my grandma kept up on her stories. We watched everything on OPB and Masterpiece Theater and every single soap opera that there was, probably. I have almost no actual memories of these shows, but when I started watching Poirot recently for the first time since I was like, six, I totally had flashbacks. I remember being pleasantly terrified of this one scary guy with a swan topped walking stick, (who totally turned out not to be the bad guy at all, I was shocked), and for some reason for one entire episode (but none of the others) I knew exactly what everyone was going to do or say before they said or did it. So it’s lodged in there somewhere. It’s lodged in there, dictating my current television preferences.

I like stories. It turns out that a lot of my favorite shows actually came from books. And this is not me being all oh my yes, I’m so high class, I only like book television. Most of those books were trash, and most of the shows are trash. But I love them. They satisfy the greedy fable craving. They adhere to the storyline. Every time some tv show starts meandering off the main trail I get impatient. If it has been four or so episodes of pretty much unrelated shenanigans I get pissed off. And if it goes meandering all over the place until it finally winds up in the gutter and does not even give me the only thing I had been waiting for anyway, it is LOST and I will hate it forever.

I like the narrative, I guess. (Not to be confused with the narrated; for the narrated I have a short rope). This is why, other than the odiously many episodes that Jess is not part of, Gilmore Girls is one of the best shows ever. I know that the carefully curated minds of film lovers everywhere have just exploded (bye!) but sadly for them, this is just how I feel. Gilmore Girls has a story and it has tons and tons of lovely words, and throughout its entire span it reeks of a love and reverence for books and reading. I relate. Not to the stupid damn Logan crap, however. Any of it.

I am


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