(Warning: The following post is vastly different from what I usually write, but being that my parents and sister have experienced, and complained about, the exact same thing, this is the next best place to vent.)
When I was vastly overweight, I blocked toilets. There were very few instances in which I actually examined what I was eating. It had cheese, it had some kind of meat, it was either nachos or quesadillas or occasionally fettucine alfredo, or it was deeply unhealthy for me, but I loved it and I wanted more of it. And because of that, what ended up in the can at times seemed bigger than the can, making me take hold of the plunger just in case it wouldn't go down yet again. We have crappy plumbing here in Saugus, but back then, I also contributed to it.
Now, being a much thinner me, my business back there isn't as big. I'm still happily losing weight, so there is some result of that, but it isn't as bad as it once was. And yet, today, what in hell happened?! I didn't even give that much for the demon toilet to be blocked yet again. I flushed what little there had been, but while I was washing my hands, I didn't hear the comforting sound of it fully flushing out. I opened the lid, and the water in the bowl had risen up to a level that first made me freeze and think, "Oh shit. Not again!", before realizing that I probably should reach behind the bowl and cut off the water supply to it.
Now what? Find a cup of some kind that we don't need ever again and start bailing it out? I didn't want to do that because I was planning to get in the shower after I shaved and I didn't want toilet water in the tub. Plus, my first plunging attempt had splashed water on the carpet, and I need to explain this: The previous owners of this house, an elderly couple, had carpet installed in the bathrooms, presumably so they wouldn't slip like they probably would on tile. Folks, this is why tile should be law in bathrooms. Water rests on tile. It doesn't soak into it. You don't need to press toilet paper deep into it in order to soak up spilled water. You simply wipe it up. I used about a quarter of a roll to soak up what had splashed onto the carpet around the toilet. Yes, I am a moron in plunging when the water's that high in the bowl, but I just wanted a shower, and doubly moronic because had I bailed the water out into the tub, I could have just run the bath water on hot for over a minute, shepherded it back to the drain, and continued on with my cleanly intentions. But there I was, using toilet paper that has turned out to be much stronger than the tissues we use. We don't keep tissues on hand in our bathrooms anymore because toilet paper does a lot better work in nose-blowing too.
As I was soaking up the carpet as best I could, I heard a heavenly sound coming from the shut-off toilet. It was a slight draining noise, and the water in the bowl was slowly, slowly going down. As the water reached the halfway point, I realized I could plunge, and with enough thrusts, it could go down faster. I could turn the water supply back on, it would spread into the bowl, I could flush again, and things could go back to normal. Except the carpet for the moment.
So I did exactly that, holding the handle down after I turned the supply back on so the water would go fully down and then come back up, and it all eventually stopped. Water in the bowl where it should be. And I thought about how much I hated this, how we had lived with it for these 7 years (we spent our first year in this valley in an apartment in Valencia with plumbing that never gave us this much trouble, mainly because those overseeing the apartment complex actually gave a damn), how one day your plumbing works fine, and the next, you're hoping that it goes down, even though you put nothing more than a strip of toilet paper in after wiping yourself.
This extended to when I had cleaned up everything around the toilet and started shaving. The last time I shaved a few days ago, the water in the sink was nearly nil. It had collected around the drain, but that was about it. It kept going down as it should. When I shaved today, the water was a quarter of the way up the sink and growing a bit more than that. I wondered if my portly next-door neighbor had been eating pork or something equally greasy and that's what had stopped up the plumbing, because our set of houses (Ours, his, and the two next door to us) have plumbing that's connected. So if someone happens to be flushing weed for whatever reason (I'm just guessing; I know nothing about my neighbors beyond the big guy) or had a bad reaction to Mexican food, we all know about it because it screws up our plumbing.
This experience darkened my mood a bit when I got in the shower, because I just wanted to shave and get in the shower, and enjoy that refreshing, renewed feeling that comes from standing under warm water spraying on you. Eventually, I regained my equilibrium, but then when I got in the shower, I was reminded of the water still in the carpet, stepping on a section that still produced some, and so I soaked up more with more toilet paper. When the day comes that we finally move, and arrive at our new place in Henderson, I'm going to walk to each bathroom and flush each toilet with a wide smile on my face, grateful that I don't have to put up with this crap anymore. That dream is nearly at the top of my list of Henderson dreams. It's a long list.
Besides that, I'm on page 177 of The Opposite of Me, Sarah Pekkanen's first novel (I read her second, Skipping a Beat, and really liked it), and am anticipating her third novel, which will be published next year. If she keeps writing like this, one book a year, and if Barbara O'Neal of The Secret of Everything (Her best novel, and my favorite novel out of the three she's written so far) has another one out next year, I won't have any trouble finding any modern-day reads. I'll be deliriously happy each time.
In the mail, I received Distortions by Ann Beattie, owing to my writerly crush on her after reading in "The New Yorker" an excerpt from her Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life that'll be out in November. I want to read everything by her, and my order from Daedalus Books (http://www.daedalusbooks.com/) includes The New Yorker Stories, a collection of every short story she's written for "The New Yorker" from 1974 to 2006. I like her writing because it's about all of us, about our lives, our loves, what we want, what we try to avoid, what shakes up our lives, what makes them whole again. When you find a writer you want to read more of, it's the clearest, happiest courtship you can ever have. You want to explore every part of them. That's the feeling I get with Ann Beattie.
We didn't go out anywhere yesterday, and with some rain coming in later tonight, probably not today either. Definitely tomorrow. Dad's getting antsy, as he doesn't like to be in one place too long. I don't mind it. I've been in the house all week, I've had my books, and it doesn't bother me, particularly because we've been everywhere that there is to go in this valley and in other Southern California cities. There were times we drove to San Diego for Sea World and Legoland. Those are necessary only once. In Henderson, I'll think differently. But here, I have my books, so I'm satisfied.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Rosh Hashanah and Furlough Days Off - Day 1
Since the school district Dad and Meridith work for does not give days off for Rosh Hashanah, as in schools being closed (Apparently not enough of us in this valley), they took today and Friday off. And since Monday and Tuesday are furlough days, meaning that schools are closed and no one's getting paid, in an attempt to save whatever money's left, they'll be home with Mom and I for the next six days. For me, there is the hope of going out to a few interesting places, and the trend of spending money on furlough days, as has been done many other furlough days.
My major desire is to go to IKEA again in Burbank for Swedish meatballs, which doubles as a bonus of getting out of this valley, because in order to do anything different, it can't be done here. I'll push for this over the next day or so.
So far, their time off has given me the opportunity to watch movies in the morning again, since I don't get up early enough when they're at work to do it, and I much prefer reading. Actually, I don't watch movies a great deal anyway, but I'm watching First Monday in October, starring Walter Matthau and Jill Clayburgh, ahead of the Supreme Court's next term on Monday, and I received in the mail yesterday the Ma & Pa Kettle Comedy Collection, containing all 10 Ma & Pa Kettle movies, starring Majorie Main and Percy Kilbride, beginning with The Egg and I, which had them as vastly entertaining supporting players to Fred MacMurray and Claudette Colbert. This set is unique because The Kettles in the Ozarks and The Kettles on Old Macdonald's Farm, the 9th and 10th films in the series, have previously only been available for purchase exclusively on the Turner Classic Movies website, never on the previous sets Universal released. I'm looking forward to possibly watching all 10 films during these different days. Unless of course we go somewhere interesting in the morning hours, in which case I'm in and these can wait.
Naturally, I'm satisfied enough with my books, and my days as they are are just fine, but different perspectives would be nice, different locations. We've been everywhere there is to be in Southern California over these past 8 years, so nothing is truly different, but outside of this valley, it's at least a welcome change.
My major desire is to go to IKEA again in Burbank for Swedish meatballs, which doubles as a bonus of getting out of this valley, because in order to do anything different, it can't be done here. I'll push for this over the next day or so.
So far, their time off has given me the opportunity to watch movies in the morning again, since I don't get up early enough when they're at work to do it, and I much prefer reading. Actually, I don't watch movies a great deal anyway, but I'm watching First Monday in October, starring Walter Matthau and Jill Clayburgh, ahead of the Supreme Court's next term on Monday, and I received in the mail yesterday the Ma & Pa Kettle Comedy Collection, containing all 10 Ma & Pa Kettle movies, starring Majorie Main and Percy Kilbride, beginning with The Egg and I, which had them as vastly entertaining supporting players to Fred MacMurray and Claudette Colbert. This set is unique because The Kettles in the Ozarks and The Kettles on Old Macdonald's Farm, the 9th and 10th films in the series, have previously only been available for purchase exclusively on the Turner Classic Movies website, never on the previous sets Universal released. I'm looking forward to possibly watching all 10 films during these different days. Unless of course we go somewhere interesting in the morning hours, in which case I'm in and these can wait.
Naturally, I'm satisfied enough with my books, and my days as they are are just fine, but different perspectives would be nice, different locations. We've been everywhere there is to be in Southern California over these past 8 years, so nothing is truly different, but outside of this valley, it's at least a welcome change.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
This Is Me
This is me. All me. I cannot describe myself better than this reader has described her reaction to a book:
"I just spent the last 40, maybe 50 minutes, crying over a book. I haven’t even finished this book. I started crying about halfway, and it just kept getting more and more emotional and. I don’t mean just, tearing up and feeling sentimental.
I mean snot running down my face and dripping onto my shirt, body-shaking sobs, wails, whines, panicked strangled pleas, headaches, stinging eyes, raw cheeks and a puffy face because even though it is physically hurting me to keep reading, I need to be able to try and see the pages.
I had to, with shaking hands, force myself to put it down, not because I need to go to bed (though I do, badly), but because I do not have the strength now to keep reading. I need to calm down. I don’t want to, but I need to come back to a reality that I seriously do. not. want. to.
And that’s why I fucking love books.
I can’t trust people who don’t react to books this way.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t react to books like this."
Amen! A-holyshitthisissotrue-men! Find the original post here.
"I just spent the last 40, maybe 50 minutes, crying over a book. I haven’t even finished this book. I started crying about halfway, and it just kept getting more and more emotional and. I don’t mean just, tearing up and feeling sentimental.
I mean snot running down my face and dripping onto my shirt, body-shaking sobs, wails, whines, panicked strangled pleas, headaches, stinging eyes, raw cheeks and a puffy face because even though it is physically hurting me to keep reading, I need to be able to try and see the pages.
I had to, with shaking hands, force myself to put it down, not because I need to go to bed (though I do, badly), but because I do not have the strength now to keep reading. I need to calm down. I don’t want to, but I need to come back to a reality that I seriously do. not. want. to.
And that’s why I fucking love books.
I can’t trust people who don’t react to books this way.
I can’t love someone who doesn’t react to books like this."
Amen! A-holyshitthisissotrue-men! Find the original post here.
My Inspiration is Retiring
I was 8 and 9 when I knew 60 Minutes to be a repository for luxury car commercials every Sunday night. I knew of Morley Safer, Ed Bradley, Lesley Stahl, and a little bit of Andy Rooney, though I didn't watch much of it. When I was 11, I only knew Andy Rooney.
I watched his commentaries in awe. He talked about tools in his workshop at home, of receiving letters, of life in winter, of pens, of various trends that befuddled him, and I was amazed. I could write about all this and talk about all this, with the same attention paid to novels and biographies? I just thought everything he talked about is what happens in daily life and you just live it and move on. I didn't think it could be talked about and written about at length. Not that there's any law against it, but I thought words were mainly reserved for what I thought at the time to be deeper thoughts. And yet here was Andy Rooney, talking about my life, your life, their life.
In that same year of being 11, my family and I want to a large thrift store to look around, one that had long racks of clothing, rows and rows of them. In glass cases, there were video games for sale. And in my favorite part of that thrift store, there were bookshelves bulging with books, threatening to make the shelves explode with the weight of them. And it was within those bookshelves that I found The Most of Andy Rooney, a 761-page compilation of three of his books: A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney, And More by Andy Rooney, and Pieces of My Mind. I don't remember how much it was, I imagine it was probably over $5, but I bought it. I wanted to study Rooney's thoughts, to understand how one goes about writing about the average day-to-day things in life.
That first book, from 1981, begins with a preface by Rooney, stating, "The writing in this book was originally done for television." And it was. "Mr. Rooney Goes to Washington" is made up of interview transcripts that had obviously been broadcast. Same with "Mr. Rooney Goes to Work." But it was page 42, "Mr. Rooney Goes to Dinner" that inspired me the most.
Rooney starts the piece talking about eating, and then says, "There are 400,000 restaurants in the United States and if you ate three meals a day in restaurants for seventy years, you could only eat in 76,000 of them." (This was broadcast on April 20, 1976, by the way)
"Obviously I haven't gone to all 400,000 restauranted in the United States to make this report. Chances are I didn't go to the one you like best or least. I didn't even go to the one I like best. My job may seem good to some of you . . . but I've got a tough boss. Several months ago he gave me an order. "Travel anywhere you want in the United States," he told me. "Eat in a lot of good restaurants on the company . . . and report back to me." I took money, credit cards and a lot of bad advice from friends and set out across the country."
He did. He ate at a "Scandinavian smorgasbord" place called Copenhagen with Walter Cronkite. He visited J.B.I. Industries in Compton, California which specializes(ed?) in making restaurants look like anything. A pirate ship design was on display. $6,000. Then he goes to McDonald's:
"Workmen were finishing a new plastic replica of an old airplane to ship to a McDonald's opening in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. We were curious about how a hamburger would taste eaten in a plastic airplane, so a few weeks later, after it had been installed, we went to Glen Ellyn.
ROONEY (to cashier):
Same price whether I eat it here or in the airplane?
CASHIER:
Yes.
ROONEY:
I guess I'll eat it in the airplane."
After reading that piece, I wanted to do what Rooney did. I wanted to write exactly like he did, talking about the previously-mundane happenings in one's life. And I tried. I got out notebook paper a couple days after I finished reading the entire book, and I began writing about the view outside my window, about my neighborhood, the pool, my bedroom, and school. But I couldn't. It didn't gel as well as his words did, and I realized that Rooney taught me about writing style. I couldn't write like him because I wasn't him. I was me. I was 11 years old, in 5th grade, a native Floridian. I hadn't been a journalist during World War II like Rooney, I wasn't interested in woodworking, and I certainly hadn't lived through the winters he talked about. I knew what I liked, what interested me every day, what I was learning in school, and that's what I had to write about if I wanted to write what he wrote about. My words had to include me.
And yesterday, I learned that Rooney, the great man who made me become a writer, is retiring from 60 Minutes this Sunday evening, which will feature a career retrospective interview with Morley Safer, his 1,097th essay, and the announcement of his retirement. I'm getting choked up because he was there for all those weeks of my life since I decided to become a writer. I watched him every week, always in awe of what he talked about, how he was funny, witty, incisive, never ranting angrily at anything. He was a master at quiet, contemplative bemusement. He taught me that you could write about anything in the world, as long as it comes from you first and foremost and embodies everything that you are. I proudly live his writing beliefs every day.
Thank you, my writing teacher.
I watched his commentaries in awe. He talked about tools in his workshop at home, of receiving letters, of life in winter, of pens, of various trends that befuddled him, and I was amazed. I could write about all this and talk about all this, with the same attention paid to novels and biographies? I just thought everything he talked about is what happens in daily life and you just live it and move on. I didn't think it could be talked about and written about at length. Not that there's any law against it, but I thought words were mainly reserved for what I thought at the time to be deeper thoughts. And yet here was Andy Rooney, talking about my life, your life, their life.
In that same year of being 11, my family and I want to a large thrift store to look around, one that had long racks of clothing, rows and rows of them. In glass cases, there were video games for sale. And in my favorite part of that thrift store, there were bookshelves bulging with books, threatening to make the shelves explode with the weight of them. And it was within those bookshelves that I found The Most of Andy Rooney, a 761-page compilation of three of his books: A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney, And More by Andy Rooney, and Pieces of My Mind. I don't remember how much it was, I imagine it was probably over $5, but I bought it. I wanted to study Rooney's thoughts, to understand how one goes about writing about the average day-to-day things in life.
That first book, from 1981, begins with a preface by Rooney, stating, "The writing in this book was originally done for television." And it was. "Mr. Rooney Goes to Washington" is made up of interview transcripts that had obviously been broadcast. Same with "Mr. Rooney Goes to Work." But it was page 42, "Mr. Rooney Goes to Dinner" that inspired me the most.
Rooney starts the piece talking about eating, and then says, "There are 400,000 restaurants in the United States and if you ate three meals a day in restaurants for seventy years, you could only eat in 76,000 of them." (This was broadcast on April 20, 1976, by the way)
"Obviously I haven't gone to all 400,000 restauranted in the United States to make this report. Chances are I didn't go to the one you like best or least. I didn't even go to the one I like best. My job may seem good to some of you . . . but I've got a tough boss. Several months ago he gave me an order. "Travel anywhere you want in the United States," he told me. "Eat in a lot of good restaurants on the company . . . and report back to me." I took money, credit cards and a lot of bad advice from friends and set out across the country."
He did. He ate at a "Scandinavian smorgasbord" place called Copenhagen with Walter Cronkite. He visited J.B.I. Industries in Compton, California which specializes(ed?) in making restaurants look like anything. A pirate ship design was on display. $6,000. Then he goes to McDonald's:
"Workmen were finishing a new plastic replica of an old airplane to ship to a McDonald's opening in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. We were curious about how a hamburger would taste eaten in a plastic airplane, so a few weeks later, after it had been installed, we went to Glen Ellyn.
ROONEY (to cashier):
Same price whether I eat it here or in the airplane?
CASHIER:
Yes.
ROONEY:
I guess I'll eat it in the airplane."
After reading that piece, I wanted to do what Rooney did. I wanted to write exactly like he did, talking about the previously-mundane happenings in one's life. And I tried. I got out notebook paper a couple days after I finished reading the entire book, and I began writing about the view outside my window, about my neighborhood, the pool, my bedroom, and school. But I couldn't. It didn't gel as well as his words did, and I realized that Rooney taught me about writing style. I couldn't write like him because I wasn't him. I was me. I was 11 years old, in 5th grade, a native Floridian. I hadn't been a journalist during World War II like Rooney, I wasn't interested in woodworking, and I certainly hadn't lived through the winters he talked about. I knew what I liked, what interested me every day, what I was learning in school, and that's what I had to write about if I wanted to write what he wrote about. My words had to include me.
And yesterday, I learned that Rooney, the great man who made me become a writer, is retiring from 60 Minutes this Sunday evening, which will feature a career retrospective interview with Morley Safer, his 1,097th essay, and the announcement of his retirement. I'm getting choked up because he was there for all those weeks of my life since I decided to become a writer. I watched him every week, always in awe of what he talked about, how he was funny, witty, incisive, never ranting angrily at anything. He was a master at quiet, contemplative bemusement. He taught me that you could write about anything in the world, as long as it comes from you first and foremost and embodies everything that you are. I proudly live his writing beliefs every day.
Thank you, my writing teacher.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Desert Soundtrack
My latest project, among the many others already stacked up, is to create a personal soundtrack representative of the desert that I know in and near Las Vegas, the view of that ocean of desert from that mountain ledge next to Hacienda Hotel and Casino near Boulder City, the Mojave Desert from Baker, California on, and in Victorville.
So far, in a Windows Media playlist, I have placed Amazonia by Paul Lawler and Paul Speer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHdqmU5lXSs), which has a vast desert feeling; Viva Las Vegas as sung by Shawn Colvin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g87Mu9SNqwk. It has a slower tempo, more grounded, and is the Las Vegas I know and love); Cherry-Coloured Funk by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WybSSagVvoU. For me, it embodies nighttime in Las Vegas); Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtBr5JKSuks. It's like an introduction to Las Vegas); Serengeti by Jeff Oster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd6TvuJMEhIand. It reminds me of crossing the California state line into Nevada and approaching Primm with the outlet mall, the three casinos, and the Desperado rollercoaster); and Cluster One by Pink Floyd (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRqrpfzpTaA. It has the feeling of parking your car somewhere in the desert at night, lying on the hood, looking up at all those stars).
Since the Spa channel is on our XM Radio in the living room every day, full of the ambient music I love, I listen to it to see if any songs feel like the desert, and write down the titles and artists and listen to them more closely online if they're available either on YouTube or through another source. My goal here is to create a soundtrack that's just as much home to me as Henderson will be, that makes me feel even more like I truly belong in this vast wonder of desert living. Does anyone have any suggestions that could make for an effective soundtrack?
So far, in a Windows Media playlist, I have placed Amazonia by Paul Lawler and Paul Speer (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHdqmU5lXSs), which has a vast desert feeling; Viva Las Vegas as sung by Shawn Colvin (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g87Mu9SNqwk. It has a slower tempo, more grounded, and is the Las Vegas I know and love); Cherry-Coloured Funk by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WybSSagVvoU. For me, it embodies nighttime in Las Vegas); Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtBr5JKSuks. It's like an introduction to Las Vegas); Serengeti by Jeff Oster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd6TvuJMEhIand. It reminds me of crossing the California state line into Nevada and approaching Primm with the outlet mall, the three casinos, and the Desperado rollercoaster); and Cluster One by Pink Floyd (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRqrpfzpTaA. It has the feeling of parking your car somewhere in the desert at night, lying on the hood, looking up at all those stars).
Since the Spa channel is on our XM Radio in the living room every day, full of the ambient music I love, I listen to it to see if any songs feel like the desert, and write down the titles and artists and listen to them more closely online if they're available either on YouTube or through another source. My goal here is to create a soundtrack that's just as much home to me as Henderson will be, that makes me feel even more like I truly belong in this vast wonder of desert living. Does anyone have any suggestions that could make for an effective soundtrack?
An Attempt at Reading United States Reports, Volume 515
Owing to my interest in the Supreme Court, recently revitalized by having read Five Chiefs by John Paul Stevens, which in turn spurred me on to order biographies of Antonin Scalia and Sandra Day O'Connor that I had checked out of the library earlier this year but had not read, and having read The Nine by Jeffrey Toobin and The Brethren by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong, I pulled out of a stack near my left-side closet door United States Reports, Volume 515, a result of rooting through the Government Printing Office Bookstore website (http://bookstore.gpo.gov/), seeing if there were any cheap volumes of Supreme Court decisions. The full official title of 515 is United States Reports, V. 515, Cases Adjudged in the Supreme Court at October Term, 1994, May 30 through September 29, 1995, Together with Opinions of Individual Justices in Chambers, End of Term. 1,369 pages. $19.
The volume nearest to this one that I can find on the website is volume 513, and that goes for $50.40. I bought this one because I was curious about what such a book looks like and it's incredibly thick in hardcover, with a gloomy tan cover, and very official type on the spine with United States Reports in gold lettering, against a red background, with gold bars above and below it, and the same gold bars above and below Oct. Term 1994 and below that, Amendments of Rules, both lines against a black background. When Mom saw it after I took it out of the box it came in, she said it was exactly what her grandfather had in his law office, hundreds of books like this one lined up on shelves. She remembered it well.
Curiosity spurred me on to order this. I didn't want to read for hours the .pdfs available on the Supreme Court website, though I may scroll through them, and wanted one volume that I could read through, seeing what's written here, as well as the writing styles of the justices, particular David Souter in this time, who is my favorite justice, albeit retired now.
There will be occasional entries as I pore over it, things observed, use of footnotes, how much they're used, how each justice seems to approach the case at hand in their words, and the careful use of words to make the law clear.
The volume nearest to this one that I can find on the website is volume 513, and that goes for $50.40. I bought this one because I was curious about what such a book looks like and it's incredibly thick in hardcover, with a gloomy tan cover, and very official type on the spine with United States Reports in gold lettering, against a red background, with gold bars above and below it, and the same gold bars above and below Oct. Term 1994 and below that, Amendments of Rules, both lines against a black background. When Mom saw it after I took it out of the box it came in, she said it was exactly what her grandfather had in his law office, hundreds of books like this one lined up on shelves. She remembered it well.
Curiosity spurred me on to order this. I didn't want to read for hours the .pdfs available on the Supreme Court website, though I may scroll through them, and wanted one volume that I could read through, seeing what's written here, as well as the writing styles of the justices, particular David Souter in this time, who is my favorite justice, albeit retired now.
There will be occasional entries as I pore over it, things observed, use of footnotes, how much they're used, how each justice seems to approach the case at hand in their words, and the careful use of words to make the law clear.
My Fall TV Season is Over
My fall TV season began with the anticipation of the 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory and the 3rd season premiere of The Good Wife, the latter spurred on by a half-hour recap special aired a few weeks beforehand, along with a second-season episode right after which guest-starred Fred Dalton Thompson and which I found entertaining and exactly the kind of writing I like to hear on a TV show, with confidence and sophistication offered in great amounts. This led to buying the first season on DVD at Target for $20, a worthy investment of my time, and though I've not yet seen the third season premiere (I Tivo'd it), I'm sure I will later tonight.
The 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory was good, airing the first and second episodes, and it's exactly what I expect of the show, to be a reliable purveyor of comedy every Thursday night, with enough of Sheldon to keep me pleased.
There have also been new additions. Three Mondays ago, CBS reran the first season finale of Hawaii Five-O and I had learned a few things about the show, though not paying a great deal of attention to it beyond Jean Smart playing the governor. And I had learned that she was killed off in the season finale, with Steve McGarrett (Alex O'Loughlin) framed for her murder. I happened to have the rerun on that night and was intrigued with the action, the strongly-written characters, and great use of many locations. I watched the rest of the second-season premiere late last night on Tivo and loved when a henchman of Wo Fat (Mark Dacascos, who my sister saw and said, "That Iron Chef guy must travel a lot") said to Kono (Grace Park), "You wouldn't shoot me. You're a cop." Kono fired at the dirt between his legs and replied, "You see a badge?" I started watching the second episode right after, but will finish it later tonight as well.
And then, around 1:30 a.m., I watched Hart of Dixie (Tivo'd), which debuted on the CW. As it began, I reminded myself that this is Hollywood's view of the Deep South, not representative of what it really is, and was able to enjoy it right from the start. It stars Rachel Bilson as an aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon, who loses the fellowship she had been vying for, advised by the Chief of Surgery at her hospital that in order to be a great surgeon, she has to work on her own heart, and reflect more on herself, knowing people more than she does, which is nearly nil. She arrives in Blue Bell, Alabama, having been left half of a medical practice by an older gentleman who had been at her medical school graduation four years ago and offered her the opportunity to work at that practice, but she refused, knowing full well her path in life. Nevertheless, he kept sending her postcards with the same offer, and after being denied that fellowship, she left Manhattan for Blue Bell.
There were a few groan-worthy bumps in the script with the "sophisticated city girl" looking down on the "hicks," but it's appealing enough, and certain plot elements are intriguing enough to get me to watch again next week, such as Bilson sparring with the other half of the medical practice, played by Tim Matheson. My biggest disappointment is that Nancy Travis left this for Last Man Standing, starring Tim Allen. There was probably more pay for her in that, and co-lead status, but she fit so well here. I just hope CW gives it a good long chance.
I saw Pan Am and liked it enough to try it again next week, though I didn't connect to it as quickly as I did to Hart of Dixie, despite the historical airline storylines. I haven't seen the second episode of 2 Broke Girls, but will later. After all that, though, I think my fall TV season is over. I've got The Big Bang Theory, The Good Wife, and Hawaii Five-O on CBS (and possibly CSI as well, since I liked Ted Danson's debut last week, and I like being reminded of Vegas until I get there as a resident), and Hart of Dixie on CW. That's about all the shows I need. I also have Prime Suspect and Unforgettable on the Tivo, but I think if I had really been interested in them, I would have watched them by now.
The 5th season premiere of The Big Bang Theory was good, airing the first and second episodes, and it's exactly what I expect of the show, to be a reliable purveyor of comedy every Thursday night, with enough of Sheldon to keep me pleased.
There have also been new additions. Three Mondays ago, CBS reran the first season finale of Hawaii Five-O and I had learned a few things about the show, though not paying a great deal of attention to it beyond Jean Smart playing the governor. And I had learned that she was killed off in the season finale, with Steve McGarrett (Alex O'Loughlin) framed for her murder. I happened to have the rerun on that night and was intrigued with the action, the strongly-written characters, and great use of many locations. I watched the rest of the second-season premiere late last night on Tivo and loved when a henchman of Wo Fat (Mark Dacascos, who my sister saw and said, "That Iron Chef guy must travel a lot") said to Kono (Grace Park), "You wouldn't shoot me. You're a cop." Kono fired at the dirt between his legs and replied, "You see a badge?" I started watching the second episode right after, but will finish it later tonight as well.
And then, around 1:30 a.m., I watched Hart of Dixie (Tivo'd), which debuted on the CW. As it began, I reminded myself that this is Hollywood's view of the Deep South, not representative of what it really is, and was able to enjoy it right from the start. It stars Rachel Bilson as an aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon, who loses the fellowship she had been vying for, advised by the Chief of Surgery at her hospital that in order to be a great surgeon, she has to work on her own heart, and reflect more on herself, knowing people more than she does, which is nearly nil. She arrives in Blue Bell, Alabama, having been left half of a medical practice by an older gentleman who had been at her medical school graduation four years ago and offered her the opportunity to work at that practice, but she refused, knowing full well her path in life. Nevertheless, he kept sending her postcards with the same offer, and after being denied that fellowship, she left Manhattan for Blue Bell.
There were a few groan-worthy bumps in the script with the "sophisticated city girl" looking down on the "hicks," but it's appealing enough, and certain plot elements are intriguing enough to get me to watch again next week, such as Bilson sparring with the other half of the medical practice, played by Tim Matheson. My biggest disappointment is that Nancy Travis left this for Last Man Standing, starring Tim Allen. There was probably more pay for her in that, and co-lead status, but she fit so well here. I just hope CW gives it a good long chance.
I saw Pan Am and liked it enough to try it again next week, though I didn't connect to it as quickly as I did to Hart of Dixie, despite the historical airline storylines. I haven't seen the second episode of 2 Broke Girls, but will later. After all that, though, I think my fall TV season is over. I've got The Big Bang Theory, The Good Wife, and Hawaii Five-O on CBS (and possibly CSI as well, since I liked Ted Danson's debut last week, and I like being reminded of Vegas until I get there as a resident), and Hart of Dixie on CW. That's about all the shows I need. I also have Prime Suspect and Unforgettable on the Tivo, but I think if I had really been interested in them, I would have watched them by now.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)