After a 2 month respite I decided to reboot this here blog for myself in order to write the kinks out of a sluggish mind. There is nothing like a little disappointment to spark one's inspiration into a kindling of productivity.
TV is boring and terrible; aside from sporting events I find myself shying away from any new series. Maybe the tipping point was the brutal way in which JJ Abrams finished Lost, or how his new shows heinously waste the time of the masses. It might have been the sudden emergence of an indiscernible Irish accent in Sons of Anarchy. Whatever happened, the waves are certainly not breaking for the Idiot Box. Entourage became the same episode each installment, and the same goes for Weeds. I used to love Californication and up until this season I was fairly entertained. But the debauchery is no longer shocking, and the witty musings of Hank Moody are no longer enough. The key metric is the same for a pro-athlete. Knowing when to say when. The grand machine of Los Angeles loves to rock the car until the wheels fall off, abandoning ship and leaving viewers downtrodden. Pulling the plug one season is too much to ask apparently.
For now the search for quality television aside from athletic prowess continues. I recommend nothing, hunt at your own risk. Luckily for me I can read.
For now the search for quality television aside from athletic prowess continues. I recommend nothing, hunt at your own risk. Luckily for me I can read.
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