What happens when one is suddenly left alone with the remote after 30 odd years of 'sharing'? It's scary, I tell you. I don't care how kind, gentle, and progressive they are, all men are remote-hogs. It's a simple case of genetics. So a husband's business trip can turn into a wife's wild ride into her TV Id.
It all started semi-respectably when I sat down on the couch to eat dinner. I immediately landed onJamie at Home on Food network. I love Jamie Oliver, and he wasn't even making anything I am remotely (no pun intended) interested in...I think it was pickled eggplant. I love his Cockney, some call it mockney, lisp. I love his street slang and his earthy approach to food. Last night he squished the tomatoes, garlic and oil with his fingers. I can feel myself getting away from the point of this post...
I watched Jamie bash and chuck and splash his way through a few more dishes and then moved on. Suffice it to say my evening went downhill from there. I got trapped in a small corridor of channels flipping up and down for hours. Like an addict I couldn't stray far from any one channel for fear of losing it in the endless satellite lineup. I watched increasingly incoherent snippets of shows in a hallucinogenic montage from Nazi Hunters to Fashion Police to Man vs Food, with slightly longer layovers in Like Water for Chocolate and the inevitable Turner Classic.
I can't see how tap dancing is entertaining, specially when they project giant shadows of Fred's feet behind him for what apparently must have been a very cool effect in the 30's, and I find subtitles equally annoying, so I checked in on the progress of the Nazi hunters and their South American kidnap attempt; they were still in the planning stages, so it was back to Adam Richman eating a giant doughnut, a birthday party with the Duggers on 19 Kids and Counting, a momentary pause on a Zumba infomercial, and another peek at Joan Rivers making snarky comments about fat people, at which point I sheepishly realized that Fashion Police had been running on a loop for the past couple of hours.
Finally, after trying extra hard to avoid My Strange Addiction at all costs, I froze in lurid fascination at the cleanser eating girl for just long enough to spawn nightmares. It was all too much. I went to bed. I can't wait for Grant to get home and take over the controls. Then I can sit back and complain about how much he flips, and watch BBC World News and The Simpsons, like we always do.
Sue/the view from great island