nbc's "harry's law"

now nobody i know is a bigger sucker for family schlock crap about lawyers trying to do good lawyering, and i think the verdict is unanymous (sp?) that "harry's law" is just that. but dang it, with shows like "skin" and "jersey shore", it might just be the sort of thing we need. though i've seen neither mtv efforts, i've watched all 3 episodes of "harry". pretty ideal cast: oscar winner, comic genius rob corrdry (sp?)'s younger brother, brittany snow's perfect smile, and many black people. it's ratings gold.

i grew up where watching tv was something you did as a family. you already knew that. but i find myself as i get older falling for these shows reminding me of my parents' collective horrible taste in tv, with significant though few exceptions.

i'll just chalk it up to cold saturday nights with baying coyotes taunting my dog.

(is there any chance they're foxes? they're pretty big.)

fear

you guys may recall that i used to drive a shuttle bus at night in winter park colorado. our dispatcher was lori, a catholic girl who got pregnant with triplets. the father, who loved her, worked on the grounds crew grooming the slopes. they were not married when lori got pregnant. shotgun wedding. but they managed, and thrived. well, one of the triplets i just found out came home from school, set down his books, picked up a gun, and blew his head off. dead. he would have been about 17 years old as i do the math.

oh well, i'll just be glad when i can run out of things to sob about.

rest in peace, kyle.

chris medina

hope it's real, hope he's real, hope steve was real. pretty moving, though.

the bachelor week 79

something something something... whore.

i hope it's a good speech. he's got it in him. heck, he's already delivered it. we turned a deaf ear. i hope it's a great speech.

seating arrangements will be funny. boner and pillozi swapping pills. and can tans. er...

i hope it's a great speech. i hope this 2 term prez goes down as one of the greatest prez's of all time. because, well, he already is. he's already given that speech.

he's a good man. a good husband, father, mentor. a great prez?

i hope he gives a great speech, one that the forefathers perhaps intended to give but refrained from because james madison hadn't invented facebook yet.

he's a good man. so what if his elegant, beautiful wife is smarter than he is. we already knew that. but here's the thing: he's smart enough to know that too. he's a good man. doing his job. let him do his job.

let this speech be great. so that he can be.

my dad was a great man; almost as great a person as my mom. let barry be quietly great, like they were. seriously.

and jesus wept.

something something something... prick.

abc's what would you do

i miss not getting abc.

dang it's cold. funny, i forgot, but you burn a lot of wood real quick. i think i'm good for a few days, but the pile really is getting skimpy.

that the networks have given up on friday night viewers means i no longer matter to advertisers.

thank you, christ jesus. i'll just watch waterworld. again.

idol sans simon

one of the things i miss most about church are the lutheran hymns. many of them, ironically, are based on irish folk songs. few people remember that the lutheran congregation was celebrated for its ability to sing the 4 different parts. when it works, when it happens, that's church. that's redemption. i may have to find a lutheran church here in piqua, just for that sound. though it won't be the same.

i had given up on idol when simon left. but, watching the premier, i'm not so sure it's dead. on respiration, sure. but dead?

i had forgotten how smart jlo is. randy redeemed himself with his bass playing. and steve tyler knows by heart every rock song ever recorded.

fixing to be a nasty weekend here. cold, snow. 3 coyotes in the east field eyeing moonpie dog this evening. i hope she's as smart as she thinks she is. my truck is flashing 2 warning lights, but i need to get into town for supplies.

rush is kind of a butt hole. that's a compliment.

Bachelor: Week 3

"I see dead people."

death, grief, isn't emotional currency. it's a savings account, a nest egg you can fall back on. it's private, not a game piece. not leverage.

now that i've tricked keifus into watching "biggest loser", i can safely retreat into the loving arms of a false bachelor's schadenfruede; he asked for it.

moonpie is currently hogging the bed. perfect fire in stove.

do we want these people to be real? no. i want them to be not real. because if people are actually like this, we're doomed.

mich-restraining order-elle. nice lilt.

"i've wanted talk to you so badly." you just did. not even counting grammnar.

in other words, let's just all get it over with, go nuts, and join a cult. we did already?

sorry. i get blue this time of year. being up north helps, but also doesn't.

and i messed up my back chopping wood.

who gave my nieces permission to grow up and get engaged?

mlkj, rest in everlasting peace. moonpie, you just rest, m'girl. big rainy day tomorrow.

ricky was good last night.

golden globes

say what you will, but you just have to admire ricky's fearlessness. i know i do.

They weren't crosshairs. They were surveyors' symbols.

Like on maps.

Well that certainly clears up all the confusion. It's not like they were burning crosses. Yet. Are we absolutely sure that Trig (short for Trigger?) is the only retard in that house? Don't get me wrong. I love retards. Some of my best friends are retards. The Chinese people revere retards because they always look happy. I wish I were a retard. Maybe I am. But I don't look happy much of the time. Hmm...

Anyways. Watched Bachelor last night (sorry topazz) with the sound down so I could listen to the Auburn game on the internets. Funny. For better or worse, the show doesn't need audio. I wonder what that says about me and the show.

He exstablished his toolness very early on -- what, the first 38 seconds on Regis? The ladies are exstablishing their phychotic tendencies considerably slower -- minute and a half. Now nobody hates women more than I do, which has been well exstablished and documented by people without spines; but these gals really do take the proverbial wedding cake. They all seem successful, confident, intelligent, devoid of dignity and self-respect. You know, the real keepers.

There's one that really stands out. I think her name is Michelle, a cutter of hair from Salt Lake City. Beautiful, tall, buxom, outspoken, and crazy as putting bullseyes on a map near areas of the country whose representatives are being targeted for elimination. Maybe not that crazy.

This is the cruelest, most depraved reality show out there, until Snooki wrote a novel. And I won't miss one minute, no matter how good The Event is. Is that over or is it still on?

9 years old. We should all weep for what we lost this weekend, if only we were smart enough to notice that we had it in the first place. I think we just crucified Christ all over again; it's just that this time that are no take-backs.

Blogging The Bachelor, Season 35

God help me. Now for the record, I've not gotten ABC for the last 13 years, so my exposure [cough] to Der Bach has been limited at best. But a dear friend named skitch swore by "The Rose Ceremony". Well Dan Brown he ain't.

Episode 1: Cattle Call. Every rose has it's psychotic. Man, it's like Schindler's List over there by the pool. I thought I had low self-esteem. I kept waiting for Snookie to burst out of a shrub and do a half-gainer into the hot tub just to lighten the mood.

The guy's a major league skeezoid. He's been through 3 years of extensive therapy to prove that he can go on national television and fall in love with someone he's known for about 42.5 minutes who's known him for 42.4 minutes, who's insanely crazy. For heaven's sake, where have all the Mary Dashwood's gone?

"I just want to find that... that... crazy love, ya know?!" I do, and I've got some pretty good news.

To Do List: check wood fuel supply, take down tree in east pasture for 2011 winter, cook down last night's roast chicken for stock and lard, projectile vomit for 2 hours while ABC documents humanity's slow decline into a soul-less generational self-absorbed narcistic vapidity.

(still getting used to the keyboard on this piece 'o crap mini-pc with no spellcheck. oops!)

I.e., yeah, I'm hooked. Rats.

Miles To Go I Know

The dog and I seem to have settled into a kind of winter routine: get up early, check wood inventory, check food supplies (beer, cigarettes), chain smoke. So the first order of the day's business is to make sure there's enough fuel for the morning, afternoon, evening and over night. (Recall there's no central heat.)

Demolition has slowed if not stopped; still picking away at the floor boards upstairs. But not really.

The-one-that-got-away left a message the other afternoon; at the risk of royally pissing off tia, I do miss her. I take comfort in the fact that she would totally (her word) hate it up here.

I had forgotten the difference between an axe and a maul. (Sp?) The hedge apple in Mr. Hill's northeast swale sent me almost immediately to Home Depot.

I'll end this not surprisingly boring post with the notion, again, that my days seem more meaningful than they have been in 20 years.

Oh, Moonpie killed something I can't identify, it's way cold here, more snow, Terry Gross is the best interviewer working today, pulling for Auburn monday night, tractor needs a new battery, missing mom and dad, will probably return t-o-t-g-a's call though I shouldn't, and watch a lot of PBS sunday.

Reading a lot, but mostly stuff I've read already.