I need to watch more TV.
This is a statement one doesn’t often hear, particularly as the days are now getting warmer (at least they were last week; damn you, fickle Vancouver weather!) and longer.
It’s also a statement not often heard from me. Always, I have prioritized writing over TV, to the point that I only allow myself to watch shows on weekends and holidays. Even at that, I’ve decreased my TV consumption of late the deeper I get into the revision of my WIP.
The scene at a recent square dance in Vancouver, BC.
The first time I ever square danced was in Hope, British Columbia.
This was a good six or seven years ago while I was attending a canoeing skills camping weekend retreat with a group of friends. I’m as outdoorsy as the next person, but not specifically into canoeing.
Rather than a desire to perfect my J-stroke, I recall my decision to tag along having more to do with FOMO and, if I’m to be honest with myself, the possibility of meeting new people (read: single guys) since the present object of my affection – who was also in attendance and a skilled canoeist – couldn’t care less about me in that way.
Binge-watching is one of the great luxuries of the 21st century, but it does come at a certain cost.
In my previous post about TV, I discussed the shows I’m currently watching. However, one thing about them that I neglected to mention is that they’re what I’m currently watching, not what’s currently airing.
Indeed, of the five programs, one’s next season isn’t starting until spring, two are on mid-season hiatus, one as of this moment has yet to be renewed for a second season, and the last one went off the air fifteen years ago, so I’m watching the DVDs on my laptop.
I can’t even believe I once altogether stopped watching television.
Such is the power of love, I guess, that because the guy I was infatuated with didn’t like TV, I was able to quit cold turkey, enduring years of long, dark, post-Daylight Savings nights Time without it.
Maybe TV sucked anyway during that period. Or maybe my reading list was a whole lot longer. My reading list is still pretty long – never-ending, in truth – as is my writing schedule rather rigorous.
The last little bit to move at my old place.
In life, there are moves and there are good moves.
A “move” is often the term used for a given course of action, particularly one involving bravery or bravado and occurring after a prolonged period of inaction.
Similarly, one’s approach with a romantic interest may be referred to as his/her “move”.
I am perpetually behind the curve when it comes to pop culture.
I enjoy books, movies and music as much as the next person, but somewhere along the way, I got out of the habit of taking part in pop culture trends as they happen.
(Case in point, I’m only just now watching the 2004 remake of Battlestar Galactica).
It’s that time of year again.
Come tomorrow, as the song goes, I’ll be leaving on a jet plane – travelling from sea unto sea to Nova Scotia for my annual Christmas sojourn home.
It’s not that I don’t want to go home or see my family. Rather, there’s just very little in this world I find more arduous than actually getting there.
I mean, to begin with: airline travel at Christmas. Airline travel is bad enough during any other time of year, fraught with such indignities as,
- Having to remove my belt (which, far from being just a fashion accessory, is actually necessary for keeping my pants up),
- Having my hair patted down for concealed weapons, and,
- The full-body “I-can-see-you-naked” X-ray scanner.
At Christmas, I get to enjoy all of the above and wait in a long-ass line for it at that, as if eagerly claiming a special prize.