![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkat* Just finished watching the new BBC miniseries The Hour on BBC America and it is quite good. Feels a bit like a mixture of the old 1950/1940s espinoage noire films, such as The Third Man and Spy Who Came in From the Cold mixed with Broadcast News and well Mad Men. The acting is stellar, Dominic West (so far in a smaller role) - shines and continues to impress with his understated charismatic acting style, that oh so slight mischevious smile. And Ben Whiteslaw and the gal who plays the lead, are great as well. Excellent female roles and compelling. The guy who played Owen in Torchwood shows up here looking much like Peter Lorre...while Dominic West reminds me a little of Orson Wells. Enjoyable and held my attention throughout.
* On the way home from work today... stopped by the local bodega to pick up gluten-free MESA Sunrise cereal amongst other things. And I was admittedly tired, worn down by the day. When I pass a screaming match on the sidewalk. These aren't as common as one might think. This is the first one I've seen in awhile, although I've grown used to them. Enough to be oblivious at times, or just shrug it off. And I NEVER get involved. You give screaming matches a wide berth, like you might a dog-fight or a pile of shit, let's not step in that one. And in most cases I don't remember them afterwards...except, this one was different. Something happened during it. A phrase. That I hadn't heard before and it made my hackles rise. To the point, that I stopped, looked back at the three people and considered whether I should poke my nose in, but exhaustion and the fact that I had a blinding headache won out.
White Woman: Why don't you just go back where you came from!
Black woman - who had finally begun to walk away from her - turns around: Why don't you!
White woman: I live in this neighborhood (implying the black woman obviously doesn't)
The black woman said nothing and just left.
And I...I stopped for a moment, glanced back, the white woman in her designer blouse and skirt and sunglasses, with her big frigging black dog and skin-head boyfriend (his head was shaved) stood looking down the sidewalk, too far to make out their faces clearly, while the black woman sunk into herself and continued down the block. I wanted to say so many things...like "how do you know who lives here and who doesn't?" or "Watch it, your racism is showing." I know it's a minor incident, but it bugged me. Really bugged me.
As an aside, it's probably worth mentioning here...I like dog's. Love all animals actually. Well, except insects...but those aren't animals, so don't count. I dislike dog owners. Not all dog owners, there are a few responsible one's out there, such as the people on my flist, co-workers, and family members. But the vast majority? Should not be permitted to own a dog.
Too tired to write anything else. Not sure the above made much sense, as it is. Back is killing me today and I have this sick tension headache - due to barometric pressure and neck/back pain, I'm guessing.
* I'm reading George RR Martin's Feast of Crows. Which is oddly better than expected. There's something to be said for taking breaks between these books. The chapter I'm in at the moment is about a big-boned not overly attractive warrior princess who wants to avenge her father's death. Her father was killed in the previous book by the Mountain in a duel. To say more would be spoilers. She's an interesting character, even if we don't get that much of her. Martin does create interesting female characters, and realistically shows how they struggle to obtain power and/or survive in a world run by men. My only quibble with Martin, is well the same quibble other reviewers have with him - he over-writes or as my father would state - babbles. My father is a fan of minimalism, and rather liked Hemingway.
(Which is amusing, because my brother is not a fan of minimalism and considers Hemingway and his ilk to be close to unreadable. My brother dislikes the romanticization of the male gender or "macho-ism" as depicted in Hemingway's novels or in Cormac McCarthy - the heroic he-man. In all his physical wonder. My brother and I are a lesson in gender stereotypes, because we defy them. Neither of us are gay. My father saw women as nuturers/gardeners and into fashion, while men were less so, and not into such things. Yet, my brother is the care-giver personality, very good with kids and animals, very much a nuturer, a great teacher, and loves to garden and raise plants, putter about the house, etc. While I'm the opposite - I'm logical, analytical, don't know what to do with kids, and am awkward in caregiver role. I'm more like my Dad, and my brother is more like my Mom in this way. I could care less about fashion, while my brother knows the latest fashion trend. Kidbro's favorite novels are stream-of-consciousness. He loves Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Books that wander. And have lots of ideas and description. But he's not into fantasy or sci-fi, not really, he's not a geek like I am. He wouldn't read George RR Martin and would look at me slightly askew, if I told him I was. Like, why are you doing that? He's a bit of a snob, my brother.
As for me? I have no opinion on Hemingway - except that I found him to be a bit dull. Prefer John Steinbeck who has more meat to him. The minimalists don't quite work for me, although I can appreciate the technique and style. They are rather brilliant - in the economy of language. To be that precise is a wonder to behold. Hemingway also does tend to be a bit...well sexist. So there's that. Have the same problems with Faulkner, Fitzgerald and Joyce to be honest. They were all like that. You overlooked it. Until you wandered elsewhere. Went through a stream-of-consciousness period, then got bored. I'm moody and like most women, will read anything. Women tend to be less picky when it comes to books than men, because we can't really afford to be picky. That's of course a broad generalization. I know picky women, they are on my flist. Exceptions, exceptions. I also know men who aren't that picky, also on my flist.
My father actually reads a broad range of works and always has. He was recently bemoaning the lack of good male literary writers - why are there so many female literary writers and not many male? All the NY Times Book Reviews were of women, he stated, bereft. I found this conversation shocking and rather amusing. My mother responded - because women read more and there's more female book clubs. I'm not sure they are right about this. The booklists I've seen seem to say otherwise. But whatever. My parents are book-a-files. Dad used to train Great Books facilitators...way back in his early 30s. And well, he has that History degree - post-grad work in it. I was raised by a frustrated historian, mystery writer, policy wonk - who made a living traveling about the world consulting corporations on how much they should pay their employees. To get my Dad's approval - you only had to do three things: question everything, never generalize, and love to learn. And well not discriminate against anyone. )
* People on lj and Facebook can't wait for football season. This admittedly makes no sense to me. I ignore it. And fret when it interferes with other tv shows I prefer. I've never understood this particular American obsession. Soccer - makes sense to me. Basketball makes sense to me. Heck, Baseball and the Olympics make sense to me. Football not so much.
CW (Former Buffalo Bills Rally Gal and Groupie): How can't you like Football? You get to watch all those cut butts wander about the field.
ME: You mean fat butts.
CW: Not fat, big...and well musceled.
Me: The men have no necks.
CW: They have necks - big necks!
Me: Same difference. What can I say, I like lean muscled men, with long necks and defined features, I'm a face girl. Not delicate...rugged works, but lean. Like soccer players and basketball players. Runners are also cool.
CW: You have weird taste. How can't you like football?
Just not into spectator sports. I don't get the appeal. Never really have. Had a similar discussion with a guy in law school about the Kansas City Cheifs.
Guy: Football is better than soap operas.
ME: How?
Guy: It has well...it's a better story.
Me: It's about two teams fighting each other for a touch-down. Hardly much of a story. Sort of predictable actually. Plus a lot of boring car commercials every five minutes.
Guy: Soap operas are silly.
Me: They have a plot, creativity, lots of action, occassionally decent dialogue, and the women get to do something outside of jumping up and down with pom-poms. Besides, how can you call soaps silly when in football you are watching grown men running about in tights, lots of heavy gear, head-gear, in the freezing cold, all to just kill each other - in order to run across a field and hit a goal? Dumb. And hardly creative. Strategic maybe, but so is chess and it's more interesting.
Guy : I give up.
I tried to get into football. My Torts professor in Law School used to have a blast ribbing me about the KC Chiefs - who I never watched. He was a huge Cheif's fan. So my small group took pity on me and had me watch a game with them, where they attempted to teach me the sport. I got it.
But bored. So promptly forgot.
Years later - Friday Night Lights premiered - which basically married football to the soap opera (albeit a very very well written soap opera - so well written, no one but me considers it one).
I blame my father - he'd watch football, with the best of intentions, but would invariably go to sleep during the game. Leaving me and whoever else was in the room pondering as to whether we could switch channels without waking him. My mother and I saw the ends of more football games then he did and we were known to switch to a drama or soap opera or something else while he was sleeping. It depended on what was on to be honest. During the big college game season, my father, a die-hard Penn State fan and alumni - like most of his family, would turn on the game, and then somewhere mid-way through, we'd notice the tv was one but he was gone. Where's your father, Momster would ask. "He's out raking leaves." Seriously, how was I supposed to learn to love the sport when my own father was so deeply ambivalent about it? Kidbro isn't much better. He'll watch on occasion, but it's not a big deal. Took his wife years to figure out Kidbro was a jock in elementary through junior high, he grew out of it when they met.
* On the way home from work today... stopped by the local bodega to pick up gluten-free MESA Sunrise cereal amongst other things. And I was admittedly tired, worn down by the day. When I pass a screaming match on the sidewalk. These aren't as common as one might think. This is the first one I've seen in awhile, although I've grown used to them. Enough to be oblivious at times, or just shrug it off. And I NEVER get involved. You give screaming matches a wide berth, like you might a dog-fight or a pile of shit, let's not step in that one. And in most cases I don't remember them afterwards...except, this one was different. Something happened during it. A phrase. That I hadn't heard before and it made my hackles rise. To the point, that I stopped, looked back at the three people and considered whether I should poke my nose in, but exhaustion and the fact that I had a blinding headache won out.
White Woman: Why don't you just go back where you came from!
Black woman - who had finally begun to walk away from her - turns around: Why don't you!
White woman: I live in this neighborhood (implying the black woman obviously doesn't)
The black woman said nothing and just left.
And I...I stopped for a moment, glanced back, the white woman in her designer blouse and skirt and sunglasses, with her big frigging black dog and skin-head boyfriend (his head was shaved) stood looking down the sidewalk, too far to make out their faces clearly, while the black woman sunk into herself and continued down the block. I wanted to say so many things...like "how do you know who lives here and who doesn't?" or "Watch it, your racism is showing." I know it's a minor incident, but it bugged me. Really bugged me.
As an aside, it's probably worth mentioning here...I like dog's. Love all animals actually. Well, except insects...but those aren't animals, so don't count. I dislike dog owners. Not all dog owners, there are a few responsible one's out there, such as the people on my flist, co-workers, and family members. But the vast majority? Should not be permitted to own a dog.
Too tired to write anything else. Not sure the above made much sense, as it is. Back is killing me today and I have this sick tension headache - due to barometric pressure and neck/back pain, I'm guessing.
* I'm reading George RR Martin's Feast of Crows. Which is oddly better than expected. There's something to be said for taking breaks between these books. The chapter I'm in at the moment is about a big-boned not overly attractive warrior princess who wants to avenge her father's death. Her father was killed in the previous book by the Mountain in a duel. To say more would be spoilers. She's an interesting character, even if we don't get that much of her. Martin does create interesting female characters, and realistically shows how they struggle to obtain power and/or survive in a world run by men. My only quibble with Martin, is well the same quibble other reviewers have with him - he over-writes or as my father would state - babbles. My father is a fan of minimalism, and rather liked Hemingway.
(Which is amusing, because my brother is not a fan of minimalism and considers Hemingway and his ilk to be close to unreadable. My brother dislikes the romanticization of the male gender or "macho-ism" as depicted in Hemingway's novels or in Cormac McCarthy - the heroic he-man. In all his physical wonder. My brother and I are a lesson in gender stereotypes, because we defy them. Neither of us are gay. My father saw women as nuturers/gardeners and into fashion, while men were less so, and not into such things. Yet, my brother is the care-giver personality, very good with kids and animals, very much a nuturer, a great teacher, and loves to garden and raise plants, putter about the house, etc. While I'm the opposite - I'm logical, analytical, don't know what to do with kids, and am awkward in caregiver role. I'm more like my Dad, and my brother is more like my Mom in this way. I could care less about fashion, while my brother knows the latest fashion trend. Kidbro's favorite novels are stream-of-consciousness. He loves Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Books that wander. And have lots of ideas and description. But he's not into fantasy or sci-fi, not really, he's not a geek like I am. He wouldn't read George RR Martin and would look at me slightly askew, if I told him I was. Like, why are you doing that? He's a bit of a snob, my brother.
As for me? I have no opinion on Hemingway - except that I found him to be a bit dull. Prefer John Steinbeck who has more meat to him. The minimalists don't quite work for me, although I can appreciate the technique and style. They are rather brilliant - in the economy of language. To be that precise is a wonder to behold. Hemingway also does tend to be a bit...well sexist. So there's that. Have the same problems with Faulkner, Fitzgerald and Joyce to be honest. They were all like that. You overlooked it. Until you wandered elsewhere. Went through a stream-of-consciousness period, then got bored. I'm moody and like most women, will read anything. Women tend to be less picky when it comes to books than men, because we can't really afford to be picky. That's of course a broad generalization. I know picky women, they are on my flist. Exceptions, exceptions. I also know men who aren't that picky, also on my flist.
My father actually reads a broad range of works and always has. He was recently bemoaning the lack of good male literary writers - why are there so many female literary writers and not many male? All the NY Times Book Reviews were of women, he stated, bereft. I found this conversation shocking and rather amusing. My mother responded - because women read more and there's more female book clubs. I'm not sure they are right about this. The booklists I've seen seem to say otherwise. But whatever. My parents are book-a-files. Dad used to train Great Books facilitators...way back in his early 30s. And well, he has that History degree - post-grad work in it. I was raised by a frustrated historian, mystery writer, policy wonk - who made a living traveling about the world consulting corporations on how much they should pay their employees. To get my Dad's approval - you only had to do three things: question everything, never generalize, and love to learn. And well not discriminate against anyone. )
* People on lj and Facebook can't wait for football season. This admittedly makes no sense to me. I ignore it. And fret when it interferes with other tv shows I prefer. I've never understood this particular American obsession. Soccer - makes sense to me. Basketball makes sense to me. Heck, Baseball and the Olympics make sense to me. Football not so much.
CW (Former Buffalo Bills Rally Gal and Groupie): How can't you like Football? You get to watch all those cut butts wander about the field.
ME: You mean fat butts.
CW: Not fat, big...and well musceled.
Me: The men have no necks.
CW: They have necks - big necks!
Me: Same difference. What can I say, I like lean muscled men, with long necks and defined features, I'm a face girl. Not delicate...rugged works, but lean. Like soccer players and basketball players. Runners are also cool.
CW: You have weird taste. How can't you like football?
Just not into spectator sports. I don't get the appeal. Never really have. Had a similar discussion with a guy in law school about the Kansas City Cheifs.
Guy: Football is better than soap operas.
ME: How?
Guy: It has well...it's a better story.
Me: It's about two teams fighting each other for a touch-down. Hardly much of a story. Sort of predictable actually. Plus a lot of boring car commercials every five minutes.
Guy: Soap operas are silly.
Me: They have a plot, creativity, lots of action, occassionally decent dialogue, and the women get to do something outside of jumping up and down with pom-poms. Besides, how can you call soaps silly when in football you are watching grown men running about in tights, lots of heavy gear, head-gear, in the freezing cold, all to just kill each other - in order to run across a field and hit a goal? Dumb. And hardly creative. Strategic maybe, but so is chess and it's more interesting.
Guy : I give up.
I tried to get into football. My Torts professor in Law School used to have a blast ribbing me about the KC Chiefs - who I never watched. He was a huge Cheif's fan. So my small group took pity on me and had me watch a game with them, where they attempted to teach me the sport. I got it.
But bored. So promptly forgot.
Years later - Friday Night Lights premiered - which basically married football to the soap opera (albeit a very very well written soap opera - so well written, no one but me considers it one).
I blame my father - he'd watch football, with the best of intentions, but would invariably go to sleep during the game. Leaving me and whoever else was in the room pondering as to whether we could switch channels without waking him. My mother and I saw the ends of more football games then he did and we were known to switch to a drama or soap opera or something else while he was sleeping. It depended on what was on to be honest. During the big college game season, my father, a die-hard Penn State fan and alumni - like most of his family, would turn on the game, and then somewhere mid-way through, we'd notice the tv was one but he was gone. Where's your father, Momster would ask. "He's out raking leaves." Seriously, how was I supposed to learn to love the sport when my own father was so deeply ambivalent about it? Kidbro isn't much better. He'll watch on occasion, but it's not a big deal. Took his wife years to figure out Kidbro was a jock in elementary through junior high, he grew out of it when they met.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 01:38 pm (UTC)Falling asleep in front of the TV has little to do with what's being watched. It's more about being comfortable. Wandering away at halftime is pretty typical. Whether leaving the TV on while he went away was rude or not depends on how much he controlled the channel other days of the week.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 04:06 pm (UTC)And it wasn't during half-time and often would be for a few hours. He'd come back in and ask what happened to the game. My mother would respond - oh it ended about two hours ago. LOL!
In contrast? My father stays awake during tennis matches and never leaves the room. Same is true of baseball. But football, he's a bit ambivalent about.
He never really played it and while it interests him and he does watch it? It's not a priority.
He's been known to leave in the middle of a game, not half-time, to read in another room or listen to music. Or in the case of the Super-bowl? He fell asleep and my mother and I watched the last two hours. And it was an exciting game, not dull at all, even held my attention.
It's not a criticism, it's more fond amusement. I'm somewhat proud that my father isn't that into football.