The man my captor calls “The Governor” keeps urging us to wear masks, avoid crowds, and not slow dance. And with the news that animals can get C19, we acted from an abundance of caution and ground up our pet turtles – the possibility of an 11th weird disease from any household pet is too many.
Like many Americans, we are spending a lot of time indoors, but apparently that is a bad idea this winter. According to Doc Tony, recirculated air is the enemy. So, we are planning to camp in our front yard until Spring. Hopefully it will keep us safe, but it will make it easier to evacuate from any hurricanes.
The new Quarantine pastime is Binge Watching, which has dominated our lockdown lives. And with the advised ban on slow dancing, Fred Astaire movies are in hot demand. Seems like everyone has a show or two they are high on, but it would be impossible to watch everything people recommend. Unless of course, I quit my job and stayed home all day. Never mind, I guess I am retired.
The most highly recommended programs might be the worst – people who have already wasted their time on a series want to make sure they’re not alone in their misery. We recently watched a series that will remain nameless (fake cough: Utopia!), a garbled mess which after a few episodes became an obligation, and not a pleasure: Can we make it to the end? When we did, we learned there was no end! There is another season! Life lesson that!
Much like Charles Dickens, Hollywood types must get paid by the word/minute. I’m not sure what the conversion rate for either is to bags of cocaine.
But we’re into nostalgic binging as well. The entire Gilligans Island recently ‘plopped’ (a term we Binge watchers use), and we have really enjoyed their antics, as comic complications ensued. But the last season required payment, which is something I won’t do. As an aside, I also won’t pay to subscribe to on-line newpapers, but have gotten good at scrolling through much of the article before the black screen appears. So we are frustrated not knowing how Gilligans Island ends: Did the sexual tension between Mary Ann and Ginger ever get resolved? Was Mr. Howell really Jeffrey Epstein in hiding? Did they ever get off that damn island? I recently read that their island may be added as the 51st state, and that the Professor and Mrs. Howell will become Senators (at this point they’re both around 100, so they’d bring down the Senate’s average age). I think that’s what the on-line article said, anyway.
Maybe TV isn’t the ‘friend’ our parents called it. But I have decided that presidential elections should be every 12 years – the deluge of political commercials has made Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy a living hell. How each candidate speaks about the other – corrupt scum bag with a decent haircut being the nicest thing I’ve heard recently – validates my central belief about politics: If you’re willing to run, we don’t want you. Unfortunately, this is the first election where neither candidate is mentally fit to be president. And the saddest truth of all: Someone’s gonna win.
If TV is so terrible, why am I so sad when even a truly boring series ends? I guess because I’ll have to figure out “What am I going to do now?” Anybody want to dance? I’ll let you lead…
We have some Fargo to watch when you visit!