Odd Social Hours

I wanted to lay down at eight o'clock actually, and one thing led to another, and I am here only because I an finishing my coffee before bed. I do not really like to post about my work here, and both wish and hope to stay on good terms with this editor, but there is such a thing as being too hasty, and I should have sat on my draft until Wednesday. She did give me until then, and I would have made my own further revisions, and have possibly gotten closer to the goal post. Fried myself out instead, and now I live to regret it-- but we'll see what happens. I am rethinking my structure and planning my next assaults, and hope to send her in better next week. My body is a half-century old, I am not as young as I was, and chalk it up to time management, and some error in not attempting certain contacts. (This saga is, of course, ongoing in many subsequent posts...)

I only watch Awake because Jason Isaacs sexually attracts me, in a rugged way that I begin to miss in American males, but television, and a majority of films, rarely handle science fiction very well. I don't know if Howard Gordon writes every episode, but he does seem to suggest that Britten's delusions have some real world context to them: the beat cops nearly arresting him due to the skinny dipping in the last episode, or Laura Innes interview with the incest victim, or her discussion about Britten with the FBI SA.

The finale is bound to disappoint me; the conspirators either stuck something in this guy's head during his rescue at the scene of the accident, have him in a virtual reality vat, or drugging him in some deco-cool manner, if Laura Innes' comment to the crew cut guy about "taking out his whole family" means the wife and son both perished.

I need a new series to attach myself to, and do not have one, and, in the nature of contradiction, I am not on FB, but am on Google +, unphased and virtually unused, except for a Jamesian who forgave me for being socially inappropriate; he is a blessed and decent soul, and yes, this is spiritual rhetoric, but a spinster can be forgiven Vaseline surges.

Requiem, mid service

One of the few pleasures of my life was settling down with a decent meal or snack on Monday nights to watch House, and the real public crisis in American culture is that this transplanted English hybrid is coming to an end. I may be mildly curious about the game being played on Awake, with Laura Innes reprising her ambiguous alien role from The Event, at which I glanced for less than twenty minutes to know I wasn't going to follow it, and I may tolerate Grimm, though it borders on mawkish cute, but I have no other attachment as I've had to Hugh Laurie's vehicle for the last eight years; when these last eight episodes air, I have no idea where my next outlet will come from, streaming cable shows aside, although, as an aside, I could dwell on the actress in her own variation on the physically impaired doctor on ER., except for the fact that the ensemble studies were not quite comparable to the arc on the aforementioned upgrade, and her struggle as a lame woman with her need for nurture from another pair of flouncy nipples was unconvincing, in the minutes given to it. ER did deal with the loss of ability, and the coping that follows it, but the show was a steroid soap, more or less, centered around the tensions of triage.

As for Hugh and his resume trail in late 20th century English farce, the genealogy not at my fingertips, this is not about accolades for the actor. However deserved, Laurie does not inspire affection, and imperfect as the show is, I'd still argue is the best the commercial networks have put out there. Utilized in this or any subsequent account I shall have it will be, even as it cycles into reruns, but I am officially in mourning for my feeble, but no less loyal rave, for eight years into my imminent senior life.

If I survive, and become affluent enough within that survival as age encroaches, I may buy all eight seasons of the series, and memorize them, and can recall, with sufficient clarity, that I thought the pilot episode of House was a rip off of the NIH medical thriller on NBC, which burnt out with the speed of a flaring bushfire. I missed the influence of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle entirely. Proof that I am a dipshit just like everyone else. Impatience tempers my admiration of Doyle's most famous caricature. My fidelity to Laurie's upgrade merely proves what I used to post on the literature network. I prefer the next generation.



I spent the morning immersed in the terms of literary theory, pushing a little, with close calls over physical instability. Lucky.

Issac Notes

Jason Isaacs only recently came to my attention as Jackson Brodie in Case Histories, which I was going to post about and cannot remember if I did, not that I am claiming I have not viewed him before, only that his abilities reached me as the wounded copper, which he is reprising inAwake. I am sure this British actor would be thrilled to know he is probably one of the last Semitic-Europeans on the face of the earth who spastic_dowager finds sexually arousing; he is like a Jewish Humphrey Bogart.

I am not sure what I feel about Awake just yet, only that I am suspicious that we're all being duped, and the pilot is worth another stream, and perhaps, just perhaps, this show is the new Lost, just not so out of control.