Follow me: @courtneyreimer
Email me: courtneyreimer at gmail
I’m an adult. I don’t do blogs. I’m not a fan of the Twitter. I’m not a fan of the Facebook. I’m vehemently anti-, actually. I think those things are — stupid. I search for things online, but I feel I shouldn’t tell you the things I’ve searched for recently. They’re probably dirty.
Vincent “Pete Campbell” Kartheiser, demonstrating the condescending power of the definite article — and sounding a lot like his “Mad Men” character might if he existed in this century.
As TV continues to be my primary medium for entertainment (getting away to see a movie in a theater has become the pipiest of pipe dreams), and as my hearing ability becomes increasingly/seemingly impaired, I remain fascinated by the closed-caption descriptions of non-verbal sounds. The one above is a recent favorite: “brassy” was a perfect way to describe the jazz! I mean, how do you describe music to a deaf person? (Don’t you dare say it’s like dancing about architecture!) Others I’ve enjoyed of late:
[murmurs to self]
Whoever is writing these, whatever they’re getting paid, they deserve a raise.
*This one gets used a lot. I see it on almost every show. I guess it’s caption-writer shorthand for “Sorry, I can’t hear this shit any better than you can.”
You’re probably sick of reading about Downton Abbey at every turn, but if you’re not, or even if you are, but you just want to:
a) See what all the hype is about
b) See more after a marathon Netflix-streaming session
c) Put it on your DVR for eventual/immediate viewing
d) A few and/or all of the above
Here is a very important piece of information! You will not be able to find it on your channel listings by searching “Downton Abbey” (at least I wasn’t). It’s hiding behind the “Masterpiece Classics” title (at least it is on Time Warner, the shithead of all media). YOU’RE WELCOME.
A service update for all two of you who’ve noticed my absence: I still exist, just not so much on the Internet. I’ve always believed in the golden rule of internetting: If you don’t have anything nice to say that doesn’t involve your baby, say nothing at all*. I can’t promise I’ll never mention my lack of sleep, baby poop or other baby-related things, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Not that I have any time to bore you with that stuff, anyway.
*Exception made for Facebook, which evidently only exists for parents to post photos of their little rug rats.
Kevin got a few things, too, though only after suffering through the usual round of complaints about how hard it was to buy presents for a man his age, as if adult males were completely self-sufficient beings, as if a penis and a five o’clock shadow were all they would ever need to get by.
Tom Perotta, The Leftovers
So, wait. You’re saying that isn’t all they need?