blow up your t.v.

Like all diligent novelists who are hellbent on completing their masterworks, I spend a good amount of time watching television. I think the last twentyish years have been splendid for the medium. I recently read an article that explained how most people are going back to their old standbys during the pandemic, rereading favorite novels and rewatching beloved programs and films, ostensibly gorging on mental comfort food. Count me among them.

At the end of a long day, I’m just as guilty as anybody else of grabbing a pile of knitting and zoning out in front of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, but most of the time I need more of a storyline than who snatched whose weave first (though sometimes, and I will defend this to the end, that is EXACTLY all the storyline one needs). Like most other screen junkies, my gateway drug into Serious Pay Attention TV was The Sopranos, notable for creating the genre of filmic, “prestige” television that we all binge on streaming platforms nowadays, and also notable for contributing problematic opinions about adding butter to red sauce. 

I recently wrote about Tiger King, and that was fun. It inspired me to create a John Prine-inspired category entitled Blow Up Your TV. So over the next stretch of quarantine, which regardless of what my state elects to do will last, for me, until Lysol is not a commodity people are punching each other in the nuts over, I’m going to keep writing about TV I’ve enjoyed and add to the category. It feels a little more manageable than hefty film analysis at the moment, and it keeps me writing, which is also something I definitely need right now.

I’ll still keep Filmpocalypse Now going, natch, but knowing that we all need some background noise, consider me your locally unemployed idiot box connoisseur, mongering to you the best and worst of the medium. If you’ve paid attention to some of my hero image choices around here, you’ve gotten a preview of at least a couple prime selects. 

Stay tuned. (Fart noise.)

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