I’m a fan of fall. Some people don’t like to see the end of summer fun and warm temperatures, but I’m not much of a shorts/swimsuit girl, and anything over 70 degrees is too hot for me. So I love the cooler days, even the first few mornings and evenings with a nip in the air, requiring that long-forgotten blanket or afghan. I love the colors in the trees, the start of football season, cozy sweaters, and Brach’s mellocreme pumpkins (just about anything pumpkin, actually, and this is the one time of the year when pumpkin-flavored goodies are plentiful).
But one of my favorite things about fall is the new TV season. I’ve sometimes compared it to dating. Suitors will be knocking at the door, some new and some already old acquaintances. Many of the new arrivals will not go past the first date -- sometimes the first 15 minutes of that date. Some will require a second and maybe a third date before deciding whether to commit. Others are a case of love at first sight and hopefully the beginning of a long, satisfying relationship. But as a rule, I try not to fall too hard too fast. The ratings gods can be cruel, yanking away what seems like a perfect match without warning.
My routine with sitcoms is to give one a full half-hour: If I don’t laugh, chuckle, or even grin--or worse, if I’m offended or bored--it’s gone. If I find any of the show amusing, if something surprises me, or one of the characters is particularly interesting, I’ll give it another shot. Comedy is so subjective that it’s often hard to tell from just one episode if it’s something I’ll like.
I’ll usually watch a drama at least once. I’m less likely to give a drama a second or third try, just because it’s more of a time commitment. An hour is generally plenty of time to get an idea of the characters, pacing, and general quality. I look for an immediate hook--an opening that has me impatiently waiting through the first commercial break; an interesting or unusual premise; realistic dialogue and some glimmers of humor even in the grimmest crime drama; and characters I want to spend time with, whether or not I find all of them likable. I particularly like strong female characters, and I’ll admit that a good-looking male lead will keep me interested. But ultimately, if the writing isn’t there, even a McStudly won’t bring me back.
I watch very few reality/competition shows. The ones I like are ones where the competitors have specific skills and a passion for what they’re doing, such as Top Chef or Project Runway. I’ll very rarely check out a new reality show, but the same criteria apply: Do I care about any of these people? Does each commercial break leave me anxious to get back to the action? Can I find someone in the group to root for?
So for the next couple of weeks, love may come along with each new click of the remote. Will I find a new obsession or end up watching disks from my Netflix queue? Who knows? I’ll be providing some reviews and thoughts here, so stay tuned!
LH
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
What Ifs
I’m generally a very cautious person. You know the kind: the one who double- and maybe triple-checks the locks before bedtime; who pays attention during any safety lectures on public transportation; who rarely crosses a street against the light; and who never, ever runs with scissors.
Thus it was out of character for me to make a mad dash across the street, not even in the crosswalk … in the city of Chicago.
I needed to get to the train station and was running a bit later than I wanted to be (although that’s probably still a half hour before anyone else would worry). During the week there are buses every 10 minutes or so, and a couple of different routes go to the train station, but at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday, options are more limited. If the timing was off, it could be disastrous (i.e. I’d have to spend big bucks for a cab). As I walked out of my apartment building, I saw a bus a couple of blocks away. Hurray! But I would have to get across the street and up about a block to be at the stop. Glancing both ways, it seemed safe. There was some light traffic but nothing too close at the moment, so I took off.
I’m still not sure exactly what happened -- whether I tripped on something or just stumbled over my own feet. (It could have simply been my body’s shock at the rare event of running anywhere.) The next thing I knew, I was flat on the street with the breath knocked out of me and an extremely painful lower lip. Thank goodness the drivers at that hour were paying attention, because I’m sure they had to wait a few moments for me to struggle up, grab my bags, and stagger to the opposite curb. (During rush hour I probably would have been roadkill.) As I walked, I took quick inventory: no severe pain, no bones sticking out, but palms and knees were tingling unpleasantly. There was a nasty, wet feeling on my lip and chin and when I brushed at it, my hand came away with red streaks. I got to the bus stop and fumbled for some tissues to blot my lower lip, which already felt twice its normal size.
The rest of the story is not terribly exciting. I made it to the train station in plenty of time to check the bathroom mirror and reassure myself that I would not frighten small children. The lip was painful, but I could still eat and drink with the family that weekend. About a week later, the only lingering problem is what feels like a strained muscle in my right side.
But as sometimes happens with an accident, whether big or small, we go back to the “what ifs.” What if there had been more traffic? What if I’d broken a rib, an arm, a leg? What if my glasses had flown off and broken? What if I’d left the apartment just a few moments sooner, or even later?
Sometimes I think about “what ifs” in more normal situations as well. How would my life be different if I went to the store on a Wednesday instead of a Thursday? At 4:00 instead of 5:00? … If I turned right instead of left leaving the apartment building, or didn’t even leave that day? Probably there would be no earth-shaking ramifications from any of these small decisions -- but of course, I’ll never know. What I do know is that regardless of the turns, I have few regrets about the path I’ve taken up until now. Sure, there are some things I’d do differently, but I feel like I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. For example, sometimes I wish I’d moved to Chicago sooner and started on my current career path earlier in life. But when I think back, I have to admit I probably wouldn’t have been able to handle being on my own in the big city if I’d come here at a younger age.
I think of friends I’ve met because I decided to go to a gathering or a meeting, and I wonder what friendships I may have missed by talking myself out of going to some of those events.
Of course you can drive yourself crazy with the “what ifs,” and there’s not a lot to be gained from looking back. So for now, I’ll just have to suffer through a stiff, sore side for a few weeks and focus more on where I’m going.
And wait for “Walk” signs.
LH
Thus it was out of character for me to make a mad dash across the street, not even in the crosswalk … in the city of Chicago.
I needed to get to the train station and was running a bit later than I wanted to be (although that’s probably still a half hour before anyone else would worry). During the week there are buses every 10 minutes or so, and a couple of different routes go to the train station, but at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday, options are more limited. If the timing was off, it could be disastrous (i.e. I’d have to spend big bucks for a cab). As I walked out of my apartment building, I saw a bus a couple of blocks away. Hurray! But I would have to get across the street and up about a block to be at the stop. Glancing both ways, it seemed safe. There was some light traffic but nothing too close at the moment, so I took off.
I’m still not sure exactly what happened -- whether I tripped on something or just stumbled over my own feet. (It could have simply been my body’s shock at the rare event of running anywhere.) The next thing I knew, I was flat on the street with the breath knocked out of me and an extremely painful lower lip. Thank goodness the drivers at that hour were paying attention, because I’m sure they had to wait a few moments for me to struggle up, grab my bags, and stagger to the opposite curb. (During rush hour I probably would have been roadkill.) As I walked, I took quick inventory: no severe pain, no bones sticking out, but palms and knees were tingling unpleasantly. There was a nasty, wet feeling on my lip and chin and when I brushed at it, my hand came away with red streaks. I got to the bus stop and fumbled for some tissues to blot my lower lip, which already felt twice its normal size.
The rest of the story is not terribly exciting. I made it to the train station in plenty of time to check the bathroom mirror and reassure myself that I would not frighten small children. The lip was painful, but I could still eat and drink with the family that weekend. About a week later, the only lingering problem is what feels like a strained muscle in my right side.
But as sometimes happens with an accident, whether big or small, we go back to the “what ifs.” What if there had been more traffic? What if I’d broken a rib, an arm, a leg? What if my glasses had flown off and broken? What if I’d left the apartment just a few moments sooner, or even later?
Sometimes I think about “what ifs” in more normal situations as well. How would my life be different if I went to the store on a Wednesday instead of a Thursday? At 4:00 instead of 5:00? … If I turned right instead of left leaving the apartment building, or didn’t even leave that day? Probably there would be no earth-shaking ramifications from any of these small decisions -- but of course, I’ll never know. What I do know is that regardless of the turns, I have few regrets about the path I’ve taken up until now. Sure, there are some things I’d do differently, but I feel like I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. For example, sometimes I wish I’d moved to Chicago sooner and started on my current career path earlier in life. But when I think back, I have to admit I probably wouldn’t have been able to handle being on my own in the big city if I’d come here at a younger age.
I think of friends I’ve met because I decided to go to a gathering or a meeting, and I wonder what friendships I may have missed by talking myself out of going to some of those events.
Of course you can drive yourself crazy with the “what ifs,” and there’s not a lot to be gained from looking back. So for now, I’ll just have to suffer through a stiff, sore side for a few weeks and focus more on where I’m going.
And wait for “Walk” signs.
LH
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