For those of you who don't know, I'm in Portland. Oregon. Not Maine. (It wouldn't be so confusing, but since Maine is so close to Massachusetts, people in Boston often times get confused. They should then remember that not that many people are from Maine, it's a good chance I'm not either. But I digress.) I've been here almost 48-hours resting and letting my leg bone stitch back together. Today is day 2 of 9.
I've had a super grand time lounging around; working 3-4 hours a day, napping, reading, watching movies, chit-chatting with my parents and Mallory. It's been the ideal situation. The word "perfect" would come to mind, but the writer's strike and lack of quality evening television programming is throwing a damper on the situation (though the writer's strike would be occurring at my Boston abode as well, so that's not really Portland's fault now, is it? Struck from the record.).
The ease with which I transition so easily into the Writer's Strike discussion is the source material for which the blog originates. I love TV. If you know me, you know that. Some relationships I have with people were forged early and easily by watching the same shows. (They have escalated into larger-scale friendships now, whoop.) I'm kind of a TV guru; I enjoy being in the know. Other people have their music (heck, most everyone has music besides me), but TV/Movie industry is my love and passion.
My mom knows this about me. Today, she timidly asked if she could pose an honest question; not judging me by my answer, but just out of curiosity. I complied, and she asked, "Do most people your age watch as much TV as you do?"
I thought honestly, and answered honestly. "Not really," I said, "I'm on the higher end. But it's surprising how much discussion of TV happens."
Not five minutes later, (I'd been online and chatting with friends in New York, Boston, and Dallas) the following conversations occur simultaneously.
I may watch a lot of TV--but you'd better believe it gives me something to talk about.