When my friend Ted LaRoche read my article about the television shows Cash Cab and Project Runway, he said, "You watch too much TV." Well, Cash Cab can't be found anymore and Project Runway hasn't been around, either. I'm glad I saw them when I could.
Truthfully, I don't watch a lot of TV. For me, watching comes in spurts, as I'm sure is the case for many of you. But last night was TV mania.
As I mentioned in a previous article, one of the reasons I don't concentrate much on TV is because the remote control at our house is usually permanently affixed to someone else's hand. Nothing about our remote is remotely permanent; in other words, my TV mate flips channels constantly. Now, that alone would prevent one from delving into any serious watching, as I previously mentioned.
But last night Tommy, my flipping mate, was gone and I had the DVR and remote all to myself.
It was a real smorgasbord.
I rarely watch those detective shows (one of my sisters says if you ever TIVO Law and Order you'll have enough to watch for the rest of your life—it's on all the time) but do you remember that article about the cousins I don't have? Well, I truly only have about 10 cousins (one and her spouse on my Dad's side, the other the children of my mother's cousin Jeanne), and one of Jeanne's grandchildren, Scottie Thompson, appears regularly on NCIS. She had a pretty big role last night as Jeanne Benoit, love interest of Special Agent Tony Dinozzo (Michael Weatherly). She's a very pretty girl and apparently a pretty good actress, and it was fun to watch her as a beautiful adult who looks exactly like her mother instead of the young adolescent I last saw.
In addition, one of my daughter Beth's friends, Annie, was supposed to be on American Idol last night. There was a brief reference to the show in yesterday's newspaper, and I had to keep switching back and forth between the above to see if I could catch her. I never did. Beth said she thinks she didn't make it. The contestants can't divulge their fates for "gag order" reasons so the outcome is still to be determined. That was time wasted.
But also last night, my favorite show of all time, the Westminster Dog Show, was on the USA channel.
I don't own a dog. I'm not what one would call " a dog person" or any other animal person, either. We only have a cat because the cat adopted us. Many of my very dearest friends have great animals that I adore. My friends talk to them, live for them, etc. I truly, truly understand and respect that. I'm just not one of them.
Almost 14 years ago our next-door neighbor, Trey Evans saw a stray cat on Thompson Lane two rainy nights in a row. He picked it up and brought it to his mother Pat. They named him "Lucky" for obvious reasons. Well, Lucky wandered back and forth between our house and their house for weeks and took a serious liking to Tommy. Eventually, Tommy asked if he could "adopt" the cat.
Well, in my opinion, asking to adopt a cat is like asking your neighbor if they would give up a child, but since Pat and Boyd had their share of pets they were happy to permanently hand over their stray to us. Tommy renamed him "Yeltsin" and he has been a devoted pet since. He's also fortunate to have two families who live next door to each other. When we leave town he finds his way next door for food and attention. Truth be told, we're the lucky ones to have that extra care.
Anyway, my experience with dogs is even more limited than that of having a cat.
We only had one pet when I grew up and after Penny, our cocker spaniel, died; Ed and Lurl had too many mouths to feed without adding one more. So she was never replaced.
Out off all my eight siblings, only one has a pet (another had one briefly but didn't replace it after it died). My older sister's dog is now 10 years old, and you still have to put a cage up in his home if you want to protect your personal belongings when you visit and put him in the back yard when you go out of the front door so he won't escape. Go figure.
I 'd like to say that the great movie, Best in Show prepared me for the Westminster Dog Show, but I can't say that making fun of the handlers and dogs is what attracts me. It's just such wonderful entertainment! The show is televised around Valentine's Day of every year and is on for two consecutive nights. The dogs are apparently judged in different categories over the two days, and after the final seven are chosen, an outside judge is whisked in by limousine to assume the awesome task of selecting one winner.
Tuesday night's grand winner was Felicity's Diamond Jim (aka, "James") a brown and white English springer spaniel. When James' handler was interviewed on the Today show the following day, she said that he is a therapy dog, working with Alzheimer patients. He had such a presence and calm demeanor about him you just wanted him to be your best friend.
My personal favorite was Harry, the Dandi Din Mont Terrier (Hobergay's Fineus Fogg). He was so full of personality and was a real crowd pleaser, too. The toy poodle (Vikki) was groomed to perfection, and Fairchild, a Petite Basset Griffon Vendeen was another favorite—of the crowd's and mine. You're just going to have to watch it next year. I'll try to remind you.
By this time in the course of TV watching, I was so over stimulated that I had to tape Boston Legal for Tommy—it just involved too much thinking.
But I did manage to stay awake long enough to catch a short blurb of everybody's favorite, Peyton Manning, being interviewed by David Letterman. It was rather lackluster, but then personality isn't what Peyton is famous for.
Well, it's almost Prime Time on Wednesday night and there's only one show that vaguely appeals to me. Guess I'll have to curl up on the couch and read while Tommy flips through those Law and Order reruns. Or perhaps something in between will catch my eye.
Could be Ted was right.