It all started when we got the digital cable hooked up in the house when we moved over. Not that I didn't watch a lot before that. I'm home alone a lot and Hank's conversational skills are pretty limited. He pretty much only knows how to ask for things. He can ask to go outside (and there is a difference in how he asks, depending on the particular need), ask for water (this is relatively new and we only caught onto it when we'd already taken him outside and he was still asking for something...and his bowl was empty), ask for you to retrieve something from under the couch and of course, he asks for belly rubs.
This is the opening posture. This is just to catch your eye as you might be passing by. From here it evolves into batting my leg with his front paw and lifting the back leg entirely, to make the eventual shift onto his back a little easier. There is also the 'thump-thump' of the tail as the anticipation of the belly rub increases. This starts first thing in the morning, before I even leave the bedroom. Hank sleeps on his bed at the foot of ours, and when I get up and get going, Hank goes into belly rub mode. He is also waiting for me outside the bathroom door in this pose and while I am getting my coffee and breakfast together, he lays in the middle of the kitchen floor, right in my path, hoping to garner as many belly rubs as possible in a fifteen minute period. He usually get about two. So all totalled, that's...possibly five belly rubs before the day even starts for him. Spoiled? Never.
Anyhow, back to the cable. We got the whole shmeel, the digi-cable, the HDTV, the DVR. I justified the expense by reasoning that we don't go anywhere or do anything, because around here, there is nowhere to go and nothing to do. Trips out of the county are few and far between and largest part of our entertainment is visiting with friends. Which is lovely. But what to do the rest of the time? Sit stunned in front of a large glowing box.
So for the first two months, the evil cable conglomerate in their twisted, maniacal wisdom decide to let you preview all the channels for free. I thought I would just enjoy my time with it and then move on. Nay nay. I got hooked. Hooked on National Geographic Channel, Documentary channel, IFC (Independent Film Channel) and Discovery Health.
Discovery Health has opened up for me the strange world of British 'lifestyle television'. They produce some interesting stuff. For example, two shows that have utterly fascinated me are, and I kid you not, the Spa of Embarrassing Illnesses. I'm not going to link to any of this stuff, but if you're interested, go and Google it for yourself. Anyhow, the concept is that a group of people with non-life threatening, but ultimately embarrassing or intimate illnesses, ranging from severe acne to more blush-inducing conditions, go to a spa for two weeks where they undergo a series of detoxifying and cleansing therapies. It's very holistic and homeopathic in nature. I just think two weeks at a spa in either Spain or Turkey would do me some good. Anyhow, it's food (or rather juice I suppose...they fast for a week as well) for thought.
The other is Eataholics. It's not at first glance what you might think. This documentary series explores people who have some serious psychological problems with food, and usually only have a handful of items or less that comprise their entire diet. I've only seen two episodes so far and can't seem to find the program again when doing a title search, which is shame because this program has me entirely gobsmacked. In one episode, they worked with a woman who only ate, no word of a lie, cheese and crackers. The other episode was even more puzzling; a chef at a rather upscale restaurant who only ate sweets like chocolate bars and cookies, and he'd eaten like this since childhood. He loved cooking with the food, but he couldn't eat it. He'd never tasted one of the dishes he had prepared. This to me is as puzzling as trying to navigate the world without being able to read.
See, I like food. I like food a lot. Okay, I love it. All kinds, but the fresher and more flavourful the better. I'll try anything and I don't care where it comes from. I welcome the opportunity to try foods from different cultures. I love everything about dining. The drink (don't get me started on wine), the ritual, the company, the conversation; I'd rather spend money on a great meal out with friends at a great restaurant (top of the list would be authentic Italian) than I would buying clothes. I love to cook, though sometimes I do get quite lazy about it. So watching people who balk at a banana or wretch at the thought of spaghetti is just...so foreign to me.
Last but certainly not least has been The Seven Ages of Rock on the Documentary channel. This I will link to. The series just wrapped up on Friday night with the whole British Indie-Pop movement, which was very close to my heart at least as it was all in the early nineties, the formative years for my musical tastes. When a show opens talking about The Smiths and Suede, I'm so in. The whole series was good. Punk, heavy metal, stadium rock, Alternative...it was awesome to sort of remember all the stuff I've kind of forgotten about. I felt the whole thing could have been a lot broader in scope and could've incorporated more bands etc., but then where do you stop really? Anyhow, the final episode focused a lot on Oasis and the whole Manchester scene. I've seen the show, I've lived through the era but I still don't get Oasis. I never have. Could someone out there maybe put it in a nutshell for me? What is up with this band and why are/were they so popular? Liam Gallagher's voice is like fingernails on chalk, both he and his brother Noel are complete, um, in the interest of the relative PG nature of the blogsphere, wankers, and their lyrics are utterly ridiculous. Have you ever really listened to Wonderwall? Maybe I just heard it so much back in good 'ole '95 that I can't stomach it anymore. But, that's just my humble opinion. I've been accused by the constable for having appalling musical taste (which I believe was also brought up at a recent KN meeting), re: The Smiths, to which I reminded him that he has in his cd collection a Nelson album. No no, not Ricky Nelson...Matthew and Gunnar. Nelson. This one to be exact.
While glued to my idiotbox, I have been knitting.
Back and fronts of the Central Park Hoodie complete. Sleeves on the needles. Knitting them two at a time, which ya know what, I hate. Sometimes I treat knitting like eating a more balanced diet, and I don't really know why; I do some things because I think it will be good for me, not because I necessarily enjoy it. I knit pretty fast one thing at a time, and doing them both just...sucks. So I'm going to stop that now. I still think I can complete this sweater by Sept. 30/08 THOUGH I AM NOT STATING THAT AS AN INTENDED GOAL. It would just be cool to finish a sweater in a month. According to my Ravelry stats, I started it, officially, on Aug. 30. Anyway...
Also finished another small sock. This is Knit Nite knitting. If the polls are correct (with boy being the leading choice by a landslide) then these may never see the feet of day. Pops has a big problem with pink, even a mere suggestion of it, to which I say, 'You like Nelson'.
And here we have another Brussels sprout-like knitting project(I actually really like Brussels sprouts, but you catch my drift). I've been feeling the pull of the sock knitting as I totally punked out on Summer of Socks, (re: first trimester loss of knitting mojo) and it's getting cooler and we've decided to play the whole Home Heating Holdoff thing this fall and I've got lots of beautiful sock yarn and yet I pulled this out of the stash to knit with and write a run-on sentence about. I started a pair back in July with the intention of giving them to my mom and frogged it, then I thought since it was all uglified and balled up and pathetic looking, I'd punish myself by knitting this first before I rewarded myself by knitting a pair out of a much nicer, prettier yarn. So you can imagine how much enthusiasm I have for these socks. I have no idea why I am so messed up like this. It's Bernat Sox and the colourway is so bad 80's that I just want to set it free. I've never liked pink and grey together...what was I thinking? Anyway, I'll finish it. The thought of frogging twice is just...unpleasant. If that does end up being the case, then I'm going to give the yarn a new home. Anyone interested? It's acrylic and nylon, which I think I'm over. No hard feelings yarn...it's not you, it's me.
So there you go. A deluge of ramblings from moi. Gotta go...I'm probably missing something good on tv.
