Tag Archives: guilty pleasures

I would consider owning a television, mate.

18 Sep

Even the weather is entertaining because of the town names.

I’ve now been back from Australia for almost a month, so this is a bit, um, untimely. Whatever. I just stumbled across some notes I took while watching television my last night in Sydney. Since I don’t have a television at home, it hadn’t occurred to me to reach for the remote before then, and it’s one of my only regrets. Australian telly is entertaining.

On a cooking show:

Describing herring: “It’s knobbish.”

Instructions for crushing garlic: “Smash it. Just wail on it, mate.”

On an entertainment show, interviewing a celebrity about his stay in rehab:

“I wasn’t downstairs in the drug and alcohol unit. I was upstairs in the mood unit.”

Mood unit? That sounds like a gaping hole in the American health system.

They have a show that is like “The Bachelor” in the US. Except the Australian version is called, “The Farmer Wants a Wife.” Seriously. And it features six farmers who – you guessed it – want wives.

On Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, the contestant passed on this question:

Fill in this song: “I want to wake up in the city that never…”

When given multiple choices, she couldn’t decide between “ceases” and “sleeps.”

Even better, the host mispronounced ceases as CREASES.

And the contestant still got it wrong.

Also on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire:

When trying to select “Capuchin Monkey” as the animal in Hangover II, the contestant instead called it a, “Cappuccino Monkey.” Not sure why this tickled me so much.

Last reference from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire:

The contestant had to determine which charity was the beneficiary of a large fundraiser earlier that year. He ruled out “Save the Children” right out of the gate, but it was his rationale that made me laugh. “Why would they need fundraiser? Everyone already wants to save children.”

On the news:

A woman’s death (which had previously been ruled a suicide) was re-examined in light of new evidence. The evidence? A spear-throwing reinactment showing that the woman could not have jumped to her death, but could only have arrived in that position if thrown by a master spear-thrower. Because that’s a common skill.

Other Observations

This is where my notes get a bit fuzzy because I’d had a sleeping pill so I’d be well rested for my flight home. I won’t even TRY to make sense of them. Here’s the stream of consciousness: 

All the websites mentioned on commercials in with .com.au. How much would that suck to have to clarify your country after .com?

Apple commercials use American voiceover talent, not Aussies. I wonder if that makes Apple products seem more modern, or if people find it insulting to get technology lectures from Americans.

Even their channels have cool names: 7 Mate.

Awesome Australian words: Brekkie. Nibbles.

Carbon Tax in Australia. Why didn’t we think of that? Oh, because we are too busy trying to pretend we aren’t causing Global Warming. No wonder other countries can’t stand us.

I could become addicted to “Bondi Rescue” – it’s like “Cops” but about the lifeguards at Bondi Beach. And they’re constantly pulling people out who are caught in rips or have their heads split open by surf boards.

Finally, eyes heavy under the weight of pharmaceuticals, I managed to click the “off” button. I slumbered and awoke to a city that never creases.

Where did I end Christmas day? In Cabot Cove. With Jessica Fletcher.

28 Dec

Look closely: this is a towel wrapped around her neck inside a warm-up jacket. Yes, that's what Jessica wears jogging.

And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ve clearly never been a “Murder She Wrote” fan. You should probably stop reading now, before this post makes you dumb.

Oh Lord, this is a shameful admission. Christmas evening, trying to wind down from a fun and full day, Alan and I tapped into one of our favorite guilty pleasures: crawling into bed to watch a streaming movie or TV show. We were both fidgeting and exceptionally tired, so that’s the only way I can explain our <my> choice for viewing: the pilot episode of “Murder She Wrote.”

If you enjoy bad television, then let me tempt you: the pilot episode of Murder She Wrote is nothing short of a train wreck, including an absurdly long title sequence that features Angela Lansbury (aka “Jessica Fletcher”) jogging or riding a bike all over Cabot Cove, a small fictional town in Maine.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but generally the only seniors I see running are the ones who have made it a lifetime habit and aren’t packing any extra pounds. I’m willing to suspend disbelief and pretend this woman got a book published by a lark, but ask me to believe she’s a runner and you lost me at hello.

As for the show itself: how it ever got picked up as a series is beyond me. Must’ve been different viewing standards then (or the aging Boomer population at play), because these days I think you’d be hard-pressed to center a show around an overweight senior citizen.

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