Back to network...

Funnily enough, I was more savvy in my television viewing when I lived on the wild and wooly coast, with my satellite dish and HBO. Life revolved around the Sopranos and Six Feet Under, and I would rather watch re-runs than network television, that abysmal soup of reality (translate that as cheap) shows and sub-moronic sitcoms. Now, I am finding that there is a redeeming quality to some network shows, like House, the adventures of Dr. Gregory House, on Fox Tuesday nights. To begin with, there is Hugh Laurie, that delightful actor I remember best as the beleaguered husband of the flibberdygibbit in Sense & Sensibility, my favorite movie to watch when I am feeling a lack of cultural stimulation, and one of the villains in the real-life version of 101 Dalmations, another I own and reserve for more depressed moments. He has been nominated for an emmy for his portrayal of the wounded and tortured but brilliant diagnostician. I particularly resonate with his angst. Then there is Monk, the obsessive-compulsive detective on USA, Friday nights. Tony Shalub is amazing, the stories are unpredictable and quirky and frequently hilarious. He is another Emmy winner, terribly talented. And yes, I am addicted to Desperate Housewives, despite the fact that the show does not portray women very favorably, well, except Felicity Huffman, who does show some spunk in raising her little hellions. And that led me to Grey's Anatomy, mostly because I think Sandra Oh rocks, and oh my God, what has happened to that actor whose name escapes me (dead brain cell), who used to be this pencil-necked geek with an Adam's apple the size of a bowling ball. He is now all hunked out, bless him. You know, he was in Sweet Home Alabama. It will come to me later. So, hope blooms eternal that reality TV will go the way of the western and mosey west till its hat floats, and creativity will once again reign, hopefully not with another CSI.