*** I wish Netflix would give up on the idea that I'm really going to love Dexter.
I am rather fond of Michael C. Hall, from his days on Six Feet Under. He's talented, appealing. He has an introverted vibe and an appearance of sensitivity that draw me in, much as I imagine Ted Bundy's victims were drawn in. That is to say, I think the casting is quite good.
And I've seen a few early episodes, on one of those free premium channel weekends we used to enjoy, back when we had cable. They were, objectively speaking, well-done.
But they left my mind full of ick. And why would anyone, especially a policeman, think that he could train a psychopath to only kill the bad guys? That kinda goes against the nature of psychopathy. They'll follow rules, for appearance's sake. Or if they can see a benefit to themselves.
Let's just say that when someone spoiled the series finale for me, I wasn't too surprised.
So, Netflix, stop confronting me with banners of MCH smirking, with angel-of-death wings of spattered blood. Your demographic analysis of my tastes is really off. And I just want to relax with some britcom.
*** Still, my taste in humor does often run a little black.
Here's a snippet from J and me, this morning, serenading our son while we got ready for the bus:
"Old MacDonald had a farm! E I E I O!
And on this farm he had an orangutan!"
"In contravention of all existing legal and moral codes for ethical treatment of wildlife...."
"E I E I O!
And the orangutan tore MacDonald's arm off! E I E I O!
With and arm off here, and and arm off there!
Here an arm off, there an arm off!"
"And then he beat MacDonald with them!"
"Old MacDonald had a faaaaaaarm! E I E I OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Sprog seemed unfazed.
*** I've probably mentioned this, but every time I go to my local grocery store I'm reminded that I'm getting old-- because all the songs piped in are guilty pleasures I haven't thought about since puberty.
...Like a knight in shining armor, from a long time ago,
Just in time I'll save the day, take you to my castle far awayyyy...
Judging by the looks the cashiers sent me, they have no frame of reference for Peter Cetera fighting for their honor.
In Okinawa... honor very important.
*** Soon to come: a post illustrating the finer points of tank engine construction.
Yes, I'm feeding the addiction. But I couldn't think of any other choice so sure to bring my sprog some Halloween joy.
*** In other news: I ran my very first half-marathon, in Staten Island, about three weeks ago. It went really well. I carved about two minutes off my practice pace, which brought me to the finish line about a half-hour sooner than expected. And I finished with some gas left in the tank, as it were. Which leads me to hope that my goal of finishing a whole marathon in a year's time isn't too farfetched.
I have one more race next week, which will finish off this year's race season for me. And if/when I finish it, I will be qualified to apply for a spot in next year's big race. Wish me luck!
Oh, and here are some pictures from the day. Enjoy!