With the gas fireplace now officially kaput (and with queries sent to the manufacturer and the propane company), I’m huddled in an alcove between two space heaters, drinking hot coffee and eating warm comfort food.<\/p>\n
It’s funny. Fifty-nine degrees feels perfectly decent outdoors. And considering how humans have lived for most of their history (and how some, like Joel, still live), 59 indoors is a relative luxury. Heck, electricity is a luxury. Nevertheless, I’m exercising my prerogative of feeling like a Dickens character. In the snow. Barefoot. Tubercular. Selling matches. (Or was that Hans Christian Andersen? I forget.)<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
Another thing the Little Match Girl<\/a> didn’t have was a DVD player. And I admit its among my very favorite escapes from the cold. And from myself when the hermitting bit gets too intense.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I’d like to tell you that I watch nothing but Swedish art films and the occasional Akira Kurosawa epic from Criterion, but the truth is that my latest warmer-upper is considerably more lowbrow. In fact, it’s so<\/i> lowbrow that my long-time movie-reviewing comrade (and BHM webmaster) Oliver Del Signore twitted me for stooping to — gasp! — mainstream TV.<\/p>\n Netflix has got me hooked on the ABC series Once Upon a Time<\/i>.<\/p>\n In my next set of emailed reviews, I plan to make the argument to Oliver that anything with so much Jane Espenson<\/a> can’t really be mainstream no matter where it airs (Espenson: Firefly<\/i>: “Shindig”). But mainstream or no, I’m halfway through season 2 (and the show is now in its fourth season, so please<\/i> don’t post any spoilers!) and I’m totally sucked into it, fairytales, evil queens, true love, and all. (Snow White and Red Riding Hood’s Granny can really kick ass, too. And they’re not the only ones who can.)<\/p>\n It’s no Firefly<\/i>. Not even close. But this series about a bunch of fairytale characters diabolically “magicked” into a modern U.S. town and deprived of their memories just keeps coming up with something new and entertainingly twisty.<\/p>\n Besides, it’s got Robert Carlyle<\/a>. He’s a great actor playing a great role here and he’s been a guilty pleasure for me since The Full Monty<\/i>.<\/p>\n —–<\/p>\n Hey, I think it’s getting above 60 now, at least in this spot. Guess it’s time to quit whining and go be productive.<\/p>\n One last note: Please don’t forget to use my Amazon links<\/a> for all your holiday shopping. Amazon is having Cyber Monday sales all week long<\/a>. And I’m sure they’ll be up to something or another good clear through Christmas Eve.<\/p>\n My Amazon sales have been down for the last several months. I wasn’t about to complain, given that the summer-fall roof raiser was enormous beyond anything Amazon will ever be. But normally, action would be picking up in November. Instead, only a couple of big, last-minute purchases (thank you!) rescued Nov from being the weakest month of the year.<\/p>\n So if you’re keeping buying to a minimum this season (and who could blame you? I am, too) relax, enjoy, be virtuous. OTOH, if you’re buying from Amazon, you know where to begin your shopping expedition. Right here.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" With the gas fireplace now officially kaput (and with queries sent to the manufacturer and the propane company), I’m huddled in an alcove between two space heaters, drinking hot coffee and eating warm comfort food. It’s funny. Fifty-nine degrees feels perfectly decent outdoors. And considering how humans have lived for most of their history (and how some, like Joel, still live), 59 indoors is a relative luxury. Heck, electricity is a luxury. Nevertheless, I’m exercising my prerogative of feeling like a Dickens character. In the snow. Barefoot. Tubercular. Selling matches. (Or was that Hans Christian Andersen? I forget.) —– Another<\/p>\n