British TV

I watch TV at hulu.com. It's not real time, it's my time. Like TIVO, only free. Sometimes they go off the grid to bring you shows from other countries. Okay, usually England. Sometimes Canada. 
          Yesterday they offered eight or so episodes of a BBC lawyer show, New Street Law, so I watched them all this morning. First in bed, then while I was changing the sheets, cleaning up my room, and sorting my socks [no, really!]. I enjoyed the show because the Brits have "solicitors" and "barristers". They wear wigs in court. And those accents slay me. Also because I love anything legal, but while I was watching, I realized the show would have to be entirely recast to suit American tastes, since the Brits hire people because they are good actors, not for their looks. And we hedonistic Yanks could care less whether somebody can act as long as they've got good hair/boobs/abs/eyes/lips/booties, the important stuff. We're all about style, she said, pointing with pride to The Biggest Loser, and Jersey Shore. They're all about substance. Masterpiece Theater wouldn't exist if it weren't for British programming. 
          Here's some photographic evidence to demonstrate the British Look of which I speak. This guy has been in a lot of Hugh Grant movies. Usually he plays a harmless sort, not like that insane Brit twit who was Grant's roommate in that flick with Julia Roberts, Notting Hill. In New Street Law he plays the lead lawyer. Sorry, too asexual, he'd never cut it in an American series. Too pasty for the girls. Too plain for the gays.

Same with the other people in the cast. Especially these next two, whose relationship gets hotter and heavier as the season goes along. Sorry, but entirely too British for me. I actually had to look away when they had their first big kiss.  Ewwwww. 

I can't believe someone hasn't done something about the bags under her eyes. And he looks like Drew Carey, which is fine if you're a comedian. Not a love interest. This next young woman is probably the best looking chick in the show. Except for a huge, honking mole on one side of her chin. And for some inexplicable reason she totally changed her hairdo in the middle of the season. What's that about? I didn't recognize her from one episode to the next. It's not nice to fool your audience.

Next there's a shot of one of the barrister's wigs we get to see. Amazing they haven't looked in a mirror to get a gander at how incredibly goofy everybody looks dressing up like 1776. I also did a screen grab at a bad time it seems. Even though it's just a still photo, you can almost hear his Scottish accent. Unless it's liverpudlian. Frankly, I can't tell one from another. They all just sound better than I do.  

"Previously" refers to the previous episode. It just looks like they do closed captioning one word at a time. Also, a small issue, but a hurdle nonetheless -- the shows are 59+ minutes long versus 43 minutes or less for US one hour shows. It feels like watching a feature movie by comparison.

          I don't know whether you watch episodes of the plastic surgery-challenged Inspector Lewis and his tall, gawky sidekick Sgt. Hathaway on PBS, two quintessentially British actors. One look at the cast and you know the show was destined for public televison.  

         Helen Mirren's crossover success was clearly a notable exception. I don't know where Hugh Grant came from. 

Lazy Blogger Post

Photo looking out from the balcony of Cowley Manor in The Cotswolds, 

where my younger daughter's wedding reception was held

I've been over at facebook a lot because you only have to post a sentence or two to be considered present and accounted for, as opposed to this place, where paragraphs and thought processes are required. But I don't have a single thought worth sharing in my head, so let's post some pictures instead. They take up space and give the illusion of an entry. 
          I was at my second favorite wedding [besides my daughter's] a couple of weeks ago. [Just to remind everyone of how pretty my daughter's wedding reception was -- I shot the photo, formerly at the top of my blog, from the balcony of the country house in the Cotswolds where it was held -- Cowley Manor.] The wedding I went to over Labor Day was the first time I've taken "event" pictures, since getting my new hips. I stopped shooting for several years because it was too hard managing all the cameras and lenses on crutches.  
          Here's a picture of the back of the bride's gown. Even though the bride and the dress look lovely from the front, you can see how amazing the dress looks from the back [Monique Lhuillier if you keep track of those things]. You can also see that the wedding was outside. On a perfect day. What you can't see is the Chicago River just up ahead and the Sears Tower looming in the background on your right. Too bad for you.

Here's a picture of the colorful wedding cake, also one of my favorites, if not the best cake ever. Style points and taste points. The groom's mother is a food stylist and she stayed up late putting the marzipan cut outs all over the frosting. A popular Chicago bakery did the cake. It tasted extraordinary. The best wedding cake I've ever had. Moist pound cake in multi-layers with an astounding butterscotch filling. To die for. Topped with white buttercream frosting.

This is making me hungry for something sweet. What have I got around here? Oh, I know.

           

Double or Nothing Rule of Taking Pix

I have a rule of thumb when I'm taking a picture of more than one person. Double the number of shots. So if there are two people I take four pictures at least. Three people, six. I think you can see why. Just a side note: one of these girls is going to Harvard next year. I'm just sayin'.

Summer's Kaput

September 1. Summer is so over. Labor Day is just the burial. For the last couple of weeks I have been at the beach in Stone Harbor, N.J. which is just across the Delaware Bay from Bethany Beach, where my family used to go until I was ten or so. It's just an hour or so as the crow flies. Maybe less.
       I remember that going into the ocean when I was young meant I would probably step on a crab and get my toe pinched. I was pretty skittish about it all. Everytime I relaxed my vigilance some crab came calling. Going into the water also meant that when I squished my feet into the wet sand as the waves lapped at my knees I could feel little things moving around underneath, tickling my toes. The ocean was teaming with life. That's probably why I have always preferred walking in the sand of the creature-free shallow waters of Lake Michigan, save for the harmless schools of minnows/baby perch and those years we had gajillions of dead alewives on our shores. 
        But this year, able to walk and wade like a normal person in the ocean again with my new hips, I realized that there aren't many signs of life around the beach anymore. No baby crabs running back into the waves, nothing to step on or nip at your toes. No little schools of fish swimming around. Just the murky greenish water. I remember a few years ago there was a rash of jellyfish to dodge, but that may have been tied to their breeding patterns and the moon. And the vagaries of growing pollution. Now for the most part, there's just nothing. It happened in a nano second. 
        Be careful what you wish for.