You're no good, you're no good, you're no good, baby, you're no good

"Linda Ronstadt performing at a WPLR Show
in New Haven, Connecticut in the New Haven
Veterans Memorial Coliseum" (1978) by Carl Lender.
Via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 3.0 Unported.

My brother telephoned me on New Year's night. I was glad to hear from him, but I was surprised he called me 10 minutes into the airing of the Linda Ronstadt documentary on CNN. He was always a HUGE Ronstadt fan back in the day.

I didn't think he'd miss that show for anything, and I can only assume he forgot that it was on. And I admit I didn't mention it to him for a couple of reasons--I didn't want to interrupt the conversation, and I didn't want to upset him that he'd already missed part of the program.

This takes me back to a minor, yet still significant (at least for me), event during our shared childhood.

One early evening I came home from playing outside and sat down to watch TV. This was around 1971 or so. I was probably no more than 10 at the time; my brother, 15.) My brother quickly engaged me in conversation and kept talking to me, asking me questions about my day and my interests while we watched a show he liked. I don't remember which show it was, other than to note it probably wasn't one that I enjoyed. I have the vague sense it was Gunsmoke, a show with an appeal I never fathomed, but if I did the math and went back to TV schedules in 1971, that might just not work out.

I didn't think much of this until after a half hour or so, and the next TV program began. All of a sudden, my brother stopped talking, smiled coyly and said, "Well, I guess you missed your show."

I don't remember which show it was, The Brady Bunch, UFO, The Partridge Family (yes, I've consistently had questionable taste in entertainment), but at that moment, I realized my brother had purposefully kept me talking, knowing that I'd forgotten about my show--a show he disliked immensely, as I recall--distracting me so that I wouldn't remember it was on.

Keep in mind, this occurred in the early 1970s: We had one large console TV and no VCR because, well, they likely hadn't been invented yet. There weren't regularly scheduled repeats of shows. You couldn't watch it on demand or stream it online because those things didn't exist either.

Which brings me back to my conversation with my brother and these burning questions:

How long do I wait before I call him up and say, "Well, I guess you missed your show"?

And should I FaceTime him so he can see me smile when I say it?

Online streaming notwithstanding, revenge nearly 50 years in the making is still sweet.

Ring my bells

Campanas en la noche

So ... I discovered I can order à la carte on cable an Argentine TV channel, Telefe Internacional. Although I'm fairly certain I watched some of its programming while I was in Patagonia and Buenos Aires last year, all this time I thought Telefe was a religious channel--"fé" means "faith" in Spanish but in this case "fe" is short for "federal".

So not a religious channel. Not in the least it would seem.

Two nights ago, I started watching the telenovela Campanas en la noche (Bells in the night)--anything to avoid the 24-hour speculation-à-go-go on MSNBC and CNN regarding a certain report by a certain special counsel that finally has been sent to a certain attorney general who may or may not decide to disclose its contents. Ay, por Dios. And you thought there were no ridiculous plot twists in real life.

The story so far goes like so: The lead female character, Luciana (played by what I'm assuming is Argentina's answer to The 'It' Girl, Calu Rivero) is married to a possessive, abusive husband (Vito played by what I'm assuming is Argentina's answer to The 'It' Boy, Esteban Lamothe) while secretly in love with Luis (played by vintage galán Federico Amador), a man in the adult education class she teaches who she knew from years ago. Luis fled Patagonia with his daughter after being falsely accused of murdering his first wife, and Luciana apparently witnessed his escape.

Luis has remade his life in the big city, but it's not without its complications. Por ejemplo, his current partner just murdered a neighbor, possibly a prostitute, and has disposed of her body ... somewhere.

Another character is from Brazil and practices an indigenous religion in which she has horrific visions--such as one involving her own hand, her boyfriend's mother, and a circular saw. (Trust me, you don't want to know.) I've yet to figure out how she fits into the overall story, but it's a bizarrely entertaining sideplot nonetheless.

It's Argentina, where psychotherapy is common, so the female lead and her abusive husband are in couples therapy, and now the therapist has asked to meet with Luciana separately to get to the truth about her relationship with her husband and why she gave up her passion for photography. (Hint: She is repressed by Vito and her disapproving family.)

I picked up all of this from watching two episodes and reading back story on the web. Language-wise I'm getting maybe 25% (lots of rioplatense accents and grammar--ashá, sho, cómo se shama, y ¿vos entendás? to sift through). As a result, I'm feeling pretty hopeless.

So, in short, María la del Barrio this ain't.

Nevertheless, I'm going to hang on. As my friend Faby would say, "You know how it's going to end!" Yes, indeed. But the journey is nonetheless entertaining and fascinating and the acting quite good. If you've watched Estocolmo on Netflix, you will be familiar with Esteban Lamothe's acting chops (and exceptional hunkiness), and I suspect you may see him and/or Calu Rivero (poorly used) on a North American screen one of these days, should they so desire to make the move upward.

I know people dismiss telenovelas as pop pablum, but this is a cut above the usual, far darker and moodier even when it hauls out a few clichés. In fact, with my ongoing savoring of Argentine culture (with a splash of Chile, Peru, and Colombia on the side), I'm starting to get a very different picture of the Spanish-speaking world, having been mostly exposed to all things tejano and mexicano.

I still adore Mexico, but Mexico is not all there is, nor is Spain. I wish someone had turned me on to the breadth and depth of Argentine and Latin American culture and society much earlier in life, but here we are, at 57 years old,  an American living in Canada, partnered with an Egyptian, working with people from Australia, Britain, Turkey, India, Ukraine, and a host of other nations--and yet pining for another country, Argentina, a Spanish-speaking land that's kind of half-Italian (along with Jewish, German, and Eastern European) in disguise.

Che, esta es mi vida. Welcome to it.

It's in the tea leaves

Editor's note: I began this post last summer (2014) and have finally decided to resurrect it, revise it, and publish it. Better late than never.

* * *

With the demise of so many American "daytime dramas" over the last few years, I've been pleased to keep my soap opera jonesin' at bay by tuning into serial (melo)dramas from other countries and cultures.

Back in the day (the 1980s), I used to watch the UK soap EastEnders when they showed it on various PBS stations around the nation. I even remember watching some episodes of Coronation Street on the USA Network waaay back in the early days of cable TV, when I think the networks were trying to fill up their schedules with anything and everything.

I half-remember Dierdre being depressed and about to throw herself off a freeway overpass. So even drab-looking British drama from 1981 had a place on the dial.

On trips to the UK, Australia, Mexico, and elsewhere, I've also watched soaps--for the campy fun, yes, but also for cultural understanding. (Honest. I think soaps are a great way to get a glimpse at a culture's dreams and fixations.) I liked mid-2000s Corrie when Cilla Brown was front and center and Sally Webster was having an affair with her boss (formerly Alistair from As Time Goes By, later Stefan Hauser from Footballers Wives) at the car dealership. I've enjoyed Dulce desafío, Emmerdale, Simplemente María, Tú y yo, and, of course, Egoli: Place of Gold. I've even tried to find an online source for 7de Laan, as well as Virginie.

I periodically watch reruns of Dark Shadows on HuluPlus, a show I remember with fondness and fear from childhood. As detailed recently in these digital pages, I think about crazy fun Santa Barbara (a soap like no other, past, present, or future), mid- to late-'70s Another World, Texas, early '80s Guiding Light, the vaguely remembered opening credits for The Secret Storm, and other shows I used to watch along with my Mom, Vivien Leigh, when I wasn't even old enough to go to school, pre-1967.

I've always drawn the line at The Young and the Restless and General Hospital, the former too boring, the later too silly, for my refined soapie tastes.

And upon first, then second, then third glance, I also drew the line in a big, showy, Baz Luhrman way at Neighbours, a world-famous Aussie soap, one I've seen in the past (both in Australia in 1987 and on a trip to England in 1993) and now in the present via HuluPlus.

Vivean Gray as Mrs. Mangel

I must admit that I drew only a soft line in the sand upon first seeing Neighbours in 1987. I was secretly trying to get a glimpse of soap supercouple Scott Robinson (Jason Donovan) and Charlene Mitchell (Kylie Minogue), but I ended up being oddly fascinated with the character of Mrs. Mangel, a Dot Cotton-prototype busybody who would read tea leaves and screech out dire warnings. "It's in the tea leaves!" she would proclaim.

Funny that that one line should stay with me almost 30 years later. I even mentioned it on a date of all things some eight years ago, and, well, I was still very much single for another two years after sharing that remembrance. A word to the woebegone: If they can't tolerate your personal tastes, naff or otherwise, they're not worth getting to know.

When I tuned in in 2005, I don't remember much at all. I can't even tell you whether I was watching Neighbours or Home and Away, another Aussie suburban melodrama. That should tell you how unimpressed I was with either/both.

Now that Neighbours is currently airing on HuluPlus, I've had another opportunity to check in with the 30-year phenomenon that is life on Ramsay Street, Erinsborough, Victoria. When I first drafted this post, Neighbours was running bout a month behind broadcast in Oz. At that time, I had seen approximately three weeks' worth of shows. And these three weeks' worth of episodes had managed to make me both bored and annoyed--but mostly just annoyed.

Here are some of my observations from the early days of my reacquaintance with Neighbours:

There are a squillion other characters, most of them under 30, yammering on about skateboarding, the pool, the beach, coffee bars, and their love lives. Most of them blond (natural, etc.). All of them whiter than white, making semi-dramatic pronouncements in the most obnoxious versions of Australian accents. Think Kath & Kim, not Nicole 'n' Hugh.

First of all, I've met plenty of Aussies that don't sound like they were playing extras in a barbie scene from Crocodile Dundee. It's completely possible to be Australian and not sound like you're about to issue forth with a "call me Cobber" or "fair dinkum" in your speech--although one character (the perpetually tear-stained Sonya) went full Sheila recently when she thanked another for "shouting" her a free massage. Wagga Wagga. Tassie. Flinders Station. Indeed.

Second of all, not everyone in Australia is of the pale persuasion, although heritage and sunscreen do make many so. I do remember during the three weeks I spent there in 1987 that I was ultimately glad to get home to Washington, D.C. I do think certain places--like Australia, like Canada--tout their multiculturalism more than it might warrant. Yes, it's new to you, but some of us have been multicultural (whether by choice or by force) for the better part of three centuries. And I'm not just talking about the U.S.--Mexico, South Africa, Colombia, Cuba, Brazil, even New Zealand can stand up, proudly or otherwise, and be counted.

That's about as far as I got, obviously quickly getting lost in an outback of opinion about various and sundry. I just remember being annoyed by Sonya's constant crying, annoyed by Naomi's yesteryear attempts to seduce Toadie (seriously, a character named Toadie!), annoyed by Kyle's bogan accent and style, annoyed by Brad's winged hair and Marlboro Man walk, annoyed by Imogen and Amber's whinging, annoyed by Bailey's nascent alcohol abuse (and rather fabulous hair--credit where credit is due)--just annoyed by pretty much everything and everyone on the show.

The only bright spot then was the character of Paige Novak, later Paige Smith, played by Olympia Valance (sister of Holly Valance, a former Neighbours star herself). Absolutely fabulous and totally watchable, not because she is very beautiful (which she is) but because of her character's verve, gutsiness, trouble-making, and overall joie de vivre. Everyone else paled in comparison.

I can't remember what happened next, but I think I gave up on Neighbours for a few weeks. I don't really remember what drew me back in, but I think it was the conclusion of the storyline about Paige being the secret daughter of Lauren and Brad and the subsequent fallout from that big reveal. Somehow that hooked me. And once that did, I kept watching and began reevaluating my initial impression of other characters, other stories, and the show overall:

• Sonya stopped crying and became interesting once I saw her feistier and more fun-loving side, then her battle with her addiction demons from the past.

• Naomi became just a helluva lotta fun and much more sympathetic once she moved to the end of her stalker-like behavior toward Toadie and began her Mrs. Robinson-styled affair with the young and spunky Josh. You learned more about the regret she felt for having made such a huge mess of things in her life and the very real, very unrequited feelings she had for Toadie. I especially like the episode when she visited Toadie in the hospital. For me, she has become one of the best reasons to watch the show.

• Kyle and Georgia got married and while Kyle's still a bogan, he's a bogan with sensitivity and depth of feeling toward Georgia and over his missing-in-action father. Kyle and Georgia's wedding and the swell of emotions surrounding that was a thing of daytime beauty.

Nate Kinski  played by Meyne Wyatt

• I still find Daniel and Amber super annoying, but recently I even came around to appreciating Amber just a bit, during her reactions to believing that she had been abandoned at the altar by Daniel and in the aftermath of her father's accident.

• And I love Nate! Not only is he sexy, he's an engaging actor--his post-traumatic stress disorder storyline had me quaking, sniffling, and recalling my father's struggles with the same condition. It is hard for me to imagine any American show, daytime or otherwise, dealing with this topic, especially with sensitivity and real compassion. To my knowledge, he's the first regular aboriginal Neighbour to join the cast, so finally, one big little step into the diversity pool.

There have been missteps: The whole Erinsborough tornado seemed gimmicky and resulted in very little drama. I can't really get into Naomi's relationship with Mark Brennan, mostly because I find Mark judgmental and self-righteous (although admittedly impeccably ab'ed). I loathe even more that that relationship may end with Naomi moving on to Paul Robinson, possibly having her literally become Mrs. Robinson. Call me Dolce & Gabbana, but I couldn't care less about Chris's quest to become a father by serving as a sperm donor to "I must be a mother at all costs" Lucy Robinson. I thought Matt's downward spiral was too rushed and not necessarily true to the character.

Overall, I've been less keen on the Neighbours 30th anniversary storylines, much of it feeling (understandably) contrived and probably more meaningful to the lifelong fans than to me. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the Harold and Madge reunion and wanted more. That sort of tender, emotional interaction between characters is what Neighbours does best, in my opinion.

At the end of the day, I now look forward to catching a new episode of Neighbours. It's become my preferred soap, even over Coronation Street. I think others, too, must be enjoying the show because recently via Hulu we've gone from being four weeks behind Australia to just two weeks behind, on par with the UK schedule.

* * *

Things are changing in my life--for the better in many ways. (Details to be revealed soon.) I've been a little bothered to think this may mean that I won't be able to watch Neighbours anymore via Hulu. It's not going to change my life plans, but the fact that it even rises to the surface of my mind when contemplating major life events is a testament to how much I enjoy this show.

As odd as it sounds to say out loud, I think I need a soap in my life--an minor daily escape, a dream of an alternate universe that offers me the chance to feel a range of emotions--from sadness to wistfulness to satisfaction to titillation to laughter. I don't need a soap so that I'll cry or wallow in emotions, although I don't think those are necessarily bad feelings to have. Rather I need a soap to help me take out some time at the end of a busy day, to relax, to relate, and to fantasize a bit about living in a community with others who care about me. Given their domestic nature, soaps acquaint you with their characters' daily lives, making you feel, fleetingly, that you're watching a story acted out by friends.

Admittedly, they are friends with more happening lives, better hair, and a superior muscle-to-body fat ratio. Fantasy can only go so far.

I'm glad that I gave Neighbours another chance. I'm happy to have the show in my life right now to meet my needs. In my future life, regardless of where I live or what I watch on TV, I hope to have good neighbors for many years to come.

Time of the season

This season's MadMen musical inspiration, both real--"Elenore" by The Turtles) (and here I thought they were only good for "Happy Together")--and imagined--"Lavender," a recent release by Ray LaMontagne that sounds so much like the 1960s, it makes me want to don some paisley and bellbottoms and grow out my muttonchops. That is to say, groovy, baby.



Hard to believe this is the final season (even if it is spread over two years). As frustrating and opaque and imperfect as you can be at times, MadMen (really, *Megan* Calvet? Trés Montréal, oui, mais Megan est française--ou ses parents sont français, au moins--pas montréalaise, je crois), I will miss you like I miss the '60s.

Meaning vaguely, hazily, but still acutely.

I'm just a girl who loves horses

Image created by Nurmsook and taken from Wikipedia

My heart belongs to Heartland, the Canadian TV series based on the Heartland series of books by Lauren Brooke. (Or not, if the Wikipedia entry is to be believed).

I'm not sure I can explain this to anyone, let alone myself, why I enjoy this series as much as I do. It can be maddening at times, the plotlines, the plotholes, and the plot-by-numbers imagery in places. (Oh, we'll get to that, don't you worry.)

There's also the essential premise of the series, that Amy Fleming, the show's teenage heroine, is, in essence, a horse-whisperess, sensitive to the nature of the equine race. It's not quite as silly as it sounds, or as I'm making it out to be. Mostly Amy is just patient, caring, determined, and respectful in her care of horses. Amy's plucky but not in an obnoxious way. In fact, she is headstrong and often makes some dumb mistakes along the way--although these might not necessarily seem like mistakes to what I imagine is an overwhelmingly tween fanbase for the show. I'm sure she comes across as passionate to this crowd, a fiercely romantic and sensitive lead. To her credit, Amy is strong, self-reliant, and not often afraid, which are good values to impart to young women and men both.

You also have to accustom yourself to the idea that every guy wants Amy. Not that her portrayer, Amber Marshall, isn't gorgeous, the epitome of the cornsilk-and-sunshine-haired, Alberta blue-skies-and-eyes cowgirl. But it gets ridiculous sometimes, especially when Amy is so moody.

But ah, heterosexuality, I will never understand you.

I far prefer Lou Fleming, her more urbane (and thus more neurotic--this is the worldview of Heartland and probably Alberta in general, I would imagine) big sister. Played by the lovely Michelle Morgan, she, too, has her fits of pique and drama, but she's also got a good sense of fun, humor, sexiness, and slapstickiness about her. She's the brunette fall girl to Amy's straight woman, if you will.

Once you get past all that--as well as the idea that the books have the story set in Virginia, USA, and the TV series has been tailored to the mythical town of Hudson, Alberta, Canada, somewhere near Calgary--it can be a very enjoyable series.

Maybe it's the beauty of the scenery, which even transmitted through the network HuluPlus, looks gorgeous (and cold, I should add, very, very cold). The mountains, the snow, the rivers, the sun, the charming town, and the expansive landscape. It makes me dream of our own modern Wild West, except one with single-payer health insurance and same-sex marriage. On the surface, Alberta appears somewhat akin to Colorado in terms of scenery and culture. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Perhaps it's the heartwarming storylines, which alternate between drama and humor, all of it very family-focused--but I hasten to add, not family wisecracky in a cheesy, American sitcom way, nor (un)subtly Christian-themed like I dunno . . . I try never to watch those kind of shows. I've heard the show described as a family saga, and I think that description is most apt. People do have sex in Hudson (at least out of sight). They kiss. They drink. They fight. A few probably even smoke (whether tobacco from Ontario or "tobacco" from British Columbia I could not say). So while the show is wholesome, it's not like it's Canada's answer to 7th Heaven.

In Heartland's case, by family-focused, I mean that stories revolve around the tight-knit Bartlett and Fleming clans and the people and events that come in and out of their lives. People have arguments, get jealous, laugh, cry, tease, do insensitive things, love, hug, shirk their responsibilities, are stubborn, are wise, and more--but ultimately they all come together for the common good.

With the exception of Val Stanton (Wanda Cannon), a character I love for her naked avarice, horsey set nouveau richeness, passive-aggression (at best), and that kinda ridiculous mid- to late 2000s Meg Ryan hairdo. What was that style called? "Suburban Soccer Mom Cornshuck Doll"? *Luv* it in all its horror! And Wanda Cannon plays the role with mucho gusto.

There are also the men, of which Heartland's casting directors have consistently selected well, in terms of physique and character. There's dueling Marlboro Men, Jack Bartlett (Amy and Lou's grandfather) and Tim Fleming (Amy and Lou's absentee father), who are strong-willed, ruggedly handsome, real men's men, and ultimately mensches, good guys even when they're not always kind or right. There's Lou's beau, Peter Morris, who arrives in season 2, a driven "oilman" who also manages to be funny, goofy, and romantic altogether. (OK, so that's a bit of a stretch--I keep envisioning Bobby Ewing blended with Laurel and Hardy--but I can't blame Heartland for trying and succeeding.)

And there's perhaps my personal favorite, Amy's off-and-on beau Ty Borden, who manages to be both incredibly adorable and "safe" while also being fierce, proud, and even scary when provoked. There's a lot of power in Graham Wardle's small frame, both in terms of physical and spiritual energy.

Not every guy is golden. I can understand why Lou is underwhelmed in her romance with Scott, who just seems too dreamy and dewy-eyed to be her heart's desire. Likewise with rodeo cowboy Caleb, who is beautiful to look at and a fine actor but who looks way too pouty-lipped for a bronco-buster to be taken to heart. 

Nonetheless, I think Heartland does a good job of offering a guy for every girl (or another guy, if one should be so lucky). Personally, I struggle weighing the charms of Jack, Tim, and Ty (and Peter, Scott, and Caleb while we're at it. Often the macho Tim lights my torch more than Ty--I prefer prime beef over young buck as a general rule. But then Tim goes and does something douchebaggy, and the affair is over.

I like how, overall, the show seems to get guys right--as proud, competitive, intense human beings who fight when necessary but who can also be kind, thoughtful, sweet, and, yes, even communicative. Contrast the Heartland guys with any of the men from a David E. Kelley show (take The Practice, for example), in which the guys all seem neutered by the presence of the strong female leads. The men don't seem like men. They seem like Ken dolls: sexless, plastic, and compliant.

Oh, there are missteps in the show, plotholes you could ride a pack of wild mustangs through, imagery and cultural assumptions that make me want to choke on my beef jerky and pemmican. Like I said, everything urban is seen as dangerous, neurotic, and needy, whether it's Lou or her girlfriends visiting the ranch from New York ("New York City!"). I'm sure the First Nations population of Canada must have cringed and eye-rolled through the whole Victor Whitetail episode in season 2, in which Victor channels his native mysticism and general quirkiness to help a white girl get back her equine mojo. And we get it, we get it--Ty and the Ghost Horse are one and the same, wild mustangs that cannot be tamed without the love of a good woman/mare.

For the record, I really don't like horses. The Heartland cult of the horse even seems a little creepy sometimes, but then again, I feel that way about people's slavish devotion to cats, dogs, and other animals. Just what are y'all sublimatin'?

Nevertheless, I just finished season 2 this week, and I'm looking forward to season 3. If for no other reason than it gives me more time to work out my fantasy project, the Men of Heartland calendar.

I gladly claim copyright for that idea.

For the Bible FX tell me so

Facebook is rapidly losing my interest and dissipating my patience. I know far too many people from high school, too many spouses of distant friends, who have very different approaches to life than my own.

Oh, I know, I know. I've heard of The Filter Bubble. I'm an "information professional": I get that Google, Facebook, and others are commercial enterprises and only show us what we're interested in, siphoning away differing opinions and worldviews. (It also means that I've heard of the book, read the reviews, but not actually digested the text.)

And I like that fact, especially when it comes to turning off and tuning out all the gun-toting, Bible thumping, homo-bashing, Chick-Fil-A-eating, universal healthcare-fearing, Obama-hate-mongering "friends" I have who barf up their intellectual cud for me on a daily basis.

Oh, I have learned to give as good (or as bad) as I get, but at the end of day, I really just want to send Mark Zuckerberg a black rose and close my Facebook once and for all. I'm sure he's all in tears over the thought of saying goodbye to me.

Anywho, The Bible series apparently debuted on TV last night. I don't even know what to say regarding this post. The "doubters" will be impressed by "awesome" special effects? Somehow I don't think so. If Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea didn't knock 'em out, I don't thing some of that ol' Industrial Light & Magic is gonna do the trick either.

Bring Charlton Heston back from the dead long enough to let him shoot himself in the foot with his own AK-47? Now that would erase any doubt.

For the record, I'm agnostic, which means I'm too befuddled to be a true believer (or even a Belieber) and too lazy to be an atheist.

Regardless of my thoughts on the matter, though, I truly hope this friend heard God's voice speak to her last night--at least long to tell her to change the channel.  

The Bible series is on The History Channel, not Discovery.

Mon nouveau copain

Am I bleu? Non, not with Grégory Fitoussi by my side.

My new boyfriend: Incredibly talented and gorgeous actor Grégory Fitoussi from the French policier, Engrenages (English title: Spiral)--sort of a Law & Order: Paris. S'il vous plait.

This pic I nabbed from my TV doesn't begin to do him zhoos-tees!

Currently, we're seeing each other nightly on Netflix streaming. And my fantasy Grégoire never disappoints.

No one will ever love you

. . . Like I love Nashville. If you're not watching, you should consider doing so. And this from a guy who detests most contemporary country music.

#TeamDeacon #TeamRayna #TeamGunnar #TeamScarlett #NeverTeamJuliette

A Return to The Rover's Return

A scene from Coronation Street

Sometimes it's the little things in life that mean a lot. At least to me. And not including penises.

Finally finding a way to watch Coronation Street without moving to Canada or the UK--that may seem little to you but it's a huge deal for an Anglophile soap freak like me.


That must make me a Fairy Soap freak. But let's not call each other names.

Not that there would be anything wrong with going abroad, of course. Nevertheless, it's nice not to have to move right now, especially to a foreign country, and solely because of one TV show. Let there be a few programs involved. And some music.

Yesterday I subscribed to HuluPlus, in part because they recently began broadcasting episodes of Britain's longest-running soapie, Coronation Street. I know, I know, but really, this is significant to me: I've been watching this show in fists and starts since the first part of the 1980s, when it used to be broadcast on (I think) the USA Network during the early days of cable TV.

I've also seen episodes when I've visited Britain and Canada, where it's shown in the early evening, when in the U.S. we're normally watching . . . Wheel of Fortune.

Sigh.

So Corrie and me, we go way back. And not just Coronation Street: I've had a thing for UK soaps for some time. Initially, Coronation Street didn't impress me much--it seemed pretty dour in its '80s incarnation--but I quickly got hooked on EastEnders when it was shown on public television in the 1980s and 1990s. I still managed to catch it on trips to the UK and also got entangled briefly with the  characters and stories on Brookside (that body is still under the patio, for all I know) and even Emmerdale.

But the last couple of times I saw EastEnders, I barely recognized any of the characters and cared even less about the ones on screen. When I saw Coronation Street in 2005 and again in 2012 in the UK, and on several trips to Canada from 2008 to 2012, it seemed far fresher and funnier, though still very much a UK soap. Meaning the characters are more working- to middle class in income and more relationship-oriented, rather than being fantasy- and glamor-enamored like their American counterparts. In fact, I'd say in terms of "orientation," the British shows remind me of what American soaps used to be before people started coming back from the dead and their evil twins began making appearances during sweeps week. (Not that there's anything wrong with that either, but, well, maybe it's time to grow and change and get back to our roots.)

Yet despite the more reality-based approach, there's still plenty of drama, heartbreak, and humor on the British programs. As a result, I've been a furtive fan ever since.

And now for the low, low price of $7.99 per month I can be a more regular, reliable fan. Episodes are showing on HuluPlus (with limited commercials) with only a couple of weeks' delay. Just tonight I watched the episode shown in the UK on January 30th.

This is progress! This is what I've always wanted from media, to be able to learn about (or even escape to) somewhere else, to another world, either through a storyline, a character, or a taste of another culture. It hopefully explains some of the fascination with the South African soap, Egoli: Place of Gold, samba and bossa nova records, international movies, language studies, and French pop music, all of which I've waxed on about here.

But to get a little, I had to give some, and that something came in the form of dropping my $10-a-month subscription to TV5Monde, the French-language news and entertainment channel. While I was at it, I decided to reduce my cable bill a little, too, dropping from "HD Extreme" past "HD Prime" to "HD Select." And that meant that I also lost access to CNN International and BBC World (as well as BBC America and SoapNet, but it's OK, I don't really watch those anymore--and yes, I'm looking at you, Top Gear, as the internal combustion engine of all evil). I still get the basic run of American hi-def channels, including AMC (for MadMen), ABC (for Nashville), and PBS (for Downton Abbey), which are probably more than enough.

Nevertheless, I will miss the international news channels and especially TV5Monde, which aided with my French comprehension and kept me entertained with quirky movies and the occasional Vanessa Paradis sightings.

But I can always go back. I'm sure Verizon FIOS won't hold it against me.

Instead, with my Roku, my subscription to HuluPlus, my subscription to Netflix, and by renting movies and TV programs through Amazon Prime Video, I'm hoping to control my media choices a little better. And I'm hoping to expand my mind a bit--less didactic news programming, more creative film and TV. Or viewed another way--more fun, less drudge. Believe me, I need it right now.

Make no mistake, I'm still frustrated. Our America is such a small country in so many ways. So little perspective, such a tiny window to the world, constantly obscured by fog and soot and gray skies. Or maybe that's just my life in Pittsburgh. Nonetheless, I'm trying to grow where I'm planted--at least until I can no longer take it, rip myself out by my roots, and flee elsewhere, anywhere. Like somewhere that offers BBC World, TV5Monde, RTVE, RAI, and Deutsche Welle TV as part of a standard cable line-up. (Which, I hasten to add, is possible in border towns on the Mexico side of the Rio Grande. But not here.)

* * *

It won't be all soaps, American or international, I promise. I've also watched a movie that I was very eager to see, the South African drama, Beauty (Skoonheid). More about that soon, I hope. Plus I have lined up two Québécois films I've been trying to watch since 2010 or so--J'ai tué ma mère (or in English, Heartbeats, a lame retitling of a film whose title translates literally as "I Killed My Mother) and Funkytown, which looks to be French Canada's answer to Studio 54, Thank God It's Friday, and The Last Days of Disco, laissant les bons temps rouler into one. I have some Fassbinder films lined up, as well as some Italian neo-realism, and a few UK sitcoms.

Well-rounded. Which might also describe my butt if I spend the next few months doing nothing by watching TV.

Popcorn anyone?

It's a Dallas-ter

Good night, Larry Hagman. Rest in peace, J.R. Ewing. Sweet dreams, Dallas.

Totsiens, Egoli

I finally finished all 18 episodes of Egoli: Place of Gold, the South African soap opera that's been keeping me company since late summer/early fall. I may offer a more detailed wrap-up soon, but this little clip might keep you entertained in the meantime. It might also explain why I enjoyed the show, at least the early episodes, as much as I did.

In this one, Cecile Sinclair (played with gusto by South African actress Sandra Prinsloo) arrives after the reading of the will of her late husband Tom, a man she was in the process of divorcing (and taking to the cleaners) at the time of his death. I'm sketchy on the cause of death and the role of Joanne du Plessis (the redhead, later a blondehead, both played by Chantelle Stander) in the events, but, essentially, Tom leaves his fortune to everyone but Cecile, including his two half-siblings of mixed ethnic heritage (remember, this is early 1990s South Africa, just barely post-Apartheid), the Willemses.

Miserable, Cecile starts to drink, and despite the best efforts of her sisters Nora and Louwna to calm her down, she goes on the attack.

I love the way she belts out, "Like hell!" and "Whore!" with such conviction, in that husky, growling voice. I also like the way she says "twee baster kinders" (or something like that, which translates into "two bastard children"), in part because it sounds even ruder in another language.

OK, so it devolves into a catfight between a "common tart" and "a whore," which represent perhaps two over-invited guests in soap operas. But still, it's fun--verbal and physical, with some--if you'll pardon the expression--balls-to-the-walls action by Mrs. Peacock and Miss Scarlett. In the ballroom with a lead pipe and a champagne flute. And nary a Colonel Mustard or Professor Plum to be found.

Ah, they don't make 'em like that anymore. And if they do, they cancel 'em.

So enjoy. And baie dankie, Egoli. I enjoyed your stay.

Now if I can only get through the movie District 9 and the book The Story of an African Farm, and then maybe write a review of the book Triomf by Marlene Van Niekerk ("saltpeter in literary form" is all I got at the moment), and then make my way through a few more chapters of Teach Yourself Afrikaans, perhaps I can put behind me this phase of South Africana and move on to some other obsession. Or just move to Cape Town.

Whatever "here's hoping" translates to in Afrikaans, that's where I'm at.

* * *

Postscript, 14 December 2013

More than two years after I wrote it, I see this post keeps getting looked at. (Yay, me.) Apparently the search phrase "redhead actress Egoli series" leads people to my little corner shop on the internet. So mystery revealed: The actress is question is Chantell Stander (I've also seen her listed as Chantell(e) Stander Rankin). I don't know if she's active anymore, but she had a long, wonderfully villainous run on Egoli, mainly as the vixeny blonde Kimberly Logan Vorster Shults Du Rand Edwards Flintstone . . .), one of my favorite characters from my limited viewing of the series on DVD.

I've added this information above.

Chantell, if you're out there egosurfing on the web, I hope you're doing well! Thanks for the performances.

Later that day, 5:22 pm

She lives! If you live in South Africa, you can watch Chantell Stander weekdays on the soapie, Villa Rosa.

Being stuck in America, I miss everything.