The Great TV Catch Up

Moldovan winters are like those experienced by Napoleon and Hitler in their respective bids for world power. This generally means hibernation for citizens. Usually active from dawn until dusk, Moldovans laze around the house and dig preserves out of cellars right before they eat them. No muss, no fuss. It's great. Maria loves it.

What this means for social time is negation. Socializing is cut to bare, bearable minimums away from televisions. A combination of high-speed internet and zero laws on downloading blends to keep savvy teens and the volunteers who love them up to date with just about any movie or TV show—if you don't mind it maybe being fuzzy or off center or in Russian.

Let it be known the following things can be in Russian and awesome and completely understandable:

Animaniacs

Ghost Rider
Leaving Las Vegas
Gone in 60 Seconds

• Anything starring Nicholas Cage

Tomb Raider
The Terminator
Jaws
American Idol
Dancing with the Stars

So, the things I saw, may be pertinent to culture, but are no way entertaining or life-enhancing. Except The Terminator. That's always good. Point being, coming home bombarded me with all the shows that the fam had seen and I had heard of distantly: Fringe, Chuck, Sex and the City, Dollhouse, Community...

At first I was unemployed, and then I got a night job. I pay rent in doing chores (as described) and have little else to do during the day. Picking up the gym habit takes an hour and a half (with washing included) and segues perfectly into laundry. Laundry and ironing take about an hour and a half. These things are static. So is the photo organizing project I picked up.

All my little hobbies and chores become centralized in front of the netflix hook-up flat screen, and whammo: TV Time Commence.

I can't get enough of Fringe. I can't get enough of Dollhouse. Sex and the City becomes stringent after 4 episodes, but I have never learned so much about women's problems. There are more documentaries than I ever thought possible for free, the academy has voted on some truly splendid movies, Sean Connery and Michael Crichton have made some truly boring movies (Great Train Robbery), and it turns out the Charlotte Gainsbourg version of Jane Eyre is better than the Mia Wachkowski.

It's kind of annoying that my family makes as much dirty clothes as they do, but it has afforded me a slice of enforced TV Time, without the misery of cold or the dicey implications of downloading.

Now, if only there were an activity I could do while reading, I'd finish Atlas Freaking Shrugged in a hot second!