This shopping trip was a first

If you can follow the logic between watching “Doomsday Preppers” on National Geographic Channel and shopping for a hand gun, then you understand the phrase “contagious paranoia.”

Did you know you need a firearm owner’s identification card to even touch a gun in an Illinois gun shop? And did you know it takes 30 days, 10 bucks and a clean mental and legal record to get one?

And did you know a 9mm handgun is probably the best option for a woman whose experience in shooting a gun begins and ends with a water pistol because it is lighter, has less recoil and doesn’t jam?

And did you know you can rent a gun at some shooting ranges so you can try one and become familiar with a particular type of shooter?

As for “contagious paranoia” and logical leaps, you might follow the link from “global pandemic” to “Be a hero.” “Global pandemic” is trending right now on National Geographic Channel’s Doomsday Dashboard. The how-to-survive rule “Don’t be a hero” was changed to “Be a hero” in the 2009 movie “Zombieland,” a tale about life after a zombie apocalypse.

Never hurts to be prepared. Extremely well prepared.

Time out for a fun Monday distraction

“The Voice” keeps getting better every week.

Regular readers know I’m a big fan of reality shows, but I’ve never really gotten into “American Idol” or any of the dozen other shows in that vein. Until “The Voice.”

Maybe it’s because I have a couple of iTunes cards burning a hole in my pocket (you can buy your favorite songs of the evening on iTunes — how’s that for almost instant gratification?). The contestants on “The Voice” do covers of popular music (yes, pop, so sue me) that make old music new again.

If you haven’t been watching “The Voice,” it might be hard to get into it because you don’t know who to root for and you don’t know the backstories. But you should check it out anyway. Just watching it cheers me up. The music is so fun. Except for Christina Aguilera. I pretty much hate anything that comes out of her mouth. Ignore her. The rest is a joyous distraction.

And at the end of a long Monday, there’s nothing better.

(P.S. Vote for Chris Mann. Just to be “weird.” Thanks, Adam Levine, for that commentary.)

Shooting stunning holes in Holy Saturday … with a ray gun

Science fiction helps explain away a lot of perplexing theological questions.

Familiar with “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”? For those of you for whom this is an arcane reference, let me explain. In the episode “The Emissary,” Capt. Benjamin Sisko uses baseball as a metaphor to explain linear time to an alien species known at the Prophets. The Prophets exist in a wormhole, a timeless plain where there are no beginnings, no endings, no befores, no afters.

Sisko: In the end, it comes down to throwing one pitch after another, and seeing what happens. With each new consequence, the game begins to take shape.

Alien Batter: And you have no idea what that shape is until it is completed?

Sisko: That’s right. In fact, the game wouldn’t be worth playing if we knew what was going to happen.

Jake Prophet: You value your ignorance of what is to come?

Sisko: That may be the most important thing to understand about humans. It is the unknown that defines our existence. We are constantly searching, not just for answers to our questions, but for new questions. We are explorers. We explore our lives day by day, and we explore the galaxy, trying to expand the boundaries of our knowledge. And that is why I am here. Not to conquer you with weapons, or with ideas. But to coexist… and learn.

I imagine God to be like those Prophets. He exists in a place without time — every event in all of history occurs at the same time, all the time. This is how He is omniscient — He knows what the future holds because it already occurred and it’s occurring right now and it’s about to occur, all at the same time. It is us humans who experience life in a linear manner, one pitch after another so to speak. God doesn’t intervene in mundane human events, like the Cubs baseball season, because it’s already over.

See? Science fiction solves this deep philosophical quandary.

In any case, I was amused by the story “What did Jesus do on Holy Saturday?” in today’s newspaper. Read it here.

Apparently, theologians for centuries have been arguing about where Jesus was on the Saturday between his crucifixion and resurrection.

Seriously. God is the great I Am (Exodus 3:14). The Truth and the Life (John 14:6). The Alpha and Omega (Revelation 21:6). And we, lowly humans with teeny tiny intellect, think we can explain Jesus’ daily planner on the day between dying for humanity’s sins and rising from the dead.

Sometimes, we can be so arrogant.

Apparently, some people believe that on Holy Saturday Jesus descended into hell (it’s a line in the Apostle’s Creed, recited frequently in the Catholic and Lutheran churches I’ve attended most of my life), and some Christians have found little Biblical evidence to this “hellish detour.”

I don’t know where the son of God was passing his time that Saturday (and frankly, it seems so trifling compared to what happened on Good Friday and Easter morning), but I’m content with my science fiction explanation: God is everywhere at once, all the time — in the grave, in hell, in heaven looking down, in my heart.

I am willing to immerse myself in Capt. Sisko’s humanity. It is the unknown that defines our existence. I have faith the answers will all be revealed in due time.

Bonus arcane reference: Part of the title for today’s post comes from “Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home”:

Chekov: [picks up his phaser from the table, aiming at the FBI agents] Don’t move!

FBI agent interrogating Chekov: OK, make nice, give us the ray gun.

Chekov: I warn you, if you don’t lie on the floor… I will have to stun you.

Stay tuned to ‘Hoarders on a Diet’ when we explore reality TV addictions

I spent several hours this afternoon watching “Hoarders: Buried Alive” on TLC.

I kept hoping to see a really impressive “after” reveal and kept being disappointed hour after hour.

I finally gave up and watched last Tuesday’s “Biggest Loser” episode.

After delving repeatedly into the psychology of compulsive hoarders and overeaters, what does this say about the subconscious motivations behind my TV habits?

Am I addicted to redemption stories or do I just have bad taste?

Gleeful diversions

My Beloved steadfastly refuses to watch “Glee.” Go figure. He hates episodic television anyway, let alone one about high schoolers set to music.

But I catch episodes here and there (out of his earshot), and I love it. I guess that makes me a Gleek.

Expecting to watch the first hour of “Biggest Loser” while on the treadmill at Snap Fitness, I was disappointed to show up there and see “A Michael Bublé Christmas.” Huh? So I watched “Glee” instead, and I was amused to find the producers must have been born when I was.

Tonight’s episode, titled “Hold on to 16,” featured a line from John Cougar a.k.a John Mellencamp’s  ”Jack & Diane”:

Hold on to 16 as long as you can
Changes come around real soon
Make us women and men.

Every time I hear that song, I think of the boy who taught me to French kiss (he was a John Cougar fan). But hearing the song tonight, I realized I was 15 when that song was big. Oh, to think of how I should have been holding on to 16 as long as I could instead of wishing it away!

Tonight’s episode of “Glee” also featured “I Will Survive,” made famous by Gloria Gaynor in 1979. If I was ever forced on stage to sing karaoke, it was going to be “I Will Survive” at the top of my lungs. But tonight’s pumped-up version on “Glee” — now that would be showstopper on a karaoke stage!

Since I don’t watch the show regularly, I think I could get my “Glee” fix with a few iTunes downloads. That would be a switch from NPR! Boy, the inside of my car would get loud before appointments!

I’ve got all my life to live,
I’ve got all my love to give
and I’ll survive.
I will survive.

We capitulated: We’re back on the TV grid

The Great No-Cable Experiment has ended.

We dumped Dish Network in January when the company that leaves no money-making stone unturned demanded a monthly rental fee for the equipment that had been in our house for nearly four years; we had wanted to suspend service for three months while we were RVing it down south and restart when we returned. My Beloved told them they could keep their expletive equipment, and we left for Texas. We saved $75 a month, added a few DVDs to our Netflix queue and happily enjoyed less celebrity news and pace-quickening weather reports.

When we returned in March, the only thing we missed from network TV was baseball. OK, I was the only one missing baseball. So I subscribed to mlb.com for $25 a month — still a deal.

But then the millionaires  in charge at the NFL decided to kiss and make up, and the NFL doesn’t offer games via the internet. My Beloved started hyperventilating when he realized he couldn’t see his Bears every weekend unless he made a sojourn to the neighbor’s garage.

And Netflix, taking a page from Dish Network’s handbook on “How To Squeeze Every Last Cent from Your Consumers,” raised its rates and co-mingled … or merged … or morphed with Quickster. Buh-bye, whatever you’re calling yourself.

So now we’ve gotten into bed with DirecTV, which has yet to betray us (it’s probably coming, I know). Yesterday, DirecTV installed their equipment, and now my Beloved gets NFL Sunday Ticket — which includes all the NFL games — for “free.” We got a smokin’ deal, thanks to a referral from my brother-in-law, so at $40 a month, we’re still paying less than we did to Dish Network. My husband asked why he has to put up with commercials on television for which he’s paying. Why? This is America and Americans are capitalists, that’s why!

Alas, after a nine-month hiatus, we discovered last night that even with 240 channels, there’s still nothing on TV.

How many cans of tuna fish would be enough?

Did you see the Dilbert comic in yesterday’s Sunday paper?

Dilbert, the ever prepared engineer, says he stocking up on food and water in preparation for the complete meltdown of American’s financial system. I wonder if Scott Adams somehow intuited the failure of Congress to agree on a debt ceiling over the weekend?

Dilbert’s stockpiling effort echoes a number of conversations my Beloved and I have engaged in while he watches (and I catch bits and pieces of) reruns of “Jericho,” a 2006-2008 CBS television series available to stream on Netflix (yes, we have agreed to pay the “highway robbery” Netflix rate increases that equal about $4 a month for us to watch pretty much whatever TV wasteland stuff is available; some people can be such whiners).

“Jericho” is not bad as far as network television series go (especially when streamed without commercials and week-long cliffhangers). Sort of like a less sophisticated, less farfetched version of “Lost,” it tells the story of the residents of a small Kansas town who are isolated from most of the outside world when nuclear attacks wipe out most of America’s major cities. These residents grapple with no electricity, limited fuel, dwindling food supplies and lack of medical expertise while facing ominous threats to their personal and geographic security.

The show has made us think about what we would do in a similar situation: No electricity. Probably no indoor plumbing (unless Hampshire’s water treatment plant could somehow secure power). No food beyond what we can scavenge. Limited transportation ability.

Even if we plan ahead and, like Dilbert, stockpile six months worth of tuna, dried beans and bottled water, how do we defend it? How would you say no to starving mothers clamouring for food for their babies or scary suburban thugs demanding supplies in return for “protection”?

We’ve even discussed taking a course in handguns. While I, for the most part, support the goals of the NRA, we do not have a handgun in our house. Handguns aren’t for hunting — they’re for killing. People. I’ve asked myself, faced with protecting my home, my stockpile of food or my body, could I really pull the trigger to kill someone?

These are the dilemmas often faced by the residents of “Jericho.” With a possible deal on the federal government’s debt ceiling, I’m hoping we are spared a meltdown of the country’s financial system, so that talk of food stockpiles and handgun defense can remain comfortably part of the Sunday comics and television fantasy.

For now.

Love lines of English royalty make for good TV

The rest of the world may be obsessed with Prince William and Kate Middleton, who are marrying on Friday (anyone else sick of the Today show’s coverage yet?), but my Beloved and I are hooked on King Henry and his litany of wives.

Since we’ve given up satellite TV, we’re watching a lot of streaming video and DVDs, including “The Tudors,” the Showtime series featuring the reign of King Henry the VIII in 16th century England. He was the dastardly fellow who broke with the Roman Catholic Church to create the Church of England. He had six wives and beheaded two of them.

I became interested in the details of King Henry’s reign this past Halloween when my Beloved dressed as the king and I as his doomed second wife, Anne Boleyn. Later, I fished “the Other Boleyn Girl” out of my bookcase, and we enjoyed the movie version while we were camping in the RV earlier this year. In “The Tudors,” there’s plenty of violence, political intrigue and sex to appeal to both of us; it prevents disagreements over having to watch another Nazi exposé on the History channel (which I eschew) or another makeover show (which Tyler avoids).

We’re in the middle of Season 3. Henry’s first three wives are dead, and he’s shopping for a fourth. By this time, I understood the real King Henry to be a fat, disgusting tyrant. However, in the Showtime series, where sex is a major plot point, actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers who plays Henry remains flat bellied and robust (the actor does a poor job of making that cane look useful).

Oh, well, it’s all good (well, except for Anne Boleyn and Kathryn Howard). Kate Middleton’s noggin is safe as I trust Prince William will be better behaved. Cheers!

Cool gizmo

Long ago … like, last year … people gathered around to watch the TV in the evenings, but now we’re watching the computer.

We cancelled our Dish Network in January when they refused to put us on hiatus for 12 weeks while we were traveling down south. Dish Network insisted we pay a $15 a month charge for “equipment rental.” This was a rental charge for equipment that had been in our house for 3-1/2 years, mind you, and which we would have been using again upon our return.

My Beloved told them to take a hike and we packed everything up and sent it back, saving us more than $75 a month.

Upon our return, we had no cable and no satellite.

But we did have our computer, conveniently routed through our big-screen television in our living room.

You’d be amazed at all the television shows you can watch online, including “Survivor” and “Celebrity Apprentice.”

I am even seriously considering anteing up $25 a month for MLB.com so I can watch all the Twins baseball games without having to wait for them to play in Chicago and listen to the annoying Chicago announcers!

In order to make this work, you need to have a computer in the living room, which isn’t optimal if the only place to put the keyboard is on the room’s only foot stool.

Ah, but you can solve for that, too.

 

Hand-held Rii mini is the "perfect keyboard, touch, laser pointer combination."

A fun new toy arrived in the mail today: The Rii mini, “the world’s most mini wireless keyboard mouse presenter combo.” It’s no bigger than a remote control, and while we wouldn’t type a letter on it, it does well to type “www.netflix.com” and move the screen cursor to “Enter.”

 

The copy editor in me was amused by the made-in-China promotional copy on the box: “Portable, elegant & lifestyle choice!” and “Perfect control PC entertainment features.” But the technical guys did better than the packaging copy writer because it works great. And it cost only $37 including shipping — half the Dish Network for a single month!

 

Hollywood at my pace

Maybe television viewership of the Academy Awards was down this year because it’s too damn expensive to go out and see movies in theaters.

Of the 10 films nominated for Best Picture this year, I had watched one: “Inception.” I saw that one on Netflix.

Oscar ratings were down 10 percent from last year. Thanks to a nonexistent cable connection, I was among non-viewers. But honestly, it was hard to get excited without having seen most of the movies. I couldn’t even tell you the latest Hollywood projects for hosts Anne Hathaway and James Franco.

Maybe I’m out of the loop. Or maybe other people are choosing to re-prioritize their entertainment dollars.

My Beloved and I went out to the movies tonight for the first time in ages. We enjoyed Best Picture nominee “The Fighter” with Best Actor Christian Bale and Mark Wahlberg. (Who, really, was the fighter in this movie?) The boxing movie was about family ties. “Blood is thicker than water,” Tyler summarized. (We enjoyed it.)

We took in the 6:50 p.m. showing, so we paid full price: $10.50 per adult. And no movie is complete without shared popcorn, Diet Cokes and Peanut M&Ms for the appalling total of $21. Ouch. That’s $42 for a night out, plus the gas to get us there: About $5 at the going rate in the gas-guzzling Durango.

With Netflix, we can exercise a little patience and spend about $3.33 to $3.99 per movie (depending on how many we end up seeing a month). And Tyler makes a lot better popcorn than that styrofoam stuff with Golden Flavor they provide at the theatre.

Sure, if I had waited to see “The Fighter” until it was available on Netflix, I still wouldn’t know why Bale referenced Dicky Ecklund in his Oscar acceptance speech, but … (pause for emphasis) … I didn’t see Bale’s speech anyway.

While I’d still like to see “The King’s Speech” and “The Social Network,” I’m going to wait until I can see them in the comfort of my home on my own “big screen” with a glass of Riesling and real butter on my popcorn.