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I will treat this entry as though it were in a journal.

It is easy for a TV series to lose me.  When House became more interested in poorly written interpersonal relationships than silly practical jokes and Holmesian medical mysteries, I stopped watching.  When Burn Notice focused several episodes on its incredibly talented spy lead (who had handled murderers, con men, gangs, the FBI, and a host of foreign operatives) having trouble because a cop was harassing him, it took me a year to decide to give it another chance.  When Dexter botched its second season, killed its best character, and then opened its third with Dex acting like an idiot for the convenience of the writers, I dropped it.  When Madmen slowed down in the middle of the third season, I simply lost interest.  These are shows I loved at one point.

A lot of people won't just let go of such things.  Even those sympathetic to my reactions will usually have just kept watching.  I've been trying to figure out why my reaction is different for a while now, without easy excuses like 'refined taste' or 'snobbery', which I think miss the point, anyway.  Today, it hit me, I think of most of my entertainments like I do a novel.  If it's the sort of thing you pick up and put down again, only to come back to later and continue the process, I have little problem just stopping.  And why shouldn't I?

Comments

  1. Man, if you haven't seen the fourth season of Mad Men, you've missed out on some seriously great teevee. Best one yet, in my opinion.

    As for season three, granite, the Ballad of Betty & Henry is less than riveting, but hey--"I'm Peggy Olsen, and I want to smoke some marijuana!" Don beaten up by longhairs! Lawnmower-related violence! Lots of fun.

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