Have started the process of watching all the TV shows we recorded while we were gone. We could have watched on the Slingbox, but the picture was never quite good enough.
I often describe something I like as “a guilty pleasure, if I believed in the concept.” I just don’t feel guilty about liking something, at least not usually. True Blood’s second season is, so far, a lot like the first … I described it on a friend’s blog as “about fucking and sucking,” a nice enough turn of phrase so I’ll use it again here. Anna Paquin takes off her clothes at the drop of an Oscar, vampires like blood, some humans like vampire blood and others like vampire sex (and some like both), the sex and violence is surrounded by the kind of hilarious dialogue you might get from a road-company version of Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte, and everyone’s accent is different. I really like True Blood, even though its occasional pretentions to being about something aren’t worth much of our time. Michelle Forbes is a regular now, which is always nice. Really, what’s not to like, here?