I wonder what it says about me that I'm actually posting something on this blog. I mean, I'm not sure that I'll really say a whole lot here, since I've already got a semi-neglected LiveJournal that I post to on occasion, but we'll see what happens. Perhaps it's just an expression of my natural tendency to want to write; more than anything else, except perhaps singing, writing is a great passion for me. Or perhaps I'm just hopelessly narcissistic and this urge to write in a blog that's provided for me through my membership on a site is an expression of that. Whatever the case, I suspect that it will be interesting—for me, at least—to see what sort of entries I post here.

Though for this inaugural post, at least, I suppose that a subject pertaining to television would probably be the most apporopriate—this is TV.com, after all.

So. TV. I don't really watch a lot of it; usually if I watch something, it'll be something on DVD. I have a real tendency to start enjoying TV shows years after their run has ended. I didn't start watching The X-Files, for example, until I went up to Thunder Bay to visit my brother and his girlfriend for a week last August; we went to a video rental place near their apartment and ended up renting a few discs from season 6. Are You Being Served? went off the air when I was still a small child (I think I must've been about two and a half years old), and I started watching it two years ago after I rented the movie, which I thought was pretty darn funny. Admittedly, I used to catch the occasional episode of The Red Green Show at some point during its run, but I find that I actually have a better appreciation for it now than I could've had then. (Maybe it's something about the fact that I've been a member of a competitive pipe band for the past ten years, and we lady pipers are still very much in the minority; I've been "one of the guys" for so long that I think I might actually be beginning to understand how those bizarre creatures we know as the male of the species think—or occasionally fail to do so.) M*A*S*H ended before I was even a year old. Get Smart ended twelve years before I was born. And of course, since the Pride and Prejudice mini-series finished shortly before my thirteenth birthday, I wasn't really able to appreciate the genius of Jane Austen at that time.

I suppose it bears some reflection, this odd tendency of mine. At the very least, it's something to chew over when I've got nothing else to think about.