Every year I stare the All-Star break in the face and freak out. I can't even handle off days at this point in the season; what the fuck am I supposed to do for three whole baseball-free days? (No, I will not watch the All-Star game). The range of replacement media I can tolerate is very limited.
I stopped watching movies years ago. It was Anthony Lane's fault. Not because he eviscerated the objects of his criticism so effectively, but because the criticism was obviously so much more entertaining than the object. I have never regretted it.
Around the time that I stopped watching movies, in an unrelated moment of weakness, I subscribed to the New York Review of Books. I have no idea what occasioned this lapse in judgement, unless it was the All-Star game. About halfway through that dark year I started knawing off my arm out of boredom; soon I realized that the arm-knawing was more pleasurable than the reading, and I never looked back.
But before what I like to call the autophagy period, I waded through a review of Guns, Germs, and Steel by William McNeill, and decided that I didn't need to read the book. This, however, was a mistake, because the book is very interesting. If you are so lazy that you can't bring yourself even to read such an excellent specimin of pop-sci, direct your Tivo to the PBS series, which starts tonight.
In semi-related semi-public broadcasting news, NPR is running a Daniel Charles series on farm subsidies. No one has ever managed to make Americans give a shit about farm subsidies, but you should. More on this topic tk.
As long as we're indulging in a rare baseball post: Fuck You New York.