Of Watching TV

The description of couch potato suits me very well. I spend more than half time of the week to watch any kind of stuff from that idiot box.

I used to read a lot, not anymore.

Although I’m OK with watching the TV by myself, it could be fun watching it with the wife. She is not the type who asks who is the bad guy in The Matrix, however she has a pretty eclectic and difficult taste of her own.

Friends, Scrubs, and Desperate Housewives are certainly her picks. It’s not difficult as they have ‘chick flick’ theme written all over them. Not that I don’t like them, mind you.

I have managed to make her mildly interested in The X Files, by picking some of the best episodes from the saga, which have nothing to do with the main story arc. The X Files for me still reigns as the best program of all time.

Prison Break was a gamble, and it largely succeeded due to the fact that Michael Scofield is a pretty good looking chap. The story being totally intoxicating was also helpful. She was hooked and became a major fan of the series since day one.

She hates 24 and The Office with a passion, while I love both of them with a passion. I mean, Jack Bauer kicking major butts, need I say more? Also, the cringe worthy antics from David Brent and Gareth Keenan are some of the most hilarious comedy in the business.

She’s still lost on Lost. Every time I watch the award-winning sci-fi, she goes browsing over the net or watching some sinetron on terrestrial TV. It is very difficult for me to explain the beauty of flash back and flash forward method they intricately use in Lost. In addition, the love triangle between Jack, Kate, and Sawyer, what’s not to like?

For her, Grey’s Anatomy is just another Melrose Place. For me the interrelationships between the characters serve merely as a spice for the complexity of drama that touches patients and doctors when dealing with a matter of life and death. Granted there’s one too many McCheesy moments in between, but there are riveting storylines in most episodes.

House MD is just brilliant, there’s no question about it and she agrees.

The genius diagnostician’s sarcastic way of dealing with his patients while solving some of the mysterious medical cases ala Sherlock Holmes is indeed the greatest show around these days.

With the three CSI series, there are no problems.

It’s just a matter of who’s the best between Gill Grissom, Horatio Caine, and Mac Taylor. I picked Grissom while she’s smitten with Horatio, which is mind boggling in it self. Because I’m totally fed up with Caruso’s ultra cool way of putting his sunglasses while staring blankly in slow motion.

Yesterday though was a major coup in our TV watching history. I managed to literally drag and shackle my wife to watch Dexter.

I’ve been telling her how awesome this new series this past two months. She just won’t budge. Not only because the star is that quirky gay dude from Six Feet Under, but the opening sequences involving Dexter grinding someone’s skull opened.

Yes, Dexter is a serial killer. Nevertheless, he has a code, a moral fiber, which has been instilled on him by his late foster father to channel his urge to kill, into something worthy for the society.

Not often I can say that people may relate to a sadistic serial killer. However, Dexter, I am sure will be able to steal your heart and in the end cheer for him when he sticks that 6 inches blade in the chest of his victims.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a gory stuff alright. It’s definitely not for the squeamish kind. In fairness, there is humor inside, albeit a dark one, with perfect comedic timing from Michael Hall.

If you haven’t watch it, I suggest you do. You will be entrapped in an absorbing story and end up wanting to see more from our friendly neighborhood serial killer.

Now I only need to rack my brain on ways to get my wife watching organized sports programs.