I haven’t watched Luke Cage, Black Mirror, Mr. Robot, Poldark (besides the first episode), on top of shows from the summer I haven’t gotten around to watching. (Plus, The Crown and The Fall start up on Netflix soon.)
The kids and I have been watching the MLB playoffs. I had a very stressful two weeks of October but by the time the League Championship Series rolled around, all the teams I’d wanted to lose had been eliminated and I only had to sit through two games listening to the insufferable Bob “You Rotten Sabermetrics Kids Get Off My Lawn” Costas. For a man who never played the game, he sure loved to wax lyrical about the Days of Baseball Yore, despite a postseason littered with pitching gems and fielding heroics.
But the real reason I’ve been behind on television is because of my daughter’s Language Arts teacher, who announced that in lieu of a traditional reading log her students would be participating in a 40-book reading challenge, and the contest would be open to parents.
I never turn down a reading challenge.
I sent in my first selection, with which I’ve been struggling for months, along with an email detailing the many criticisms I had of the work.
My daughter came home and told me the teacher read my email aloud. I was mortified, because fifth graders weren’t my intended audience (I’d called the book extremely self-indulgent), and because I’m at the stage of life in which I increasingly don’t care what people think and my daughter is becoming extremely sensitive to other people’s perceptions of her. I don’t want to compound her discomfort. However, she likes books too and didn’t seem to mind that I appear to be the only parent in her class participating.
My plan after the World Series is to read books at night during the week and during weekend and catch up on television in the afternoons.