No love for Raymond
I love my roommates, I really do, but there are cosmic forces working against us that might be too powerful for us to overcome. My God, do they pick awful movies.
There is an art to picking a movie, anybody worth their popcorn will tell you that. You have to comb over the different genres, even if it means venturing into the movie version of brussel sprouts by checking out the foreign and independent sections. Subtitles are about as high on my roommates' list as, oh say, driving a rusty screw through their eyes.
This is not meant to be an intellectual rant. I don't
run to the foreign film section and I'm certainly not afraid to watch a good Chevy Chase flick when I have to. Hell, the only reason this column is about movies at all is because the only time I've read books in my life was the two weeks after Gordon Korman visited my Grade 6 class.
All I'm saying is I do enjoy having my mind at least partially engaged by what I'm watching and most movies that feature the words "He's back" or "Ernest goes to... " fall short of the mark.
The same predicament applies when the TV remote makes its nightly appearance. Let me spell out the problem as simply as possible:
Whose Line is it Anyway? good. Everybody Loves Raymond bad.
Jokes made up on the spot by extremely talented entertainers I can appreciate. What I can't appreciate, or understand, is why Raymond seems to think I'm going to find a show about a nagging mother funny when all it does is remind me of my own mother.
There is always common ground to be found. When all else fails you need only throw in a copy of
Goodfellas or flip the tube over to those eternal bridge builders, The
In a related story, since I have alienated my roommates and ensured that I have been written out of my mother's will because I made fun of her in print, I am currently looking for a place to live. Anybody willing to take me in should know I'm pretty easy going, self-sufficient and have superb hygiene.
All I ask is that when it comes to gathering around the small screen, your choice of entertainment doesn't force me to find out if Gordon Korman is still pumping out those fine
Bruno and Boots books.