Library

I am writing this post from the sunny warmth of the Dennistoun Library. And no, I am not lying. It is both sunny and warm. And there are only two other people in here and one of them is a librarian. Man, what a change from the festering foam of the New York City Public Library. Then again, their video selection was waaay better.

Speaking of festering, I was watching the news and drinking some coffee this morning after Daniel went to work and what should appear on the screen after the news had ended, but my dreaded nemesis: the tv show 'Frasier.'

Anybody who knows me (well) knows how much I DETEST that show. I hate it as much as I love Columbo, or Diagnosis Murder, or Matlock.

Frasier- and by extension Kelsey Grammar (sp.?)- is everything that these shows are not: vile, precious, smarmy (though, Diagnosis Murder has been know to pull some risque shit from time to time), humorless and down right ILL. There is none of the shambling grace you get in Columbo, as Peter Falk and his nutty glass eye caper across the screen, constanly dropping pens and mumbling to himself. There is none of the charm in Dr. Frasier Crane that simply oooozes out of Southern Gentleman lawyer Ben Matlock (ably played by tv luminary Andy Griffith); and above all, there is none of the joie de vivre of the humble chimneysweep-turned clarinet-tooting doctor, Mark Sloan. There is nothing but emptiness in the sleazy guffawing of Frasier Crane and his persnikety, mewling little brother, Niles.

How has it followed me here? How and why?