Apr. 5th, 2004

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The suppliers of [livejournal.com profile] monshu's digital cable just added a metric bumload of new channels, 98.9% of which are subscription and show up only as blank screens. So why do we have to surf through them? If the intention is to make us break down and purchase all ten NBA channels in order to finally see what's on them, all I can say is that Bush and Blair's lovechild will part the North Atlantic with a burnt kipper before that happens. Surfing has finally become an odious chore and we shall be forced to learn the numbers for the small handful of channels we actually watch. Of course, many channels changed numbers with the latest shuffle and so we've had to poke around to find them again. The local "All-Foreign Channel" is MIA, as is Korean Broadcasting, but Spanish-language offerings seem to have doubled.

Just last Saturday, we discovered what seems to be a local cable-access Latino video show originating in with My Angel Baby Productions in New Lenox. I nearly pissed myself when I realised that the name of the all-male Tejano combo Los Angeles de Charly meant "Charlie's Angels". Also feeding our insatiable taste for the best in world music were That-One-Hour-Bollywood-Programme-That-Is-Not-Namaste, Amerika! and two newly-discovered Nippop shows, Japan Pop and Hey! Hey! Hey! Sadly, still nothing that showcases [livejournal.com profile] monshu's favourite, Mainland Chinese boy bands, but we'll keep searching.

We also stumbled upon the broadcast premiere of O Brother, where art thou? on commercial-rich TBS. [livejournal.com profile] monshu rather enjoyed it; I did, too, once I started watching it as an amusing mythological tale and put out of my mind any thought of a connexion with the actual South (such as trying to reconcile the (northern?) Mississippi setting with Nelson's Oklahoma accent, Turturro's affected Appalachian accent, Clooney's Northern Cities Vowel Shifted accent, Hunter's Georgia accent, and Duvall's Alabama accent; or trying to reconcile the characters they play with the disproportionate vocal gifts of the singers they lipsynch). It made me want to dig up my copy of the soundtrack. I love the songs, and I'd much rather hear them with no context than the often-direspectful context the supposedly music-loving Coen brothers supply. ("O Death" particularly suffers; if I were Ralph Stanley, I'd be pissed off--newfound notoriety notwithstanding.) It was a gorgeous film and some of the little period details were charming. (I was especially taken with a "Thirsty? Just Whistle!" at a roadside stop.)

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