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Jay Currie

One Damn Thing After Another


A defence of, well, er, television

Back in August a piece of mine ran in the Ottawa Citizen on Canadian literary blogs. In it I wrote,
Socar Miles is simply one of the best writers in Canada. She writes so well that you forgive her for writing far too often about her giant pouched rat, Stella. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of opera, books, brothels, art, design. Maddeningly, Miles is actually a professional artist rather than writer. Ratty's Ghost blogs the notes for a wonderful, quirky, novel Miles is not aware she's writing. Her descriptions of bad dates, a mysterious shoe in her solarium, landlord visitations and the state of her Visa bill are as fresh, funny and cringe inducing as anything in Lucky Jim.
Socar has a defence of television up at her site,
I love the chirpy lady on the Chinese news station, the one that always trips over her own tongue. (I can't understand a word she says. For that, I love her even more.) I love shreds of conversation caught in channel-surfing. I love not having the faintest idea who's doing what to whom, because I'm really reading a book instead of watching the film. I love the upward inflection of questions I didn't quite catch, and the silly folks who put a loonie in the machine so they can say their piece on CityTV. (Man with the Viagra sign, singing your brother a happy-fiftieth song, I mean you. You made my week last week. I love you. You are wittier than a box of philosophers, and balder than the American eagle.)
ratty's ghost
Go read the whole thing and checkout the special Socar Miles double blue dildo'll be horrified. (Not safe for socons. NSFStm)