I woke up today with a sore right arm. I perused my questionable, foggy, possibly nefarious history of the past few days, and came up with nothing unusual (for me, that is). Then I sat down to watch Netflix, which I recently discovered, and found the source of the problem. My arm was sore from using the remote control so much…
Our oldest daughter told me about the Chromecast gadget and Netflix, and my life hasn’t been the same since!
I have discovered an amazing new world. I also found out that whole days can disappear while you’re in the deep, dark tunnel of Netflix. Entire seasons of shows can take control of you; it’s an addiction, and like McDonald’s secret sauce, there is no cure for the craving. I must watch Grace and Frankie every day, I cannot live without it. And I found The Big Valley and The Golden Girls on YouTube, which can also be broadcast using the Chromecast device. And the movies, so many movies!
I am on the horror movies now. I have become an explorer: I started out with the independent films (of course!), then went on to foreign movies, “weepers,” documentaries, old movies, newer movies, movies for any sexual orientation, or any combination thereof. People run around with clothes on, or off, and even if the movie is not English-subtitled, I get what they’re trying to say. In any language.
The first few days on Netflix just swam by. The dogs and I sat in the recliner and reveled in the choices. Then the laundry began to pile up, I missed a text from my agent, I missed an audition, meals were not being prepared. We were still living off the Easter ham and leftovers. People were beginning to complain.
I devised a way to compensate. I let myself watch one movie (one!) or two episodes of Grace and Frankie, then I do some work/check my phone/reconnect with the real world. Or had my “real world” shrunk to: Input, HDMI1, Home, Netflix, Chromecast loading, hit play (are you still there, it sometimes asks me, thinking I must have expired)? I’m hoping this is just a fad, and I’ll tire of it soon, like the three-pound weights I bought, the stair stepper machine, the knitting apparatus, etc.
Well, I don’t know, because as long as the Easter ham and leftovers last, I’m on to the second horror movie. And who knows after that?