A couple of years ago, I read Malcolm Gladwell's profile of Cesar Milan, star of HBO's The Dog Whisperer. Tonight I flipped to HBO on the hotel TV (we don't get any pay channels at home) and there was Cesar. It was the first time I'd seen the show -- and I was instantly hooked. I could watch all night. It's something about the wonderment exhibited by the dog owners, suddenly seeking their Sheltie riding in the car without barking incessantly, or their pit bull mix lying next to a rabbit without trying to kill it. And it's Cesar himself -- his unstudied presence on camera, his complete confidence and control over the conversation. He's like one of those horrible TV psychics, but without the act. He doesn't come off like a showman at all, but he's doing the same thing -- controlling the scenario completely, framing it how he wants it framed.
I always do this on trips -- gorge myself on a marathon of some show I never watch, approaching the end of an hour in the anxiety that they're not going to give me another one. More! More! More!
Today's post is over at Toxophily, where there are pictures of socks and shoes in San Diego.