A Weekly Cycle of My Broadcast Media Diet

Just because I'm curious, here's one weekly cycle of my Broadcast media diet, starting with Sunday evening.

General Daily Faire:

Radio:

1. NPR: Morning Edition, All Things Considered
2. NPR: Afternoon talk shows (sometimes)

News Online:

1. Anchorage Daily News
2. Washington Post
3. New York Times

Blogs:

1. Billmon
2. Atrios
3. Talking Points Memo
4. Daily Kos
5. Digby
6. Laura Rozen
7. Fire Dog Lake

Sunday:

1. NPR: Weekend Edition; This American Life
2. NPR: Prairie Home Companion (sometimes)
3. ABC/CBS/FOX: NFL Football (depending on schedule)
4. PBS: Mystery! (sometimes)
5. ABC: Grey's Anatomy

Wednesday:

1. ABC: Lost

Thursday:

1. NBC: ER (sometimes)

Saturday:

1. NPR: Weekend Edition; Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me
   
2. NPR: Prairie Home Companion (sometimes)
   
3. Misc: Saturday night movie (sometimes)
4. PBS: Mystery! (sometimes)

That's roughly all of it. Some of the radio listening depends on when I get up, when I go to sleep, and when I'm home (I don't listen at work/in the car/on headphones). The TV viewing likewise depends on when I'm home -- the only things I'l record are Grey's Anatomy and Lost (although this latter item is a special case, which I'll detail in another post).

If I had cable I'd watch the new Battlestar Galactica series. When it was on the air, I watched every episode of Firefly -- and recorded most of them, too.

DISCLAIMER

ASOSD:

Use of this advanced computing technology does not imply an endorsement of Western industrial civilization.

Just, you know, FYI, FWIW. YMMV as in all things.

Moose Lurking Behind Mossy Logs

That's how I remember Porcupine Island. Forty-five minutes by 16' Polarcraft riverboat from the boat launch at Quartz Creek. The edges of the tiny island alternated between gravel shores strewn with bone-white driftwood and rock-and-bolder mini-cliffs where we couldn't ground the boat. Old-growth trees covered hills that rose away from the shores, where mossy logs were tumbled together. Among the spruce trees, abandoned lean-tos and other secret structures could be discovered and explored. Walking away from the water into the shadowy interior felt like walking into the undeveloped, unmechanized, uncivilized past. There never was a more fertile garden for the imagination of a child.

Except I never really encountered moose there -- we did see them swimming across the lake on a few occasions -- but in the hazy light of nostalgia, the island seems imbued with their stillness. And a part of my imagination abides there still.