Progress.

Made dinner tonight; sweet-and-sour peppers and onions, and fried pork chops. (Actually, I think properly speaking those were the excuse for sugar and olive oil and red-wine vinegar and fresh-ground pepper and crushed garlic and sprigs of thyme. But in terms of volume, the peppers and pork chops definitely made up most of the meal.)

John's started watching Gordon Ramsay. I definitely see the appeal.

American Horror Story, round two.

Alright. Despite the way the last one ended[1], I'm watching the first episode of the second season. The first season had some good moments, after all. I liked Tate, for the longest time.

Bunch of the same actors; after the contemporary open, it looks like they're going with a period piece. The location for this season is an asylum--initially a tuberculosis sanitarium, turned into an asylum for the criminally insane run by the Catholic church. Given how they handled psychiatric help in the last season, I am the antithesis of optimistic.

( Cut because there might be spoilers. It's all so rotten, I can't tell. )

So we've got a show set in an asylum, where all but three and two-halves (the Monsignor and Wendy) of the characters are patients, and we still can't actually get a protagonist who's mentally ill? We aren't that rare on the frigging ground, you know.

Apparently Ian McShane will be joining the show. I'm honestly not sure that that's enough to have me watch a second episode. I watched the entire run of Supernatural, I watched Revolution, and I don't know that you could get me to watch this.
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[1] In a fest of Biblical Roanoke magic spell therapy-is-all-lies and women-are-baby-crazy shit that had me earnestly explaining to the dog that if she ever meets a therapist like the one in the TV show she should bite him and she would be a good dog for doing it.
[2] She died. Horribly. Probably.
[3] He'll get five more blows with a cane, they'll get a piece of candy.