In the meantime, my TV isn't working very well. I suspect that rodents have been chewing on the wire leading from the antennae. I can't mess with it till spring, so it forces me to read in the evenings. Nothing wrong with that. I've tried to manange a couple of Shakespearean plays every year—gotta say, I'd prefer to see the plays, but those kinds of productions are in short supply in my neck of the woods.
Otherwise, it's novels. I started by reading all the Sookie Stackhouse books, since I like the show, True Blood, but am also reading some of the classics. I read all of Jane Austin's works last year, and enjoyed them; this year, I've discovered Dickens. Doesn't that sound ridiculous? Read Great Expectations in High School, but I guess the bleakness of the characters lives just depressed me too much in my teens. Now, when reading Oliver Twist, I can just become outraged, hearing about the abuse of children and the slums of the large cities, as I am no longer looking ahead to what I might do with my life, and will not be so depressed, wondering what might lie in store for me in a cruel and dangerous world.