Tapas in Chinatown

Sometimes a good, stark contradiction makes me giggle.

Like in the rainforests of the Amazon you wouldn’t expect to see someone wearing a parka with a hot pink boa, or in snow-filled Antarctica you wouldn’t expect to see a giraffe. It’s the unexpected that catches my attention, making me giggle, “To see a giraffe, here, in Antarctica of all places, and wearing a cravat!” And then I would roll on the ground laughing at the absurdity, yet at the same time embracing and reveling in the uniqueness of the situation. Plus, it would be rather funny for me to be in Antarctica in the first place.

When my sister recently came to visit from a land far away (an hour-and-forty-minute ferry ride away), we stopped in Chinatown, downtown Victoria, BC. We picked our way around crates of vegetables for sale on the sidewalk, sidestepped store owners and shoppers arguing over prices, and hustled past restaurants with cooked chickens hanging in the window. Its unique atmosphere packed into one street is in sharp contrast to the rest of downtown humming with old English heritage. But as much as I love Chinatown, I was anxious to show my sister a special place I once happened upon among the chaos; a place totally unexpected among the crates of imported vegetables and spices; a place dripping with serene peace and calm typically found only when having high tea.

When you walk through the white doors of Venus Sophia Tea Room and Vegetarian Eatery, you wonder if you are in the English-influenced Empress Hotel. Collections of dainty tea cups in well-lit curio cabinets greet you at the door, and doilies and cushions grace the chairs and loveseats in the eating area. Antique bikes – yes, bikes – hanging from the ceiling with their baskets full of silk flowers make you want to hop on for a leisurely bike ride in the countryside.

But you’re in Chinatown. Step outside the French-looking white doors, and you’re in the hustle and bustle of what feels like the Far East. Step back in, and you forget the sharp cultural difference just outside.

High tea is high on the menu - literally. Three-tiered plates adorned with vegetarian finger sandwiches wait for the dainty to dive in. For me, my growling stomach cancels out any grace or restraint, and finger sandwiches would be washed down the gullet with a mouthful of tea before I could lift my pinky. But I love the girly atmosphere, and what a perfect place for two sisters to gab!

But we wanted ‘lunch lunch’ - high tea wasn’t our forte for the afternoon. Our grimy sweats we wore for trudging around all day was not exactly ‘high tea’ attire, anyways. We perused the menu, and given that I'm not vegetarian it was all Greek to me. Soy this, tofu that, and vegetable concoctions I had never heard of. My more-worldly-than-I sister suggested tapas. I don’t get out much, so the ‘tapas’ concept was foreign to me, but given that one of the options was the all-too-familiar hummus - my fave - I knew it was gonna be good. Olives and feta cheese was another option, and the best part? Baba ghanoush. Not only is it fun to say, but the dish had been elusive in my life-quest to try new things. My house of straight-up meat-and-potatoes men makes trying new foods a challenge. All three dishes were divine; my mouth waters in remembrance.

So there we sat in Chinatown, wearing filthy old sweats, in a tea room fit for an English princess in the countryside. As we ate pita bread with hummus, babba ghanoush, and olives with feta cheese, foods likely straight out of the Middle East, for a minute we were culturally confused. Not only did we not have tea in the ‘tea room,’ but with all that was going on, where the heck were we?

But as I shoved another olive in my mouth – I never knew I was an olive person – I knew where we were. We were right where we should be – together, doing something different, and enjoying the contradictions of life that make the world a spicy, delicious place to be.

Be sure to check out Venus Sophia Tea Room and Vegetarian Eatery right in the heart of Chinatown, Victoria, BC. Vegetarian, Vegan or Gluten-free delights are sure to make your mouth water!

Chasing Trains for Fun

I`ve been recovering from my second abdominal hernia repair operation in two years, and have been feeling kinda....glum. Okay, alright, I’ll admit it – been kinda feeling sorry for myself. Being a very active person by nature, getting out there and doing fun stuff has been on hold during my recovery, and as for the future? Who knows. Body-building, bungy jumping and sky-diving are out, and even though I never really had great aspirations to do any of those things anyways, it’s the thought of NOT being able to do those things, if I ever wanted to, that has gotten me down. So while the recovery has been long, my future of doing stuff a bit bleak, I have been focusing on finding stuff that I CAN do – because hey, that’s what life’s all about, right? Getting out there and doing - stuff!

When I noticed a sign on the highway outside the Saanich Historical Artifacts Society at Heritage Acres in Victoria, BC, I knew what I could do! Added to that, I was sure it was something I could get an ever-growing teenager out doing with me!

So on that sunny Victoria Day long weekend (in these parts, it`s the May 20th weekend), I packed us a lunch and with a promise of a surprise, we headed out to Heritage Acres.

A woodsy place adorned with weeping willow trees, trails through the woods, and a pond abundant with lily pads, the grounds house replica buildings from `back in the day` of blacksmiths, schoolhouses, and a chapel. Among the heritage farming equipment donated from local farmers, a museum boasts antiques – everything from treadle sewing machines, to tools, to printing presses. A fun and educational place to look around, but honestly, that`s not what we were there for that day.

We were there to ride trains.

The Vancouver Island Model Engineers, a group of model train enthusiasts maintaining trains of all sizes as well as model aircraft and boats, host train ride days throughout the year. Decked out in traditional train engineer gear, members not only work on their model trains that are bigger than your average dog, but they maintain much bigger trains – trains you can ride!

With a donation, we hopped aboard. Sitting astride our car, our feet mere inches from the ground, off we went. With the engineer on the front, we toot-tooted and whizzed along foot-wide tracks, through tunnels, over bridges, around ponds, even past a garden gnome display! The 10-minute ride had us back at the station all too soon, where we promptly dropped in another donation into the cash box, got our `ticket` punched again, and away we went! With a whistle and clank of the gears, my son in front of me and my arms clenched tightly around his middle holding on for dear life, through the forest we went again. Though the log ride at Disneyland it was not, a scream through the darkened tunnel was duly called for!

As we had our lunch under a massive weeping willow tree, to stop later at the Whistlestop cafe for a freezie, I realized – I have lots to do, lots I can do, and no amount of hernias were going to stop me from having some kind of fun. Those trains clackety-clanking over the tracks reminded me to focus on what I COULD do, and not on what I couldn`t.
So be sure to hop aboard a train, even if it`s no bigger than a bike, and get riding!

The Vancouver Island Model Engineers are based based at the Saanich Historical Artifacts Society site at Heritage Acres, 7321 Lochside Drive. Be sure to check out their website at www.vime.ca for upcoming train ride schedules and be sure to get your ticket punched! Who knows what kind of fun you`ll have!

(Pop over to my photo gallery to see more pictures of the trains!)

Stamp Collecting 101

I’m a patron of the postal system. Yup, it’s true. Even in this world of ‘e’ everything, nothing beats mail. The act of sending and receiving something, the anticipation, the cute little stamps – I love it all. It’s like Christmas morning every time the mail carrier arrives. True, the mail isn’t delivered right to my door, but checking our postal box is just as fun. Even more exciting is sometimes finding a box sitting on my front door! Many times, however, there is disappointment – ‘nothing good in the mail today, dear’ – but then I always rev-up my excitement for next time.

Except, of course, when receiving a bill in the mail – now that’s no fun.

Blech.

And I am actually disappointed when someone tells me to send something electronically. Yes, it is cheaper and responses are quicker, but what fun is there to be had by not buying a stamp?

Aside from my addiction to sending and receiving mail, I recently realized that my patronage for all things postal ran deeper than I thought.

One day while waiting in line at the post office, I saw it - a shiny catalogue of newly designed stamps and coins currently for sale. Historical themes from everything to ’The Princess of Wales’ Own Regiment’ to ‘The War of 1812’ were gracing the pages. Then to add to my interest were sets titled ‘Adopt a Pet,’ ‘Chinatown Gates,’ ‘Motorcycles’ and fittingly, given my new-found interest, ‘250 years of Postal History.’

And that tingly feeling resurfaced from too many years ago. I had a need to collect and save.

When I was a kid, my cousin and I were big on the stamp collecting front – right up there with sticker collecting. True, we weren’t ‘professionals,’ steaming and soaking with tweezers in hand, but we loved saving stamps from near and far. For Christmas my Aunt gave me my OWN stamp album – a book fashioned with little pockets to store the treasured stamps. It filled pretty quickly because as word spread through my family I was collecting stamps. Every aunt, uncle and grandmother was sending me stamps torn from envelopes. I was a PROFESSIONAL.

And the bug never left me. Over the years, I would sometimes save a cool-looking stamp as I found one, and those who knew me would bring me stamps from their travels afar, and I would save them all. But I didn’t consider myself a ‘stamp collector.’ I would save them in a drawer, my nightstand or even my jewelry box. True stamp collectors everywhere are likely cringing at my less-than stellar preservation techniques, but this is what I did. As a mother of two boys – who over the years I desperately tried to get them on the hobby and without success – I didn’t have time to be a ‘true’ stamp collector.

Yes, I could have put them in a book, but I thought collecting was for...‘other’ people, not me. People who knew this history and worth of many stamps, never mind the proper-preservation of the tiny little squares. People who had time and patience to learn about each one.

Flipping through the catalogue, I was inspired, intrigued and suddenly itching to get my hands on a few - but not to use, of course, despite my postal system patronage. And I realized right then, I had to get an album, just like I had as a kid. It would be a relatively cheap hobby, and really, how hard COULD it be to throw a few stamps in a book? Waiting for new stamp designs to come on the market would give me a kick – just like waiting for the mail to arrive. I could put all the ones I had saved over the years in the book, and heck, if anything, they might be worth something to my kids one day.

So, on a Friday I finally got myself a brand new stamp album. Outside the main post office downtown, I flipped through the pages bearing little pockets in which to slide in my precious stamps. I couldn’t wait to get it home and start filling the pages. The day I picked up the catalogue, I had purchased two sets – just to start my new-found hobby on the right foot. I had saved them for when I could get an album, and I was itching to get home to those freshly minted stamps, and start scouring around my drawers, nightstands and jewelry boxes for stamps lovingly saved.

And I did insert my new stamps that night. I couldn’t wait to get it all together and show my kids, and maybe inspire them to get started. I re-traced my steps in my memory of where in the house I had ‘preserved’ all these stamps. I had to find them, and I had all weekend to do it! I could do it! How much time could it take to just find the stamps and slide them in the album?

But I should have known better. A busy mom whose weekends are often a blur with errands, kid duties, and preparing for the coming school/work week has no time for the quiet, slow hobby of stamp collecting. Despite my best efforts, I never got a chance to race around my house finding all the stamps I had saved. Next thing I knew Sunday night snuck up and my shoulders slumped like a soggy stamp. I never got around to finding all my stamps.

But, I brightened as I consoled myself, at LEAST I had a new book in which to save the precious little gems. All the stamps in the world weren’t going to magically disappear if I didn’t fill my book that weekend, and the ones stashed around my house weren’t going anywhere, either. There would be other times. Yes, my life is too busy for many things, but I took my re-entry to the stamp collecting world as another sign to slow down. Stopping to slide in a fresh, un-used stamp would take barely a few minutes. I could do that.

So my album sits on the shelf, waiting for my return. The stamps are stashed around the house, waiting for me to find them. The mail carrier is gearing up for the day, readying him/herself to bring me (hopefully) good mail – with hopefully good stamps. And in the end, am helping support and preserve the postal system that the ‘e’ world is threatening to extinct.

I am glad I started - I wonder if the mail will bring me the time I need?

Gotta Have Patience...

I was having a few days where I was having writing sessions that clicked, me thumping my chest in pride and self-admiration at my brilliant writing, only to be sulking-with-head-drooping at receiving two rejections for other unrelated work I had sent out. To then have my disappointment lifted at having work requested by another publisher, to then having a writing session where nothing I wrote made sense. Geez, if I didn’t need Valium before, I sure did at that point.

Emotions ping-ponged from frustration, to elation, and back to frustration, and I didn’t know which end was up.

I get impatient with myself. Impatient on the days where the writing doesn’t click, frustrated at delays in my self-imposed writing goal deadlines. I get impatient in waiting for responses from editors and publishers, only to sometimes receive a nice form-letter rejection, another hiccup in my dreams and therefore another delay in my dreams.

But then right in the middle of my rollercoaster, my frustration with myself at its highest, I got mail. Good mail. Not ‘E’mail, not a letter, but a box. Right on my doorstep. Just to brighten my day.

Publishing Syndicate, publishers of many books including the newest series ‘Not Your Mother’s Book,’ anthologies of funny stories from everyday folks, sent me my author copies. Their newest release, ‘Not Your Mother’s Book...On Travel,’ includes my story, ‘Patience in Princeton, BC,’ a story about how I learned to have patience from my own son’s patience as he fished on a lake during our travels in Princeton, BC.


And as I unpacked the box of my author copies, trying not to jump up and down for fear of hurting something, I flipped open the book to my story (there’s an accompanying picture of two famous folks – be sure to check it out!), and was instantly humbled – by my own words of patience learned from watching my son patiently fish.

Through the days of writing slumps and victories, only to have another writing slump right around the corner, I realized gotta have patience with myself. With continued hard work and determination, I WILL get to fulfilling various writing goals. Things will come together - I gotta have patience.

I gotta have patience in waiting for the mailman, in waiting for editors and publishers to get back to me, in waiting for my laptop to fire up, and again, patience with myself. Things will come together in my writing – I just gotta keep going and have patience.

So if you’re needing a little patience – not just in travelling, but in everything else in life (even in waiting for a prescription for Valium) – maybe pick-up a copy of the book ‘Not Your Mother’s Book...On Travel’ – you just never know where patience will find you.

I Have Nothing to Read

I applied a green sea-green mineral face mask, and while waiting for it to set, harden, tighten, exfoliate and beautify, I dusted my bookshelf.

My pride and joy.

The dusting process really only took me less than a minute because, embarrassingly, there is barely any shelf space left TO dust.

I have too many books. And I really shouldn’t say that because, for a girl like me, one cannot have too many books. And still yet have nothing to read.

I sometimes wish I could be like one of those girls who opens her closet and after perusing the hangers upon hangers and drawers upon drawer of tops, pants, dresses and skirts waiting to be shown-off to the world, moans about nothing to wear.

But I’m not.

Because for a variety of reasons like financial belt-tightening (all my money goes towards kids and day-to-day living), and having a job that doesn’t require multiple power suits (casual business attire suffices), I just have the basics. Pants, a few tops, a dress or skirt or two for just-in-case moments, are all I need. I sometimes lovingly admire the outfits on display in storefront windows, and longingly eye the girls prancing down the street in boots, skirts and tops perfectly matching. But really, I have a life that consumes my attention from dressing to the nines on a daily basis. Not that there is anything wrong with having daily thoughts about what to wear the next day, but I have other things to worry about, like what to read next.

So when I hear the girls moaning ‘I have nothing to wear,’ I giggle.

Because I know when I set foot in a bookstore, I have been driven there by one need and one need only. I have nothing to read.

But my bookshelves lacking in exposed shelf space that have seemingly forced me to enter the world I love most tell the truth.

I have books upon books excitedly picked out and brought home in packages. I have books from second-hand bookstores, thrift stores, and books (excitedly) won in contests. Books passed on to me from friends - “You SO have to read this!” - wait to be read and reviewed to the previous owner. I have books in every nook and cranny; shelves and floor space overflow.

Yet when I finish one, and I go to my shelf to pick out my next indulgence – and sometimes I might have one I truly AM dying to get to once I finish the one at hand – I peruse the shelves and realize I have nothing to read.

It’s because I can never have enough. It’s because I want whatever is the newest on the market. It’s because something else has come along before I have had a chance to read the previously acquired next-best-thing.

It’s because I’m addicted.

It’s not to say that what I have on my waiting-to-be-read shelf is not good enough, or that I think my newest biblio-acquirement is better than another. I love them all and look forward to reading them all. Soon.

But I have nothing to read.

And really, when you think about it, maybe if I just saved my pennies spent on books and put those pennies towards a new outfit, I would have something to wear and therefore look a little more...together. But then, if I did that, I would have nothing to read.

Oh dear.

Where are my priorities?

I guess because deep down I know fashions come and go, but really, despite trends and fads in books, I know deep down a good book never goes out of style.

I have some books I have read over and over. Books from 10, 15, 20 years ago. Some classics, penned well before I was born, I keep going back to. Some books are only a year old and out of love and devotion to the story and the writing have made it to my keeper shelf. And despite having brand new, ink-still-fresh books waiting to be read in my bookcase, I sometimes pull out last years’ keeper shelf addition and get reading.

“I have nothing to wear” the fashionistas moan while standing in front of their closets full of clothes, some garments with price tags still attached.

“I have nothing to read” is my mantra as I attempt to dust a bookshelf with no shelf to dust, while planning my next bookstore visit.

I know I am nuts, but I gotta run - I have to a face mask to wash off. Maybe I can make up for lack of fashion with beautiful skin. I gotta look beautiful for the bookstore, ya know.
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JACKPOT! (or not)

The BC Lotto 6/49 jackpot this past weekend was at a record $55 million dollars, the biggest in the lottery’s history. The record jackpot made the news for days leading up the Saturday drawing, and with time on my hands I got swept away by it all.

I’m not a big gambler. Sure the casino is fun for a turn once every few years with my thrill-seeking sisters, and I buy scratch ‘n win tickets as stocking stuffers at Christmas, but as for the rest of it, I don’t bother. I usually forget, don’t have the time or the money to spend on it all, and really, the few bucks that I might spend on a ticket could be put towards something else. Like a book. Or chocolate.

So I keep my purse strings drawn tight, my change in my pocket, and dreams of fortunes to come via other means (bestselling novels-turned-movies...) keep me awake at night.

But when every news broadcast talked about the $55 million, even though I know money doesn’t solve everything, I was tempted.
You see, three days before the jackpot amount made the news, I was reading a novel where the heroine was contemplating entering a writing contest. At first, her lack of self confidence and low self esteem prevented her from entering the contest. But after a bit of soul searching where she says to herself, “If I don’t try I won’t lose, but then I won’t win either.” (‘Faking 19’ by Alyson Noël – St. Martin’s Griffin, 2005), she enters and later wins.

But it was that phrase kept repeating in my head, over and over. I know it can be applied to so much in this crazy casino called life.

I read this quote a few days before the big lottery jackpot was announced. But when I heard about the lottery, and with those words still repeating like a broken record, I thought and thought and thought some more, and seeing as I had nothing to lose than a few bucks that could have been put toward my chocolate addiction that my ever-growing thighs don’t need anyways, I ran to the store. Well, as best as my chocolate-toting thighs could carry me, of course.

I purchased two tickets, meeting the Saturday night 6pm purchase deadline with minutes to spare; and with the ‘Extra,’ of course.
And seeing as I hadn’t purchased a lottery ticket in a long, long time, I had to ask the ticket sales person a zillion questions, while people in line behind me rolled their eyes at my naiveté. I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right – I didn’t want to miss out on anything. ‘What rock did she just crawl out from under?’ I was sure they wondered.

Anyways, after all was said and done I left the store feeling like an idiot, and with ticket in hand bearing two sets of (winning) numbers expertly picked by me, I made my way back home, checking inside my purse every few minutes to make sure the (winning) ticket was still there.

I was tempted to write about it here, pre-draw. I had great hopes of writing missives about the evils of gambling (contradictory), the determination and positivity needed for entering contests, particularly writing contests (uplifting), and the perils of checking your purse every five minutes for potentially lost lottery tickets while crossing the road (obsessive).

But my superstitious nature got the better of me. I knew if I wrote about it, especially in relating the try/lose/win submitting to writing contest parallels, I might jinx not only any potential winnings but also any future writing contests I might enter. I also knew if I told anyone, doing so might jinx any winnings, for sure. In the end I told my husband and mom but I don’t think they jinxed anything as they both said the same thing – If you don’t try, you can’t win.

So the night of the drawing came and went. I had put it all out of my mind. I didn’t want to seem too anxious and race to find out the numbers drawn and compare them to my ticket. I decided I would play it calm, cool and collected. My superstitious nature was at its peak, and I wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize any possibility of winning.

And really, I told myself, I wasn’t playing for the $55 million. I would be happy with a $1,000 win, or even a $500 win - anything.
So the next morning I checked my numbers online, and out of my two sets of numbers picked, I matched one number, which basically got me nowhere.

Oh well, I shrugged as I put the ticket away in case there was a redrawing or something (can they do that? Like an election recount or something?). At least I tried.

And with everything in life, as we so patiently so tell our kids generation after generation ‘you won’t know until you try.’
So I keep writing, despite how tongue-tied I sometimes get, worrying I won’t have anything to say. I keep submitting to publishers and contests – they won’t know I am here writing, looking cute and all, if I don’t put myself out there and take a chance. I have to keep at it. If I don’t try I won’t lose, but then I won’t win either.

And heck, playing the lottery JUST THIS ONE TIME was kinda fun. But I’m over it now.

So for now I will sign-off and try to get other writing done.

But before I do, I have to run up to the store and have them check the numbers on my ticket, just in case.

Because you just never know...........

I Love Zombies - Don't Knock 'em Till You Try 'em

In my house, I am the minority; one girl vs. three boys. So more often than not, I have to make my voice, my rules, needs and wants, heard a little bit louder. But I have also learned that silence speaks volumes.

And I have also learned that keeping quiet and just letting things ‘go’ gets me farther.

So when it comes to the television, a contradictory means to bring my family together, I have learned to just let things ride, within reason, and just go along with whatever they are watching. Sounds weak, yes, but half the time I am reading, making notes for writing, or nodding-off. So really, why battle it?

At the same time, nothing clears a room faster, ensuring personal peace and tranquility, than turning on a ‘chick flick.’ Pick your battles and all that.

But more often than not, I don’t get to watch the shows I want to watch. In the spirit of keeping the family all in one room - whether for half an hour, an hour, or even better yet, an hour for a movie - I will put-up with watching shows that I would never watch in a million years.

Compromise I guess, and really, it’s JUST television.

So last year when they were all involved in following a show about zombies, specifically AMCTV’s ‘The Walking Dead,’ I mentally rolled my eyes and kept quiet. While sitting with the family as zombified blood and guts filled the screen as non-zombified humans fought back, I stuck my nose in a book and tuned it out. But the good mother I am would always listen with rapture to recounts of the ‘best scene ever.’

But over time as I occasionally peeked over the top of my book only to see the gore seemingly ooze through the screen, I began to follow the show. And it wasn’t just about zombies.

Just a sec - I have to wipe the zombie blood-splatter out of my eyes.



There, that’s better.

For those who don’t know, the show follows a group of people trying to survive in a desolate and post-apocalyptic world – battling for survival where zombies rule, food and shelter is scarce, and sometimes battling greater obstacles than the zombies.

I won’t say anymore, as I don’t want to ruin it for those who might become fans.

I realized the show is much more than the non-zombie human characters fighting the zombies to stay alive. For me the show became an education in writing.

Watching the characters journey through their new world – a world that is a mere reflection of what once was since the apocalypse and the zombies took over – was much more than the fantastic killing and gore. The characters new world also consisted within their social circle of survival; trying to get along and navigate personalities while trying to survive. Their homes destroyed and unsafe, they were strangers who found each other – the only non-zombie inhabitants of the cities they once called home.

Through my fingers covering my eyes - too scared to watch, but too mesmerized to look away - I soon realized all this was what writing fiction was all about; the characters, their journey, and their world.

The characters personal journeys while always under the threat of the undead is what has made the show the most watched drama in basic cable history. Sure the fantastic battle scenes of spurting blood and guts, never mind a rolling head or two at the hand of a sword or knife, is always a bonus. And it’s rather empowering to watch a woman blow off the head of a zombie with a M16.

I never knew I had it in me. I am not a zombie kinda-girl. I have learned the true meaning of ‘don’t knock it till you try it.’ And the best part? Zombies have helped my writing.

Not only have I become aggressively involved in the show, counting down each week to the next episode, and counting down months to the next season, but I have also learned what good fiction is all about. As AMCTV's tagline says 'Story Matters Here.'

And the best part is a show following the weeks’ episode called ‘The Talking Dead.’ Stars from the show, celebrity zombie-fan guests, as well as directors and writers sit down and, with the host, analyze the recent episode. But they don’t necessarily talk about the goriest scenes.

They talk about the characters and the story – two that go zombie hand in zombie hand. They dissect the characters, each of their respective journeys, character arc, story arcs, and symbolism within the show that might not have been picked up by viewers previously. Wow – what a writer’s dream. A writing workshop I can sit and watch from my own comfy couch, waiting for my racing heart to calm.

Yes, zombies might not be for everyone, but a threat is a threat, even if it’s among living humans, and that’s what makes a good story.

Take it from me – don’t knock it till you try it, let zombies improve your writing, and be careful when you open your front door. You never know what might have happened to the pre-apocalyptic world outside....

I guess I will be entertaining more of my family’s television choices.


*Photo courtesy of AMCTV's 'The Walking Dead'

(Spoiler - the title 'The Walking Dead' doesn't mean the zombies...)