If I didn't have other things to occupy me this summer, I would be bored to tears. Thank goodness I can catch up on my John Cassavetes flicks because otherwise that big behemoth of a machine sitting in our living room would remain off through September.

Watching what's on cable makes me wonder if any of the bigwigs at Showtime must be in therapy, and I hope for their sake they are. Take for instance tonight's lineup: Weeds and new summer series The Secret Diary of A Call Girl. Seriously? One show is about a hot widowed mama who sells pot in the 'burbs and the other is about a high class hooker in London who loves her job.

Okay, okay, I admit to having watched both of them. But rarely have I ever fallen asleep in front of the television, usually it's like a big eye magnet for me, something about the image must trigger sensors in my brain or something. Not on Monday nights, though. I'm ready to turn off the set and head to bed for an early night in.

It makes me pine for the days when things were a bit slower, even movies and television. Actors emoted on screen, and the good ones did it so well, they developed layers in their characters like a millefeuille pastry. Catherine Deneuve's Belle is incomparable. Nothing like Showtime's modern day version, who needs to prance around in a thong and garter so we can see her flat abs...because there isn't much else.