I want to apologize for the recent lameness of my blog.

I know I haven’t written about anything juicy. That is by choice.

I seem to be over the whole write-about-my-life-for-public-consumption thing. It feels too self-indulgent and unnatural, like I’m the star of a reality show. And I hate reality shows. I don’t watch them.

Which reminds me — despite writing a lot about TV here lately, I really don’t watch much of it. For the most part, I turn on the TV only when I want to watch a particular show. Lately that’s just “Buffy” and “Smallville,” and recently “Angel” as well. I also watch TV during dinner, which is usually FX reruns of “Buffy” anyway, or maybe reruns of “Friends,” and I turn it off when I’m done. I don’t watch TV news; too sensational and fear-inducing and fake. I get my news from the newspaper instead. (This means that I don’t have depressing stories about the state of the world forced upon me. I prefer it that way. In the past year and a half, I’ve been trying not to dwell on such things, since I can’t control them.)

All of this makes me largely pop-culture illiterate, but I’m okay with that. I don’t want to mindlessly consume bits of effluvia just because they’re out there. I prefer to pursue my own interests rather than choose from among the limited Wal-Martish options that are presented to us. I have no desire to see “Kangaroo Jack,” and I’m surprised so many people felt differently.

On top of all this, I think I’m oversensitive to noise. I usually can’t deal with too many different stimuli at once. Some people thrive in a sea of sound; not me. It drives me nuts. I prefer quiet.

I try to live deliberately.

Ain’t I a curmudgeon? Sometimes I think I’m living in the wrong century.