I watched Cinema Verité over the weekend and found myself becoming nostalgic for HBO. Year after year, the network churns out original programming and films that I enjoy. I’ve even gone bananas when their shows aren’t ratings successes, such as Carnivale and Rome. I’ve loved them ever since the first time I saw a nude woman in a movie when HBO aired Q: The Winged Serpent at 1:00 in the morning when I was eight years old. And so with serious apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, here is my poetic homage to the ol’ Home Box Office:
HBO, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love Tony and Adriana and Little Carmine
My soul explodes when Ben Hawkins is in sight,
And when Bunk and McNulty are on their Barksdale chase.
I love thee to the level of every Sunday’s
Most quiet need, especially when it’s a naked Atia of the Julii.
I love thee, Nucky, as men strive for Maggie;
I love thee, Nate Fisher’s ghost dad, as you’ve turned away from life.
I love with a passion put to Green, Suze,
Despite ducking her swears with my childhood’s faith.
I love HBO with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love HBO with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee, even Bored to Death
Also, I like Deadwood, True Blood, Band of Brothers, and Dream On.