What Year Is 'Colored Television' Set In?

Getting a colored Bastet tattoo usually runs through a few predictable cost buckets, at least from my experience hunting studios and chatting with artists. Small, simple color pieces—think a cute chestnut-toned cat head or a minimalized Bastet silhouette on the wrist—often land around $150 to $350 depending on where you live. Medium pieces with more detail and solid color fills (forearm, shoulder) commonly sit in the $300 to $800 range because color layering and shading take more time. Big, highly detailed or custom sleeves/back pieces that incorporate a stylized Bastet with backgrounds and vivid gradients can easily climb from $800 up to $2,500 or more. Studio hourly rates matter a lot: I’ve seen $100–$250+ per hour in smaller towns and $200–$400 in major metro areas. Also budget for deposit (usually $50–$200), tipping (15–25%), and aftercare supplies like saline soap and ointment ($10–30). Touch-ups can be free within a set time at some shops, or cost another $50–$150. If you want a true estimate, think about size, color saturation, complexity, placement, and the reputation of the artist—those are the levers that push the price up or down. I usually save up and pick the artist I love rather than hunting the cheapest rate, because color work ages depending on technique and pigments, and I want it to still pop years from now.

That first broadcast still sticks with me: 'Ashes to Ashes' premiered on BBC One on 7 February 2008. I watched it live back then, delighted and a little unnerved by how it picked up the weird, time-hopping vibe from 'Life on Mars' but with a fresh, 1980s-flavored twist. Keeley Hawes's Alex Drake arriving in the past and Philip Glenister's Gene Hunt felt like meeting old friends with a new edge, and the premiere set that tone immediately. I like to think of that night as the start of a small cultural moment. The series ran across three seasons, each one moving through a different year in the early ’80s, and that first episode hooked people with its mixture of police procedural and metaphysical mystery. For me, it was the music, the wardrobe, and the strange familiarity of the setting that made it unforgettable — and I still go back to scenes from that first episode when I want a bit of retro drama and clever plotting.

Full disclosure: I still get a silly grin thinking about Saturday mornings and the TV chanting of 'Shaktimaan.' The core trio who made that show click for millions were Mukesh Khanna as the man behind the cape (Shaktimaan and his alter ego Pandit Gangadhar Vidyadhar Mayadhar Omkarnath Shastri), Vaishnavi Mahant who brought Geeta Vishwas to life, and Surendra Pal in the imposing role of Tamraj Kilvish. Those three anchored the series — one as the moral, humble hero, one as the dogged reporter and emotional center, and one as the pitch-black villain everyone loved to hate. Beyond them, the series relied heavily on a rotating cast of character actors who filled the many episodic villains, mentors, and comic relief parts; that gave 'Shaktimaan' a soap-opera-meets-superhero feel that worked for its time. For me, the show wasn’t just about flashy powers but those performances that made each episode stick — and even now, I can name scenes and lines that send me right back to my childhood, smiling at how earnest it all felt.

I stumbled upon 'Still Life' during a late-night browsing session, and it quickly became my comfort show. The way it blends quiet moments with deep emotional undercurrents is mesmerizing. The protagonist, a forensic pathologist, has this eerie yet fascinating job of uncovering stories from the dead. The show doesn’t rely on flashy drama; instead, it’s the subtle tension and the hauntingly beautiful cinematography that pull you in. Each episode feels like a slow-burning mystery, with the characters’ personal lives intertwining in unexpected ways. It’s the kind of show that lingers in your mind long after the credits roll, making you appreciate the beauty in life’s stillness.

I've been reading manga on my Kindle Paperwhite 3 for years, and while it doesn't support color, the high-resolution display does a decent job with black-and-white manga. The contrast is sharp, and the text is clear, making it easy to follow the story. However, colored manga loses its vibrancy since everything appears in grayscale. Some details in colored panels can get lost, especially if the original relies heavily on color cues. If you're into classic black-and-white manga like 'One Piece' or 'Attack on Titan,' it works great. But for works like 'Demon Slayer' with stunning color spreads, you might miss out on the full experience. The Paperwhite's lightweight design and long battery life still make it a solid choice for manga fans who prioritize convenience over color.

I've been using my Kindle for years, mostly for novels, but I was curious about comics too. Sadly, most Kindle e-readers, like the basic Paperwhite or Oasis models, don't support color. They use e-ink technology, which is great for reading in sunlight but only displays shades of gray. So, colored comic books lose their vibrancy and look washed out. However, Kindle Fire tablets are a different story—they have full-color LCD screens and handle comics beautifully. Apps like ComiXology work great on those. If you're serious about comics, a Fire tablet or a dedicated color e-reader like the Onyx Boox might be better choices.

Unfortunately, the current generation still doesn't support color display, which is a bit disappointing for comic enthusiasts. The e-ink technology it uses is fantastic for regular books, but it's limited to grayscale. That said, the high-resolution 300 ppi screen does make black-and-white comics look crisp and clear. I've read 'Attack on Titan' and 'One Piece' on mine, and the artwork still shines despite the lack of color. If color is a must for you, you might want to consider a tablet like an iPad or a color e-reader like the Onyx Boox Nova 3 Color. But if you're fine with monochrome, the Paperwhite's lightweight design and long battery life make it a great choice.

Color pages for 'Attack on Titan' do exist, but whether you can get the official ones where you live is a bit of a patchwork. When the manga was serialized in the Japanese magazine, a number of chapters ran with color pages and full-color spreads — that's how lots of manga roll. Those color pages were often preserved in special Japanese editions, tankoubon special prints, or artbooks, but standard collected volumes tend to be mostly greyscale. Over the years Kodansha and regional licensors have selectively restored or released those colored pages in different formats: some digital editions include the original magazine color pages, deluxe box sets or special prints sometimes include color inserts, and official artbooks compile high-quality color illustrations. From my hunting around online stores and my own shelf, the trick is that availability depends on the edition and the territory. If you buy Japanese special editions or official artbooks from Japan, you’ll almost certainly get the color work. For English readers, certain digital releases and deluxe volumes from Kodansha’s overseas branches have included colored pages, but not every print run worldwide gets them. So you might find official color pages in your country if the local publisher included them, or you might have to seek out an import or a digital version that specifically advertises restored colors. If you care about owning official color pages, check for words like ‘color pages restored’, ‘special edition’, or look at artbook releases from the publisher rather than assuming every tankobon will have them. Personally, tracking down a few of the colored spreads in legitimate artbooks made me appreciate Hajime Isayama’s palette choices even more — they’re gorgeous when you can see them in full color.