I've colonized new webspace.
Work and play. Happy to see you there.
1 month ago
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
17 Again
No, not the Zac Efron movie, but my previously blog post.
Badoom-boom-ching!
See? Still got it.
(Also, I totally had to look up the spelling of his name. This makes me happy.)
Badoom-boom-ching!
See? Still got it.
(Also, I totally had to look up the spelling of his name. This makes me happy.)
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Only the lonely...
I have been casually plodding through this post for weeks now and due to recent events which I will not elaborate on, its point has become rather moot. Well, not entirely, but certainly more irrelevant, more insignificant, completely reduced, almost...ironic. There's a dark humour lining the fact that this, a blog about how earth-shattering it is to be lonely, was in the process of coming into being as the events of the recent past were in the process of unfolding.
I'm afraid I can't help but be a little cryptic with this one, folks, and as coherence has not really been the order of the past few days, perhaps instead of attempting desperately to construct a story for you well after the moment has past, I will bravely (I am so courageous) paste the scraps for you to assemble (or not) as you see fit.
First, my revised introduction to the post, composed about a week ago:
There are far more frightening things than being alone, and I of all people should recognize that I am hardly alone to begin with. I wonder about the things I crave, the things I lament and whether I crave and lament them implicitly or because I've been instructed and conditioned to do so. An impossible, unsolvable line of inquiry but an important one nevertheless.
I'm rambling. I can't help it, really. I can't tell you what I'm thinking or experiencing or how my world has shifted since I sat down at my laptop to break your hearts over what it means to sit solitary on the bus, sleep alone in a full-size bed, hold one's own hand for comfort. I know, without question, that I would endure such an existence with pleasure before I would give it all up.
It seems I am always making compromises with the universe, and if you're listening, this is one compromise I'm willing to make.
(If you're thinking, 'She really needs to chill the fuck out," you've never been more right.)
I'm afraid I can't help but be a little cryptic with this one, folks, and as coherence has not really been the order of the past few days, perhaps instead of attempting desperately to construct a story for you well after the moment has past, I will bravely (I am so courageous) paste the scraps for you to assemble (or not) as you see fit.
First, my revised introduction to the post, composed about a week ago:
I've refrained from posting this, a scattered blog on what it means to be lonely. I've wavered back and forth and yet here I am...tis the time?Second, the piece I was working on; mere fragments attempting far too blatantly to grapple with the subject matter at hand. Please note: never would I normally consider the following complete or in any way ready for submission. I include them here only as part of this bizarre exercise:
A little over a month ago I posted this, a slightly too serious, at times overly sappy, sugary, cheesy (both sweet and salty, apparently), blog post outlining my admiration for and adoration of the multitudes of people who make being me not only manageable, but, at times, pretty frakin' superb.
It was only a matter of time, however, before thank-yous and gushings reverted back to all more habitual whinings.
I've been a little sad, lately. I would like to take this moment to discuss why.
Let me preface all forthcoming comments by acknowledging my reluctance to delve into this subject matter at all, and the trepidation with which I approach the topic, not wanting to simplify it or lean casually on tired clichés. The state of being lonely is complicated and personal and hundreds of romantic comedies and matchmaking service commercials have done no favours to our collective understanding of the experience of it.
This all started with a piece I was writing for a creative writing group. That being said, the piece I was writing for this creative writing group probably came about as a result of one of my cyclic (and incredibly indulgent) periods of uber-loneliness. Not necessarily tied to Hallmark calendar holidays as rom-coms would have one believe, I find I tend to become really sad about the state of being "alone" a few times a year in heavily concentrated doses. This, as it turns out, has been one of those times.
The Big Chill basically opens with Kevin Kostner's receding hairline. If you've seen the film, you probably didn't even know he was cast in it at all. He's not one of the seven (~eight) main characters, old college friends who are reunited for a weekend of sex, drugs and rampant reminisces. But that's his hairline alright, distinctive, as the movie opens. You see, Kostner is the cadaver. He's the friend who slits his wrists in the downstairs bathroom of his friends' summer home and whose suicide sets off the whole thing. The former school chum of the man who owns the house. The lover of the woman married to the man who owns the house, the woman who he fucks right under the man's nose. He slits his wrists and dies and the movie begins as hands reach across from off-screen, dressing his lifeless body for the funeral which will bring our friends together and force them to epiphanies college was apparently never equipped to reveal to them.It hasn't been more than a week or two and I barely know the person who composed these self-obsessed, entirely non-narrative tidbits. A little perspective, I suppose, goes a long way.
Sometimes I think of myself as Kevin Kostner's receding hairline.
********************************************************************
I hold myself in the night before I fall asleep. I don't know if this is weird because I've never watched anyone else fall asleep alone. If I did, they wouldn't be alone anymore, and I still wouldn't know for sure. I imagine no one else does this. It makes the act at once unique and pathetic. It also means that no one else can ever hold me the way I want them to.
No one can hold me like I can hold myself.
********************************************************************
I keep having this dream, this hero complex dream. My friends and I are in peril--you know, peril, like a Saturday morning cartoon but real and you're scared. Peril, like in the cartoons, is easy enough to get out of, you just need to answer correctly, respond in the right way, do the right thing. Because there's always a question or challenge; always a way to escape. But escape always comes at a cost. You don't escape peril without paying for it. "Make me believe it," he says, this ambiguous "he," this face of evil, the bad guy, the source of the peril. "Make me believe it. You don't all get to leave but some of you can if at least one of you can make me believe, convince me that taking your life over everyone else's here is more tragic, will mean more than taking anyone else's or everyone else's combined. One of you has to die. But only one of you has to, if you can convince me." "It's me," I say knowingly, confidently, like any one of the superheroes from my favourite television shows or movies or comic books would say. "It's me and I can prove it. I can make you believe it."
And suddenly I am the centre of attention in a life-or-death game show and the lights dim and the dramatic score picks up and I look my enemy straight in the eye and explain myself:
"It's me. My death would be the most tragic. Look at them all, happily paired. Kill one of them and it's a tragedy, yes, for that one other person. Killing one of them would break the other but you can do better than that. Kill me, well, you don't break any of them. And that's why it's the best answer to your question. Take me and instead of one broken person you have a pile of them relieved. Relieved that it was me. Relieved that the world is right again, makes sense, progresses."
It's a trick I've used, of course, a clever ruse. I don't really mean it, but I know the logic holds up. I've done what I needed to do to win and I know Mr. Peril will relate to what I've said. I've done what I needed to do to save the day.
********************************************************************
I hate my fucking dreams, with their blatant metaphors. I hate how indulgent I am. I hate this one especially, how it's presumably about other people when it's clearly all about me.
********************************************************************
One night I let my friend hold me until I fell asleep. I sobbed and sobbed and her grip tightened and I think I probably scared her a little but she didn't let go until well after I had finished crying and my breathing returned to normal and I was drifting off. We didn't talk about it afterwards.
There are far more frightening things than being alone, and I of all people should recognize that I am hardly alone to begin with. I wonder about the things I crave, the things I lament and whether I crave and lament them implicitly or because I've been instructed and conditioned to do so. An impossible, unsolvable line of inquiry but an important one nevertheless.
I'm rambling. I can't help it, really. I can't tell you what I'm thinking or experiencing or how my world has shifted since I sat down at my laptop to break your hearts over what it means to sit solitary on the bus, sleep alone in a full-size bed, hold one's own hand for comfort. I know, without question, that I would endure such an existence with pleasure before I would give it all up.
It seems I am always making compromises with the universe, and if you're listening, this is one compromise I'm willing to make.
(If you're thinking, 'She really needs to chill the fuck out," you've never been more right.)
Monday, April 27, 2009
Faith restored! (kind of)
WARNING: This post contains spoilers from Dollhouse episodes 1-10.
Perhaps you remember my first Dollhouse post ("Joss and I are on a break," February 28, 2009). I didn't exactly have the kindest of things to say about Mr. Whedon's latest television incarnation. In fact, I believe I concluded in uncertainty, unsure of whether I would continue to tune in each week at all.
Truth be told, I'm glad that I did. Tune in. Dollhouse, as was foretold by Joss, Eliza, FOX and the multitudes of Whedonites the world over, did, in fact, improve.
That being said, the show still has a ways to go if it hopes to 1) earn and keep a second season and 2) live up to the Whedon precedent of everything the Mutant Enemy empire has created in the past.
Improvements!
NARRATIVE TWISTS
The revelation of Mellie as "sleeper doll" pretty much signaled the show's shift from bland entertainment to must-see TV.* It was a fantastic plot twist and expanded the possibilities of the Dollhouse's reach past anything we knew or expected to at that point. Also, all Joss fans love to see a hot girl kick ass so between Mellie/November's fight scene and the scene between Echo as programmable mole (another exciting twist) and Agent Paul Ballard, it felt like Joss-home again.
* Seriously, what network used this slogan? NBC? Because its connotations have pretty much rendered it unuseable. It killed a piece of my soul just to type it.
"The Awakening" (or fakening or fakewakening, as it really wasn't the "awakening" we were promised) also nicely revealed a few key points about our favourite dolls' former lives. The reveal concerning Sierra was particularly rich, relating as it did to her violent experience in the house. Additionally, the lack of revelation for Victor's character will likely also prove a site of exploration as the series (if the series) progresses.
HUMOUR
A good rule of thumb for network TV: If your characters are getting boring, drug them. Drug them all. Drug them silly so they can break out of their one-noteness and emerge as more interesting, more free, more hilarious people. (Recall Buffy Season 2's "Band Candy." The show may not have needed a lift at that point but we certainly had fun following Joyce and Ripper/Giles romp around like horny teenagers.) Honestly, "I am very...British!" was probably the first time I legitimately LOL'ed during an episode of this show. All of the scenes between Adele and Topher were wonderful and foreshadowed the productive fleshing out these characters would continue to undergo in episodes to come (see "Character Development").
For Dollhouse to continue its uphill climb and should Dollhouse get renewed for a second season, the writers need to GET FUNNIER. Obviously with a show which deals with such difficult, complex, almost taboo issues it would be hard (perhaps impossible) to move right into 'funny, ha ha' territory. But remember: rape is funny (it isn't) (it is) (it isn't). On a show about programmable people plugged into a supercorporation of questionable morals, dark humour could reign.
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT (I am NOT referring to Echo)
As I have already mentioned, Adele and Topher, played by Olivia Williams and Fran Kranz, respectively, have definitely experienced the greatest character development of any of the show's dramatis personae. The writers have taken them from stuck-up-boring-British-bitch and I-press-buttons-and-think-I'm-smart-tech-nerd to the show's (arguably) most sympathetic and layered characters, especially in episode 9 (for Adele/Williams) and episode 10 (for Topher/Kranz) when we witness them transition from Dollhouse employees to Dollhouse clients in a none-too-straightforward effort to combat rabid, career-induced loneliness.
SURPRISING(LY GREAT) NEWBIE ACTORS
The most pleasant surprise - especially in the face of all that Dushku lacks, which I (re)address below - has been the emergent acting chops of relative newbies Dichen Lachman as doll Sierra and Enver Gjokaj as doll Victor. The weight and complexity which they bring to their various transformations prove that acting like a doll does not have to mean acting stiff and caricatured. Gjokaj has especially proven himself adept at taking on different accents and committing physically to different roles in an impressive and professionally mature way. Their chemistry together, too, has given viewers perhaps the show's only interesting love connection in a "fictional" world where we are constantly being reminded that "love," more often than not, is for the highest bidder. Watching Victor legitimately care for and look after Sierra without being able to fully understand his emotional connection to her has been one of the most surprising and touching turns of the season.
GETTING SERIOUS
I've already used the "r" word and I'm about to use it again, repeatedly.
In one regard, Dollhouse can be read as an extended meditation on rape, its various forms and all its implications. It's about time we started making the audience feel really uncomfortable about this and steps have already been made in this regard.
I'm not simply referencing the rape(s) of Sierra, before her entry into and during her time in the Dollhouse itself (though this is certainly a part of it). There is also, of course, the question of whether the Dollhouse's day-to-day practices represent the perpetual rape of human identity, in addition to the question of whether a one-time signature on a consent form really implies continual consent to prostitution across a 5 year term. I have always felt the general outline and concept of this show was a rich, frightening and complex one; it's nice to see the writers are finally exploring these questions in greater detail, beyond the I-used-to-have-a-life-and-now-it's-theirs, all-too-obvious, gradually unfolding conundrum of Echo. The most recent episode even broached the question of rape from the opposite end of the argument, with Agent Ballard self-identifying as a pseudo-client...of the corporation he detests.
Of course, these questions do not solely apply to the show's fictional dolls. It doesn't require much effort to extrapolate the representation of the dolls in the Dollhouse to the human position relative to society. Are we all clients of the Dollhouse? Or are we all dolls? The show has done a good job exploring the idea that "we" are in fact, and at different times, both, and if that doesn't chill the blood, you haven't been paying the underlying concepts of Dollhouse the consideration they deserve. At Paley Joss said Dollhouse explores questions of "power," the cornerstone of any rape or examination thereof. How many television shows have the balls to represent at least one (often many) metaphorical and/or physical rapes every episode without explaining or scapegoating them away?
Persistent problems...
DUSHKU
Everyone has already said it. I certainly wouldn't be the first. One of the main reasons recent episodes have seemed so good is that, in terms of screen time, we've been getting less Dushku and more everyone else. This is imperative. Dushku's acting remains Dollhouse's #1 problem and is proof (or might be), perhaps, that it takes more than a hot girl to keep a show on the air.
Blah Echo, Blah Caroline and boo cheap attempts to get Eliza into a dominatrix outfit before the first five minutes of an episode have rolled out. It's strange because there is almost nothing about Echo OR Caroline which is in any way engaging and yet Faith was a spectacle for the senses (seriously, you could almost smell her). All we can hope for is that Echo be assigned more Faith-like roles as she seems to be at her best when basically recreating her Buffy role.
...or perhaps they could kill off her character! Now wouldn't that be a twist! I would love it if Echo became only an echo on the show (wah, wah, wahhhhh). I really hope this is Joss's secret, secret plan.
But we all know, given the contract arrangement Eliza has with FOX, it isn't. Sigh.
ONE-OFF EPISODES
Despite devoting four episodes in a row to developing the arc (without question the four best episodes of the series thus far), last week's episode demonstrated that the-powers-that-be-behind-Dollhouse are unwilling to entirely relinquish episodic production just yet. It's not that I've never enjoyed a week-to-weeker when it comes to television, because I have and do. I loved a format like that employed by Pushing Daisies (RIP), for instance, which was unmistakably and almost absurdly repetitive in its production but no less lovable for it. There's just something about dressing Eliza up as x or y or z or dead and demanding the audience be convinced she's this different person (when we painfully can tell she isn't) which feels like the flogging-the-horse dream sequence from Crime and Punishment. Again, this is as much (if not more) a Dushku issue (say that 10 times fast!), as it is a writing issue.
WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
I have included this quote from Poniewozik's April 27th post (linked above) because I think he makes a very interesting and useful point. I, too, am not convinced of the show's longevity and given my mixed feelings about it as it has progressed would not be heartbroken (sorry to say) to see it go. And I agree that a definite endpoint might in fact benefit the series and the writing of it. Firefly was tremendous and should never have been cancelled but I am of the school that what emerged from the wreckage (i.e. Serenity) is among Joss's finest work. It forced him to rely less on extended arcs and filler and re-emerge as Storyteller (hehehe). You might say this contradicts my claim against episodic scripts. Not so. I believe in arc narratives (and does anyone do them better than Joss?), I just don't believe in padding or bloating a season unnecessarily. Give Joss a timeline, let him tell us everything he had planned to about the Dollhouse and the people involved with it and let's call it a day.
Things to look forward to...
JOSS ALUM GUEST STARS! ALAN TUDYK AND FELICIA DAY (maybe)
As a closing note, I remain hopeful for the last few episodes (TBD how many we'll actually get to see), especially since Firefly/Buffy/Dr. Horrible alums Tudyk and Day are scheduled to make guest appearances (surely Jonathan Woodward is on his way?).
I solemnly vow to watch all 12-13, first season episodes and assess the damages thereafter. I'm not completely sold (and neither is the DVD box set, as I am not yet convinced it's worth the money), but I, and the show itself, have definitely come a long way.
See you at the aftermath.
Perhaps you remember my first Dollhouse post ("Joss and I are on a break," February 28, 2009). I didn't exactly have the kindest of things to say about Mr. Whedon's latest television incarnation. In fact, I believe I concluded in uncertainty, unsure of whether I would continue to tune in each week at all.
Truth be told, I'm glad that I did. Tune in. Dollhouse, as was foretold by Joss, Eliza, FOX and the multitudes of Whedonites the world over, did, in fact, improve.
That being said, the show still has a ways to go if it hopes to 1) earn and keep a second season and 2) live up to the Whedon precedent of everything the Mutant Enemy empire has created in the past.
Improvements!
NARRATIVE TWISTS
The revelation of Mellie as "sleeper doll" pretty much signaled the show's shift from bland entertainment to must-see TV.* It was a fantastic plot twist and expanded the possibilities of the Dollhouse's reach past anything we knew or expected to at that point. Also, all Joss fans love to see a hot girl kick ass so between Mellie/November's fight scene and the scene between Echo as programmable mole (another exciting twist) and Agent Paul Ballard, it felt like Joss-home again.
* Seriously, what network used this slogan? NBC? Because its connotations have pretty much rendered it unuseable. It killed a piece of my soul just to type it.
"The Awakening" (or fakening or fakewakening, as it really wasn't the "awakening" we were promised) also nicely revealed a few key points about our favourite dolls' former lives. The reveal concerning Sierra was particularly rich, relating as it did to her violent experience in the house. Additionally, the lack of revelation for Victor's character will likely also prove a site of exploration as the series (if the series) progresses.
HUMOUR
A good rule of thumb for network TV: If your characters are getting boring, drug them. Drug them all. Drug them silly so they can break out of their one-noteness and emerge as more interesting, more free, more hilarious people. (Recall Buffy Season 2's "Band Candy." The show may not have needed a lift at that point but we certainly had fun following Joyce and Ripper/Giles romp around like horny teenagers.) Honestly, "I am very...British!" was probably the first time I legitimately LOL'ed during an episode of this show. All of the scenes between Adele and Topher were wonderful and foreshadowed the productive fleshing out these characters would continue to undergo in episodes to come (see "Character Development").
For Dollhouse to continue its uphill climb and should Dollhouse get renewed for a second season, the writers need to GET FUNNIER. Obviously with a show which deals with such difficult, complex, almost taboo issues it would be hard (perhaps impossible) to move right into 'funny, ha ha' territory. But remember: rape is funny (it isn't) (it is) (it isn't). On a show about programmable people plugged into a supercorporation of questionable morals, dark humour could reign.
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT (I am NOT referring to Echo)
As I have already mentioned, Adele and Topher, played by Olivia Williams and Fran Kranz, respectively, have definitely experienced the greatest character development of any of the show's dramatis personae. The writers have taken them from stuck-up-boring-British-bitch and I-press-buttons-and-think-I'm-smart-tech-nerd to the show's (arguably) most sympathetic and layered characters, especially in episode 9 (for Adele/Williams) and episode 10 (for Topher/Kranz) when we witness them transition from Dollhouse employees to Dollhouse clients in a none-too-straightforward effort to combat rabid, career-induced loneliness.
SURPRISING(LY GREAT) NEWBIE ACTORS
The most pleasant surprise - especially in the face of all that Dushku lacks, which I (re)address below - has been the emergent acting chops of relative newbies Dichen Lachman as doll Sierra and Enver Gjokaj as doll Victor. The weight and complexity which they bring to their various transformations prove that acting like a doll does not have to mean acting stiff and caricatured. Gjokaj has especially proven himself adept at taking on different accents and committing physically to different roles in an impressive and professionally mature way. Their chemistry together, too, has given viewers perhaps the show's only interesting love connection in a "fictional" world where we are constantly being reminded that "love," more often than not, is for the highest bidder. Watching Victor legitimately care for and look after Sierra without being able to fully understand his emotional connection to her has been one of the most surprising and touching turns of the season.
GETTING SERIOUS
I've already used the "r" word and I'm about to use it again, repeatedly.
In one regard, Dollhouse can be read as an extended meditation on rape, its various forms and all its implications. It's about time we started making the audience feel really uncomfortable about this and steps have already been made in this regard.
I'm not simply referencing the rape(s) of Sierra, before her entry into and during her time in the Dollhouse itself (though this is certainly a part of it). There is also, of course, the question of whether the Dollhouse's day-to-day practices represent the perpetual rape of human identity, in addition to the question of whether a one-time signature on a consent form really implies continual consent to prostitution across a 5 year term. I have always felt the general outline and concept of this show was a rich, frightening and complex one; it's nice to see the writers are finally exploring these questions in greater detail, beyond the I-used-to-have-a-life-and-now-it's-theirs, all-too-obvious, gradually unfolding conundrum of Echo. The most recent episode even broached the question of rape from the opposite end of the argument, with Agent Ballard self-identifying as a pseudo-client...of the corporation he detests.
Of course, these questions do not solely apply to the show's fictional dolls. It doesn't require much effort to extrapolate the representation of the dolls in the Dollhouse to the human position relative to society. Are we all clients of the Dollhouse? Or are we all dolls? The show has done a good job exploring the idea that "we" are in fact, and at different times, both, and if that doesn't chill the blood, you haven't been paying the underlying concepts of Dollhouse the consideration they deserve. At Paley Joss said Dollhouse explores questions of "power," the cornerstone of any rape or examination thereof. How many television shows have the balls to represent at least one (often many) metaphorical and/or physical rapes every episode without explaining or scapegoating them away?
Persistent problems...
DUSHKU
Everyone has already said it. I certainly wouldn't be the first. One of the main reasons recent episodes have seemed so good is that, in terms of screen time, we've been getting less Dushku and more everyone else. This is imperative. Dushku's acting remains Dollhouse's #1 problem and is proof (or might be), perhaps, that it takes more than a hot girl to keep a show on the air.
Blah Echo, Blah Caroline and boo cheap attempts to get Eliza into a dominatrix outfit before the first five minutes of an episode have rolled out. It's strange because there is almost nothing about Echo OR Caroline which is in any way engaging and yet Faith was a spectacle for the senses (seriously, you could almost smell her). All we can hope for is that Echo be assigned more Faith-like roles as she seems to be at her best when basically recreating her Buffy role.
...or perhaps they could kill off her character! Now wouldn't that be a twist! I would love it if Echo became only an echo on the show (wah, wah, wahhhhh). I really hope this is Joss's secret, secret plan.
But we all know, given the contract arrangement Eliza has with FOX, it isn't. Sigh.
ONE-OFF EPISODES
Despite devoting four episodes in a row to developing the arc (without question the four best episodes of the series thus far), last week's episode demonstrated that the-powers-that-be-behind-Dollhouse are unwilling to entirely relinquish episodic production just yet. It's not that I've never enjoyed a week-to-weeker when it comes to television, because I have and do. I loved a format like that employed by Pushing Daisies (RIP), for instance, which was unmistakably and almost absurdly repetitive in its production but no less lovable for it. There's just something about dressing Eliza up as x or y or z or dead and demanding the audience be convinced she's this different person (when we painfully can tell she isn't) which feels like the flogging-the-horse dream sequence from Crime and Punishment. Again, this is as much (if not more) a Dushku issue (say that 10 times fast!), as it is a writing issue.
WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
"I want to see Dollhouse return for a second season, because I think it's shown us, in the second half of its season, that it has tremendous potential as a dark story about the nature of memory and consciousness. But I don't know if it has that potential as a series. At its best moments, it's had the feeling of events rushing forward toward an imminent climax...I wonder if the ideal, then, would be for Fox to return Dollhouse, for a limited and final second season, to resolve its story without the burden of stretching it out with one-off episodes."- James Poniewozik's blog post in Time, April 27, 2009, "Save Dollhouse! Then Cancel It!"
I have included this quote from Poniewozik's April 27th post (linked above) because I think he makes a very interesting and useful point. I, too, am not convinced of the show's longevity and given my mixed feelings about it as it has progressed would not be heartbroken (sorry to say) to see it go. And I agree that a definite endpoint might in fact benefit the series and the writing of it. Firefly was tremendous and should never have been cancelled but I am of the school that what emerged from the wreckage (i.e. Serenity) is among Joss's finest work. It forced him to rely less on extended arcs and filler and re-emerge as Storyteller (hehehe). You might say this contradicts my claim against episodic scripts. Not so. I believe in arc narratives (and does anyone do them better than Joss?), I just don't believe in padding or bloating a season unnecessarily. Give Joss a timeline, let him tell us everything he had planned to about the Dollhouse and the people involved with it and let's call it a day.
Things to look forward to...
JOSS ALUM GUEST STARS! ALAN TUDYK AND FELICIA DAY (maybe)
As a closing note, I remain hopeful for the last few episodes (TBD how many we'll actually get to see), especially since Firefly/Buffy/Dr. Horrible alums Tudyk and Day are scheduled to make guest appearances (surely Jonathan Woodward is on his way?).
I solemnly vow to watch all 12-13, first season episodes and assess the damages thereafter. I'm not completely sold (and neither is the DVD box set, as I am not yet convinced it's worth the money), but I, and the show itself, have definitely come a long way.
See you at the aftermath.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
When the ironic get serious
Don't let the previous post concern you.
I haven't lost my edge.
But irony only works if there is something to be ironic about. And the greatest ironists recognize what aspects of their life demand sincerity.
Not that I'm a great ironist. Though I am working at becoming a fairly satisfactory tweeter.
(Follow me on twitter here or check out my most recent tweets on the right hand sidebar.)
I haven't lost my edge.
But irony only works if there is something to be ironic about. And the greatest ironists recognize what aspects of their life demand sincerity.
Not that I'm a great ironist. Though I am working at becoming a fairly satisfactory tweeter.
(Follow me on twitter here or check out my most recent tweets on the right hand sidebar.)
You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you
Re: A love letter, to the most important people in my life.
To whom it may concern:
I have been meaning to tell you something for a long time now, but the moment was never right and for some reason, despite my genuine desire to communicate the sentiment, I could never get the words out. I write this letter to you now as recompense for my former silence and as a means to finally 'speak' the unspoken. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
You see, things got bad for a while. Life, as it has so often been known to do, got complicated and swervy and difficult and confusing and unfamiliar and I found myself more literally alone than I had ever been before. I had moved into my own apartment, no family, no roommates. I was quickly immersed in the most difficult year of my education yet. My family had just emerged from its most difficult trial; details aside my relationship with my parents changed drastically in spite of me and I had to learn to maneuver largely without them. During my undergraduate school years I barely went two days without speaking to them on the phone. Soon I found myself rounding the two month mark, refusing to cave and call (until, of course, I did) despite an innate yearning to reestablish the most important bond I had experienced in my life, all the while alone in my desire to do so.
But enough of that; this story's about you.
Besides, I needn't summarize the details. You know them well enough. It was you, after all, who was there for the aftermath. You who was there to help me pick up the pieces and expand my notion of what "family" could mean. You became my family when I needed family most. You were there and are still and I can finally say that I have invested some trust and hope and belief in our relationship and its endurance. I know you'll be around, for a while at least; that I can count on, and I can count on you.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I hadn't met you, but I don't like to think about that for too long. I can't remember entirely what it was like before and while I am not trying to claim that my life was horror before you came into it I can say quite certainly that it would not be as good now if you hadn't. It might not "be" at all if you hadn't. These are the "ifs" I am fortunate enough to never have to know for sure.
Sometimes I worry the pressure of such complete reliance might be too much for you, for us. I suppose I hope that you, too, have found something in me you were needing, or are simply happy to have. I hope I give back in kind. I hope you know I'm there for you, too.
Now, the tenor of this letter to this point has been admittedly ridiculously serious- I hope I haven't frightened you away. After all, our friendship has never required some sort of formal address or acknowledgment. It's been defined instead by its uncanny ease and casualness. We never had to speak it into being; it simply was, came to be.
No more cliched phrasing or over-the-top pronouncements.
All I had wanted to say was 1) thank you and 2) I love you. I hope this is not creepy or off-putting. Please take it as you need to and remember where it is coming from. I think I kid around a lot about a lot of different things so please remember that when I do I am not kidding about this: you are fantastic and appreciated and I don't know where I would be without you.
If you read this, you don't have to acknowledge it. You don't have to awkwardly bring it up next time we meet or feel impelled to phone immediately and signal its reception. I have said what I wanted to say and we'll leave it at that. You will notice, too, that this letter is fairly ambiguously addressed, but I think it's clear enough. My assumption is you'll know if who I'm referring to is you.
Much love,
Me
P.S. Perhaps tomorrow we'll have a drink or get together for games night or a potluck or a picnic or maybe we'll chat on the phone or message online or meet up somewhere else, in this city or another we've been meaning or planning to visit? Whatever we do, I look forward to it.
To whom it may concern:
I have been meaning to tell you something for a long time now, but the moment was never right and for some reason, despite my genuine desire to communicate the sentiment, I could never get the words out. I write this letter to you now as recompense for my former silence and as a means to finally 'speak' the unspoken. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
You see, things got bad for a while. Life, as it has so often been known to do, got complicated and swervy and difficult and confusing and unfamiliar and I found myself more literally alone than I had ever been before. I had moved into my own apartment, no family, no roommates. I was quickly immersed in the most difficult year of my education yet. My family had just emerged from its most difficult trial; details aside my relationship with my parents changed drastically in spite of me and I had to learn to maneuver largely without them. During my undergraduate school years I barely went two days without speaking to them on the phone. Soon I found myself rounding the two month mark, refusing to cave and call (until, of course, I did) despite an innate yearning to reestablish the most important bond I had experienced in my life, all the while alone in my desire to do so.
But enough of that; this story's about you.
Besides, I needn't summarize the details. You know them well enough. It was you, after all, who was there for the aftermath. You who was there to help me pick up the pieces and expand my notion of what "family" could mean. You became my family when I needed family most. You were there and are still and I can finally say that I have invested some trust and hope and belief in our relationship and its endurance. I know you'll be around, for a while at least; that I can count on, and I can count on you.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I hadn't met you, but I don't like to think about that for too long. I can't remember entirely what it was like before and while I am not trying to claim that my life was horror before you came into it I can say quite certainly that it would not be as good now if you hadn't. It might not "be" at all if you hadn't. These are the "ifs" I am fortunate enough to never have to know for sure.
Sometimes I worry the pressure of such complete reliance might be too much for you, for us. I suppose I hope that you, too, have found something in me you were needing, or are simply happy to have. I hope I give back in kind. I hope you know I'm there for you, too.
Now, the tenor of this letter to this point has been admittedly ridiculously serious- I hope I haven't frightened you away. After all, our friendship has never required some sort of formal address or acknowledgment. It's been defined instead by its uncanny ease and casualness. We never had to speak it into being; it simply was, came to be.
No more cliched phrasing or over-the-top pronouncements.
All I had wanted to say was 1) thank you and 2) I love you. I hope this is not creepy or off-putting. Please take it as you need to and remember where it is coming from. I think I kid around a lot about a lot of different things so please remember that when I do I am not kidding about this: you are fantastic and appreciated and I don't know where I would be without you.
If you read this, you don't have to acknowledge it. You don't have to awkwardly bring it up next time we meet or feel impelled to phone immediately and signal its reception. I have said what I wanted to say and we'll leave it at that. You will notice, too, that this letter is fairly ambiguously addressed, but I think it's clear enough. My assumption is you'll know if who I'm referring to is you.
Much love,
Me
P.S. Perhaps tomorrow we'll have a drink or get together for games night or a potluck or a picnic or maybe we'll chat on the phone or message online or meet up somewhere else, in this city or another we've been meaning or planning to visit? Whatever we do, I look forward to it.
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