OK, so I just finished watching the series finale of Angel, and I'm twitching-pain-in-my-upper-colon mad. So buckle up, babies: It's time to vent.
You know, for a few seasons there, I thought of Angel as Buffy the Vampire Slayers's country cousin. At first it tried too hard. So serious. Soooooooo fucking earnest. But, you know, it mostly worked. Angel was certainly appealing enough, Cordelia was a fun character (even if she was, as Karl once said, "a funny color"), and once Wes came on stage the whole thing started coming together. Granted, not in a Buffy Season 3 sort of way, but it was a damn sight better than the vast majority of stuff on TV.
And then it kinda meandered for a couple of seasons. Great stuff intermingled with the broody doom-and-gloom stuff that weighed it down all along. Then Connor came on board, and the whole thing became well-nigh unbearable. I was nearly ready to write the whole thing off.
And then, well, magic happened.
Angel Season 5. I can't remember another TV show that managed to pull off such a startling, thrilling, astonishing turnaround so long into its run. This past season of Angel has been nothing short of phenomenal. The last time I experienced a reinvention this profound and resoundingly successful was when U2 rebounded from the self-absorbed fart sniffing of "Rattle and Hum" to give violent, joyful birth to "Achtung Baby." Joss Whedon, drawing on what I can only assume was something akin to a father's bottomless love for his child, and nourished on the flesh of Firefly's corpse, took the quivering husk that was Angel season 4, chewed it up, swallowed, let it stew in his guts for a while, and somehow spit up a season of brilliance. Consistently funny. Occasionally thrilling. Sharply observed characters. The best writing he'd done in years. Truly unsettling and sad plot twists. Unexpected rehabilitations of previously assumed unfixable characters (Connor, anyone?). And a fusing of the comedic heart of Buffy with the gloomier predilections of Angel that was like a highwire act lifted straight out of Cirque de Soleil.
Monday morning quarterbacking is always a breeze. But, I mean, viewed from the EZ-chair, season 5 of Angel was jaw-dropping.
You know, this is the sort of turnaround that fans pray for. It almost never happens: Just ask anyone who suffered through the final season of Babylon 5, or to a lesser extent the Buffy fans who suffered through the astonishing lows of season 5 and made due with the slight return in the final days of season 6. It's soul-sucking and dispiriting. But hope is a crack whore, and it keeps coming back for more no matter how many times you smack it in the chops.
And why? Because when these creative resurrections occur, as they did in Angel season 5, it's like a blast of pharmaceutical grade fandom cocaine. A dazzling, mind-numbing, nipple-stiffening thrill, overstuffed with the desire for more of the same.
"How can anyone deny the brilliance of this show? See? It doesn't get any better than this! I've been right all along."
And. Well. Apparently, brilliance isn't enough. WB pulled the plug on a great show, that was finally, at long last, operating at the top of it's game. Fuck "it's" game, at the top of THE game. This was a great show. Finally, at long last, Great. Original and unusual, the sort of show that makes you think, you know, maybe there is something left to this TV thing after all.
But now it's gone.
Shocking? No. Just depressing. I wanted to be proven wrong. I wanted to be shown that TV moguls, or audiences, or both, can appreciate terrific pop art. And I wasn't. WB now has more room for reality television, and I have 1 more hour a week to read.
I won't bother going over the finale -- it was terrific. I cried about Wesley and appreciated the gravity that his death gave (a gravity that Anya's death in no way brought), and I really enjoyed the faint glimpses of humor that peeked through the obvious anger that defined this final hour.
And I was terribly angry with the conclusion, but I understand what Whedon was doing: Giving a great, big, spittle-shedding scream at the network, seizing his last chance to say "FUCK YOU" for what they did to his child. And I don't blame him a fuckin' bit.
Current Mood: angry
Current Music: Dead Can Dance, "A Passage in Time"
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Sunday, May 02, 2004
The Day That Wound Up... Umm... Being?
OK, crap subject. Sorry about that.
Anyway, think I'll just complete the exercise from last night. Let's compare the predicted Sunday content with the factual occurrences as of 9:00-ish CST. Predictions in quotes:
"Decent night sleep, with far fewer carcinogenic dreams. Kicked out of bed when the kids get moving around 6:45 (after all I got to sleep in this morning, so fair is fair). Coffee, blessed coffee."
Pretty much accurate to this point -- peaceful slumber, and I got lucky and didn't get dragged downstairs until 7-fuckin'-30. It was BEAUTIFUL.
"Something not entirely irritating courtesy of Disney or one of their Daemonic Relations to keep the kids entertained and indoctrinated in American Culture (chortle). Breakfast -- eggs and turkey bacon. Flip through the paper."
Things kind of go off the rails, here, but in a good way. My son decided that he had no interest in TV at all (hurray! Music in the morning!) and that rather than traditional breakfast he would prefer... cold, leftover pizza. So he had 2 slices, and I had 3. It was like being in college again. Really great.
"Briefly consider going to church, then realize that there's no more Sunday school so what's the damn rush?"
So damn happy to report I was right! Bwahahaha...
"Then. Lift some heavy objects and run a few miles at the gym."
Gym at about 11:00. Lifted around 10,000 pounds (not all at once...) and ran 5.5 miles -- most I've run in a stretch since surgery 6 weeks ago. Happy to be back.
"Grocery shopping."
Check.
"Side trip to the video store or appease the marauding children. Back to the homestead."
Nope -- kids instead decided to pillage the extensive collection of DVDs we already own and check out the second Harry Potter film. We had held off on showing to them, as Miranda has a particularly active imagination and we were concerned about the nightmare potential. We'll see how that turns out...
"Mow the backyard (a.k.a. The Plains of Austin). Spray-paint the kids Disney Bookends (see Home Depot run, above)."
Check. Bookends came out GREAT -- black, white, and red.
"Play some Hoyle's Casino 2004 (we're doing Vegas in September, so I think this qualifies as research)."
Nope -- never got the chance. Still time before bed, though.
"Briefly consider cooking up a storm, then default to something simple because damn-it-it's-Sunday-and-I'm-beat."
Nailed that one -- dinner was going to be chicken fajitas and spanish rce. Somewhere around 5:00 this plan magically transformed into sandwiches while watching Chamber of Secrets.
"Pull the ripcord and begin the getting-ready-for-bed tango. Baths, playing about, reading, and good night."
No stories tonight -- Potter ran past 8:00, and we still needed to do the bath thing.
"Relax, jockey for some "Barry White time" (if you know what I mean, and I think you do), suffer through an episode of Alias (god I loathe that show. But Christine seems to enjoy is, and it's rather pretty, so whatever. That Jennifer Garner looks like a boy with boobies, though). Watch a TiVo'd episode of Deadwood (still catching up -- crude, good performances, well-written, not sure I'm gonna sign on for the long run)."
All this remains to be seen -- currently suffering through Alias. Barry White is in the CD player, but I'm not certain that Christine feels like pressing play. Deadwood remains a possibility, but I'm not sure I really feel like it.
"Slow sinking feeling (Oh shit, weekend over)."
I guarantee that moment is coming -- just haven't caught it yet.
So, all in all, my predictions were pretty dead-on. Almost like I've done Sundays before. It's uncanny, really. I should take this act on the road.
See you during the week.
Gregg
Current Mood: mellow
Current Music: "Alias" dialogue
Anyway, think I'll just complete the exercise from last night. Let's compare the predicted Sunday content with the factual occurrences as of 9:00-ish CST. Predictions in quotes:
"Decent night sleep, with far fewer carcinogenic dreams. Kicked out of bed when the kids get moving around 6:45 (after all I got to sleep in this morning, so fair is fair). Coffee, blessed coffee."
Pretty much accurate to this point -- peaceful slumber, and I got lucky and didn't get dragged downstairs until 7-fuckin'-30. It was BEAUTIFUL.
"Something not entirely irritating courtesy of Disney or one of their Daemonic Relations to keep the kids entertained and indoctrinated in American Culture (chortle). Breakfast -- eggs and turkey bacon. Flip through the paper."
Things kind of go off the rails, here, but in a good way. My son decided that he had no interest in TV at all (hurray! Music in the morning!) and that rather than traditional breakfast he would prefer... cold, leftover pizza. So he had 2 slices, and I had 3. It was like being in college again. Really great.
"Briefly consider going to church, then realize that there's no more Sunday school so what's the damn rush?"
So damn happy to report I was right! Bwahahaha...
"Then. Lift some heavy objects and run a few miles at the gym."
Gym at about 11:00. Lifted around 10,000 pounds (not all at once...) and ran 5.5 miles -- most I've run in a stretch since surgery 6 weeks ago. Happy to be back.
"Grocery shopping."
Check.
"Side trip to the video store or appease the marauding children. Back to the homestead."
Nope -- kids instead decided to pillage the extensive collection of DVDs we already own and check out the second Harry Potter film. We had held off on showing to them, as Miranda has a particularly active imagination and we were concerned about the nightmare potential. We'll see how that turns out...
"Mow the backyard (a.k.a. The Plains of Austin). Spray-paint the kids Disney Bookends (see Home Depot run, above)."
Check. Bookends came out GREAT -- black, white, and red.
"Play some Hoyle's Casino 2004 (we're doing Vegas in September, so I think this qualifies as research)."
Nope -- never got the chance. Still time before bed, though.
"Briefly consider cooking up a storm, then default to something simple because damn-it-it's-Sunday-and-I'm-beat."
Nailed that one -- dinner was going to be chicken fajitas and spanish rce. Somewhere around 5:00 this plan magically transformed into sandwiches while watching Chamber of Secrets.
"Pull the ripcord and begin the getting-ready-for-bed tango. Baths, playing about, reading, and good night."
No stories tonight -- Potter ran past 8:00, and we still needed to do the bath thing.
"Relax, jockey for some "Barry White time" (if you know what I mean, and I think you do), suffer through an episode of Alias (god I loathe that show. But Christine seems to enjoy is, and it's rather pretty, so whatever. That Jennifer Garner looks like a boy with boobies, though). Watch a TiVo'd episode of Deadwood (still catching up -- crude, good performances, well-written, not sure I'm gonna sign on for the long run)."
All this remains to be seen -- currently suffering through Alias. Barry White is in the CD player, but I'm not certain that Christine feels like pressing play. Deadwood remains a possibility, but I'm not sure I really feel like it.
"Slow sinking feeling (Oh shit, weekend over)."
I guarantee that moment is coming -- just haven't caught it yet.
So, all in all, my predictions were pretty dead-on. Almost like I've done Sundays before. It's uncanny, really. I should take this act on the road.
See you during the week.
Gregg
Current Mood: mellow
Current Music: "Alias" dialogue
Saturday, May 01, 2004
The Day That Was (And the Day That, Perhaps, Will Be)
Let's take a walk through my day. Pick up a few choice moments and hold them up to the light to see how they sparkle. Mmmm, pretty.
Then I'll take a stab at guessing what tomorrow will be like. Tomorrow night's entry will probably include the play-by-play of what REALLY happened, which as often as not provides some Marx Brothers-level comedy due to the obvious "this is what you want/this is what you get" thing.
So.
Rough night last night. Lots of waking, and sleeping, and waking, and dozing. Dreams in which I was smoking again, which is odd. Quit 13 years ago, but I still dream of cigarettes from time to time, and wake up feeling guilty. Huh.
Got to sleep-in a bit, which was really nice. Rolled up and out around 8:00. Nice strong coffee to kick me in the ass. Miserable day -- rainy, cold. Under 60 degrees on May 1st in Austin, TX. If a pale guy on a white horse rides by I'm gonna freak-right-the-fuck-out.
And then the typical Saturday acceleration begins.
Brought the kids to the local Home Depot at 10:30 for the monthly kids craft thingie. Mickey Mouse bookshelves this time. Ahh, Korporate Krafts! The kids are elated, I'm mildly disturbed, but whatever. Miranda and Trevor each got a nice new Disney/Home Depot smock. And (aside from the gradual soul dilution) it's all FREE! Wonderful stuff, really, and a great time is had by all.
Then lunch with Mom at Applebee's (they have balloons. The kids like balloons. And grilled cheese). Jaunt to Super Target (god I love that place-- they opened one here about 3-4 months ago and I've managed to completely avoid anything resembling the hell that is Wal*Mart ever since). Crappy haircut at TGF while the family shops (hair looks shitty, but at least it only cost $9. Plus, a little styling glue makes it look just ducky).
Still rainy and cold. I'm walking around in shorts, so I'm feeling less that brilliant. Off to the mall to catch Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed with The Cherubs, Christine, and Mom.
While waiting for the movie, bought a game for the kids called Silly Stories - sort of a memory game with some cool early reading stuff built in. Basically, you choose three tiles, each of which provide a portion of a story outline sentence. The results are often silly -- such as "The fireman / kisses a frog / on Mars."
Hmmm. This may be how Tom Robbins got started.
Anyway, got through Scooby Doo 2 without permanent damage. Enjoyed the first one far more, perhaps because I expected so very little. However, Matt Lillard is awesome, Sarah Michelle-Gellar remains the perfect Daphne, the Velma is geekalicious (way too lipstick for proto-lesbian Velma, but it works for me anyhow), and Freddie Prinze is still the Acting Antichrist. So, there's consistency at least.
Mom departs. Sighs of relief are heaved by the adults. Drop everyone home so that the dogs can be released from their confines. Off to the store (Alone! ALONE!!! Tool playing far too loud in the CD player the whole way there. And back.) to buy some turkey meatballs, fresh bread, Godiva liqueur. Rent a couple of DVDs specifically selected to address the damage caused by Scooby Doo (Ripley's Game, Master & Commander).
Spaghetti, meatballs, bread. Sauce-encrusted children cause many moments of joviality. Good eating is rewarded with Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream (with rapturous results -- those little fudge fish are a huge hit. Finally, something to thank those smelly hippies for, should I ever meet them face to face. God knows I won't have a damn thing to say about their music).
Bath time -- Christine gets the honor, since I got to run to the store like 47 times today ("Oh shit, we're having spaghetti for dinner, but we don't have any!" etc.). Prolonged kitchen cleanup accompanied by Everything But the Girl (strangely appropriate, doncha think?). Time for stories -- Miranda and I read chapter 2 of C. S. Lewis's "Voyage of the Dawn Treader." She's totally diggin' on the series, which makes me So Damn Happy. Wonder how old she'll be before the whole Christian Imagery connection is made.
And then, kids go to sleep. Quick shower to finally rid myself of the itches caused by the crappy haircut from many hours previous. Shorts and tank top. It's 8:30PM.
And then, the unsettling realization that, last time I sat down and relaxed for more than 5 seconds, it was about 10:00AM this morning.
And it was a good day. But damn, I am CERTAIN that time didn't used to move so friggin' fast.
Watch a TiVo'd Monster House (man, that show RAWKS!), chat with Christine (Me: "Well, lecture -- I tend to ramble." You: "Yeah, no shit -- look at how long this damn entry is") about some of the issues/ideas/etc. that beginning a journal is already stirring up.
And then it's now. DVDs go unwatched. Journaling, nice glass of bourbon.
-=-
So, tomorrow. Hmmmm.
Best guesses: Decent night sleep, with far fewer carcinogenic dreams. Kicked out of bed when the kids get moving around 6:45 (after all I got to sleep in this morning, so fair is fair). Coffee, blessed coffee. Something not entirely irritating courtesy of Disney or one of their Daemonic Relations to keep the kids entertained and indoctrinated in American Culture (chortle). Breakfast -- eggs and turkey bacon. Flip through the paper. Briefly consider going to church, then realize that there's no more Sunday school so what's the damn rush?
Note: This is the first event of the day which may not go my way. My churchgoing is a rather involved and complicated affair. I'm sure we'll get around to it. Suffice to say I'm Catholic. By default. For now.
Then. Lift some heavy objects and run a few miles at the gym (please! PLEASE!). Grocery shopping. Side trip to the video store or appease the marauding children. Back to the homestead. Mow the backyard (a.k.a. The Plains of Austin). Spraypaint the kids Disney Bookends (see Home Depot run, above). Play some Hoyle's Casino 2004 (we're doing Vegas in September, so I think this qualifies as research). Briefly consider cooking up a storm, then default to something simple because damn-it-it's-Sunday-and-I'm-beat.
Pull the ripcord and begin the getting-ready-for-bed tango. Baths, playing about, reading, and good night. Relax, jockey for some "Barry White time" (if you know what I mean, and I think you do), suffer through an episode of Alias (god I loathe that show. But Christine seems to enjoy is, and it's rather pretty, so whatever. That Jennifer Garner looks like a boy with boobies, though). Watch a TiVo'd episode of Deadwood (still catching up -- crude, good performances, well-written, not sure I'm gonna sign on for the long run).
Slow sinking feeling (Oh shit, weekend over).
Bed.
-=-
So, we'll see how that turns out.
Jeez, my weekends reek of suburban domesticity. What my life lacks in thrilling narrative, it more than makes up for in the fact that I'll probably live to see 70+ and grandchildren. There was a time this was far less likely. So that's good.
And I wouldn't change a muthafuckin thing.
It's days like this that make me realize that I love my melodius life. I just want some more grace notes.
Love is all around.
Gregg
Current Mood: satisfied
Current Music: The thrilling tones of an episode of Trading Spaces
Then I'll take a stab at guessing what tomorrow will be like. Tomorrow night's entry will probably include the play-by-play of what REALLY happened, which as often as not provides some Marx Brothers-level comedy due to the obvious "this is what you want/this is what you get" thing.
So.
Rough night last night. Lots of waking, and sleeping, and waking, and dozing. Dreams in which I was smoking again, which is odd. Quit 13 years ago, but I still dream of cigarettes from time to time, and wake up feeling guilty. Huh.
Got to sleep-in a bit, which was really nice. Rolled up and out around 8:00. Nice strong coffee to kick me in the ass. Miserable day -- rainy, cold. Under 60 degrees on May 1st in Austin, TX. If a pale guy on a white horse rides by I'm gonna freak-right-the-fuck-out.
And then the typical Saturday acceleration begins.
Brought the kids to the local Home Depot at 10:30 for the monthly kids craft thingie. Mickey Mouse bookshelves this time. Ahh, Korporate Krafts! The kids are elated, I'm mildly disturbed, but whatever. Miranda and Trevor each got a nice new Disney/Home Depot smock. And (aside from the gradual soul dilution) it's all FREE! Wonderful stuff, really, and a great time is had by all.
Then lunch with Mom at Applebee's (they have balloons. The kids like balloons. And grilled cheese). Jaunt to Super Target (god I love that place-- they opened one here about 3-4 months ago and I've managed to completely avoid anything resembling the hell that is Wal*Mart ever since). Crappy haircut at TGF while the family shops (hair looks shitty, but at least it only cost $9. Plus, a little styling glue makes it look just ducky).
Still rainy and cold. I'm walking around in shorts, so I'm feeling less that brilliant. Off to the mall to catch Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed with The Cherubs, Christine, and Mom.
While waiting for the movie, bought a game for the kids called Silly Stories - sort of a memory game with some cool early reading stuff built in. Basically, you choose three tiles, each of which provide a portion of a story outline sentence. The results are often silly -- such as "The fireman / kisses a frog / on Mars."
Hmmm. This may be how Tom Robbins got started.
Anyway, got through Scooby Doo 2 without permanent damage. Enjoyed the first one far more, perhaps because I expected so very little. However, Matt Lillard is awesome, Sarah Michelle-Gellar remains the perfect Daphne, the Velma is geekalicious (way too lipstick for proto-lesbian Velma, but it works for me anyhow), and Freddie Prinze is still the Acting Antichrist. So, there's consistency at least.
Mom departs. Sighs of relief are heaved by the adults. Drop everyone home so that the dogs can be released from their confines. Off to the store (Alone! ALONE!!! Tool playing far too loud in the CD player the whole way there. And back.) to buy some turkey meatballs, fresh bread, Godiva liqueur. Rent a couple of DVDs specifically selected to address the damage caused by Scooby Doo (Ripley's Game, Master & Commander).
Spaghetti, meatballs, bread. Sauce-encrusted children cause many moments of joviality. Good eating is rewarded with Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream (with rapturous results -- those little fudge fish are a huge hit. Finally, something to thank those smelly hippies for, should I ever meet them face to face. God knows I won't have a damn thing to say about their music).
Bath time -- Christine gets the honor, since I got to run to the store like 47 times today ("Oh shit, we're having spaghetti for dinner, but we don't have any!" etc.). Prolonged kitchen cleanup accompanied by Everything But the Girl (strangely appropriate, doncha think?). Time for stories -- Miranda and I read chapter 2 of C. S. Lewis's "Voyage of the Dawn Treader." She's totally diggin' on the series, which makes me So Damn Happy. Wonder how old she'll be before the whole Christian Imagery connection is made.
And then, kids go to sleep. Quick shower to finally rid myself of the itches caused by the crappy haircut from many hours previous. Shorts and tank top. It's 8:30PM.
And then, the unsettling realization that, last time I sat down and relaxed for more than 5 seconds, it was about 10:00AM this morning.
And it was a good day. But damn, I am CERTAIN that time didn't used to move so friggin' fast.
Watch a TiVo'd Monster House (man, that show RAWKS!), chat with Christine (Me: "Well, lecture -- I tend to ramble." You: "Yeah, no shit -- look at how long this damn entry is") about some of the issues/ideas/etc. that beginning a journal is already stirring up.
And then it's now. DVDs go unwatched. Journaling, nice glass of bourbon.
-=-
So, tomorrow. Hmmmm.
Best guesses: Decent night sleep, with far fewer carcinogenic dreams. Kicked out of bed when the kids get moving around 6:45 (after all I got to sleep in this morning, so fair is fair). Coffee, blessed coffee. Something not entirely irritating courtesy of Disney or one of their Daemonic Relations to keep the kids entertained and indoctrinated in American Culture (chortle). Breakfast -- eggs and turkey bacon. Flip through the paper. Briefly consider going to church, then realize that there's no more Sunday school so what's the damn rush?
Note: This is the first event of the day which may not go my way. My churchgoing is a rather involved and complicated affair. I'm sure we'll get around to it. Suffice to say I'm Catholic. By default. For now.
Then. Lift some heavy objects and run a few miles at the gym (please! PLEASE!). Grocery shopping. Side trip to the video store or appease the marauding children. Back to the homestead. Mow the backyard (a.k.a. The Plains of Austin). Spraypaint the kids Disney Bookends (see Home Depot run, above). Play some Hoyle's Casino 2004 (we're doing Vegas in September, so I think this qualifies as research). Briefly consider cooking up a storm, then default to something simple because damn-it-it's-Sunday-and-I'm-beat.
Pull the ripcord and begin the getting-ready-for-bed tango. Baths, playing about, reading, and good night. Relax, jockey for some "Barry White time" (if you know what I mean, and I think you do), suffer through an episode of Alias (god I loathe that show. But Christine seems to enjoy is, and it's rather pretty, so whatever. That Jennifer Garner looks like a boy with boobies, though). Watch a TiVo'd episode of Deadwood (still catching up -- crude, good performances, well-written, not sure I'm gonna sign on for the long run).
Slow sinking feeling (Oh shit, weekend over).
Bed.
-=-
So, we'll see how that turns out.
Jeez, my weekends reek of suburban domesticity. What my life lacks in thrilling narrative, it more than makes up for in the fact that I'll probably live to see 70+ and grandchildren. There was a time this was far less likely. So that's good.
And I wouldn't change a muthafuckin thing.
It's days like this that make me realize that I love my melodius life. I just want some more grace notes.
Love is all around.
Gregg
Current Mood: satisfied
Current Music: The thrilling tones of an episode of Trading Spaces
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