Oh Canada

I've mentioned Slings & Arrows a few times before, but probably not with sufficient awe and reverence. This show is consistent and surprising, which is like the holy grail of television.

The British model for a drama series, and apparently the Candian structure as well, is six episodes. In America it seems to be either 13 or 23, and I think the main dramatic thrust gets serious dilution when you need to fill so much air time. With six, each and every episode is based around the same 'A' storyline. No need to put up with entire episodes based around so and so who you never really cared about. A season of Slings & Arrows, for example, is about a specific production in a yearly theater festival, and that is what is going on every time you tune in. Sure, The Wire had 13 eps a season, but that show was effin' epic.

I've been watching S & A and Weeds in tandem. Cutting one drug with a slightly different varietal in the hopes that it will dilute the potency of each, risk being that I will get powerfully addicted to both. So far I'm cool, especially because the second season of Weeds is kinda choking. Nancy pants is going through this whole "ooh, look what I can get away with now that I'm a drug dealer" thing and just being a really terrible terrible parent. I guess it's pretty ok, especially the bits where she plays the DEA boyfriend against her lovestruck business partner for titillating dramatic tension, but they just went off the deep end in the part of the show that deals with family matters. Maybe it's just the dialogue, which got away with being clunky in season 1 somehow, because it was cute, but when you need to bring your a-game in season 2 and prove you can last in harsh post-novelty climes without the benefit of concept and character enfatuation, the half-wittedness just don't seem to fly any longer.

So, seriously, if you're in the game for some sustained and complicated dramatic action, netflix or pirate from the high electronic seas a copy of Slings and Arrows. They don't do dippy, and if you're a performer, like myself, it digs pretty deep into questions of poetic faith and worthiness/lack thereof of the artistic pursuit.

The Return of Television

A sudden bout of downtime settles over me, like a shot of tequila on an empty stomach. I love tequila, but "settle over" is all wrong. I mean SHOOTS THROUGH MY UNPROTECTED VEINS AND CAPILLARIES WITH RAPACIOUS VIOLENCE.

Accordingly, I have gorged myself on my backlog of television shows. Oh, the Weeds, the Slings & Arrows of outrageous fortune which encourage me to take arms against a sea of trouble! Also I am listening to "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap on repeat. For like two days. Mmm, whatcha say?

Confession time, this is one of those periods of self-imposed cabin fever during which I write lots of Important Things on index cards, make faces in the mirror, and hatch ingenious schemes like the creation of a "Naked Guy" vlog and figuring out how to make the Altar of Entropy do some serious journalistic work in the alternate universe of WoW. Just do it, Gerrit, you'll thank me later. I'll totally come to Brooklyn to intervene in three months (the amount of time I expect it will take you to create level 70 toons on every realm and start brewing a devious conspiracy to overthrow Blizzard). Other activities on my todo list: drink whatever alcohol is in the apartment without repeats; headstands until I black out; handstands until I black out; memorize the lyrics to "Hide and Seek"; prepare absurd greetings for those foolish enough to call me on my telephone.

Anyway, I totally just saw a great moment of television. Finale of the first season of Weeds--Nancy pants has built herself a motherfucking drug empire. She is the big momma, by hook, crook, wit, luck, hotness, and that special courage that can only come from being really really ignorant. They organized a great Godfather-esque scene in which she gathers all her peeps and begins a meeting. Youngest son watches open-mouthed as the double doors are shut on his mother's place of business, knowing that not all is right in suburbia.

Counter this very theatrical scene with Nancy showing up at the Nice Guy's house. You know, the one that has been pursuing her but they could never get together because she is a DRUG DEALER and has problems. She is vulnerable, they take her right off the mystical pedestal built for her--I gotta do an aside here. Anybody else like Dune? You did, because it was AWESOME. At the end you have the motherfucking KWISATZ HADERACH standing on top of the universe. It is a case study in how to make your protagonist Awesome and attain godliness. Ethical, aesthetic, or philosophical problems with this particular narrative aside, everything that happened after that moment in the Dune universe sucked. So way to go Weeds, for jumping that sinking ship.

Anyway, newly vulnerable, human, and relate-to-able Nancy, maybe finding something good and untainted in her life again, gets up to go pee and throws on Nice Guy's robe. Flips on the light... she is wearing a DEA jacket.

God I love it. I love it so much I will go practice arm balances for at least twenty minutes and then drink more beer. Is there an index card with something Important written on it in my future? Cabin fever eightball says: "As I see it, yes!"

BLOG

Blogging is just so cozy. It's like ordering up a fast food audience, cheap and almost no wait. Sure, maybe you have to imagine the multitudes hanging on your every word--oohing, ahhing, and laughing raucously along with you--but just by doing so you've already got a fatty commiseration sandwich with a side of you're-so-cool. It doesn't necessarily last or lay a healthy foundation for a stronger you of tomorrow, and truth be told it may end up filling you with hot air, but man does it feel good every once in a while.

I thought I was going to sink with that metaphor to the bottom of the sea, so happy was I with it, but as the water began to swirl around my ankles, I quickly realized how foolish it is to cling to such nonsense when my very being is at stake.

I am not watching TV lately. At all. It's funny what happens when you go from a life of routine (in which you don't have to grocery shop or do the dishes) to a life of umpteen possibilities!!!one!eleven!!1!! I loaded up the Grey's anatomy finale on abc.com or whatever, but then something more interesting happened. I started to watch a Battlestar, then realized my clothes only had ten more minutes in the drier at the laundromat 'round the corner. Moving in someplace new takes forever which I somehow manage to forget despite having done it at least a million times. Or is there some deeply seated change afoot? Perhaps it is time I stopped watching, and started writing!?!?!?

Thanks for the coze, yo's.

A Post

I don't even have a job, and I'm exhausted. I am doing all kinds of work, it's just that there's no reliable paycheck attached to any of it. Not yet. So all I've got in me is a quick rundown.

Slings & Arrows -- This show is amazing, AND Canadian. I know, right? The acting kicks my ass and the script delivers those moments that just tickle me pink. So I get to sit around pink and beat up which is the best kind of existence around. I mean, we have the tortured artist given a second chance to do it right, and he's carrying his old mentor's severed head around in a cooler. Hits the bar, naturally, where he runs into his ex-lover who played Juliet to his Romeo as directed by the head in the cooler. Ellen: "What do you have in there?" Jack: "Oliver's head."

Priceless.