#like literally Seinfeld is the only show i watch when i want nothing bad to happen ever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepdeans · 6 years ago

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there’s not a lot I can say about s3 that hasn’t already been said (and articulated 200x better) but! here are some of my (albeit dumb) thoughts :~)

ep1 -isak leaning against the bathroom wall gets me EVERY time its such a powerful scene esp introducing you to s3 and tarjei..... spare some talent for the rest of us please -LiTeN gUtTeN fRa StRaNgEr tHiNgS -isak rly ties his pants w a shoelace...... -isak noticing even for the first time bc of his laugh.. whew.... also. i love this intro SOOO much bc its so non-monumental? theres no dramatic music or whatever but its not subtle.... like you know right away o shit love interest!! hello sir!! bc isak’s expression watching him :’) i could go on -isak is a bad liar HOWEVER this only applies to stupid nontrivial things e.g. the black sweatshirt. but when you look at him lying about like, his sexuality, he hides that shit well -”c00l” isak. i hate u so much -honestly all u have to do is look at even for .2 seconds and u can tell this boy has had a crush for a solid month bc he just looks awestruck (HOWEVER henrik’s acting is *chef’s kiss* bc its subtle enough to go undetected b4 you actually know eVEN SAW HIM ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL) -even isak and emma all sitting on the bench together is funny enough on its on but then a song called threeway comes on and like. julie sdshjsfdjfkjskd ep2 -there’s something so endearing about even’s handwriting idek what -i LOVE even’s video w mikael it reveals so much about him to us- how weird (ok we saw how weird he was w the paper towel thing but) and dorky he is? and his love of film! his view on love stories and how he sees the world :( but it also shows a lot abt isak because he saw even making stupid jokes about vladimir putin and was like yeah we about to fall in LOVE love -isak not using headphones to watch even’s video or r+j?? bde or general incompetence what’s the verdict guys -the isak watching r+j scene hits so hard like yall ever think about isak lying in bed at 3am staring at the ceiling probably thinking about how he’s never gonna get a beautiful world-shattering romance like that like ..... also him changing positions skam get out of my life go away ur too realistic -not to make this even more self-projection-y but isak simultaneously being the least emotionally vulnerable person ever but crying during r+j > -i made a post abt this already but even’s INTENSE staring vs isak’s “i have never looked anyone in the eye in my life” gets me it says so much about their characters -even said i see your bde move (asking me to buy you beer) and i raise u with my own (inviting you to my house after faking not having my id) -”if you listen to music” even is such a dick fsdjhsdff -when the message comes on...... i rlly do owe julie my life huh -”have you heard about my rapping?” “I have actually” have we talked about this enough????? 1. isak finally feels comfortable enough w even to flirt and his first move is to RAP for him jesus christ. keep in mind this is the same man who pulled that smooth af ibuprofen line w emma like...... 2. even has heard about isak’s rapping. either this means im-not-on-social-media even went out of his way to go thru homeboy’s instagram OR isak’s rapping is actually talked about. i- -the group chat messages. cant believe i forgot about the 2016 clown epidemic

ep3 -mahdi is a good friend and i love him. thank u -even wearing isak’s cap until he chucks it at him sjksfjsdjsd -how much yall wanna bet isak’s been listening to illmatic on repeat since last friday thinking abt even (even tho meeting sonja shattered his heart a lil) [also kinda an aside but i think a lot about how isak n even bonded over rap and how some homophobic lyrics in 90s etc rap might have impacted them? or how that little detail ties into julie’s story? e.g. halftime by nas, which is on illmatic] -whats worse. even staring into isaks soul wearing a size xs see-through white t shirt or isak staring at even for five (5) seconds before chugging his beer and immediately making out w emma. OR even crashing that party before it can start “i think you guys are bonding too much” cheesy ass shjhfsdhskdf -yall act like evak didnt invent hands. did even shaking isak’s shoulder telling him his apartment is nice mean nothing to u -im convinced robyn wrote call your girlfriend for this scene specifically bc how could anything fit so perfectly by coincidence -is anything better than egging isak on- even bech naesheim (2016) -idk if yall have read the scripts but i love the sock thing so much bc its soo true to how isak thinks and it makes everything so much more interesting and !!!

ep4 -i will never get over even sending isak bad seinfeld memes -even smacking open isak’s locker. first of all whew second of all u think as soon as he got into the stairwell he lowkey cried bc ow -parallel of isak saying “it’s 2016, why are you religious?” to sana vs. emma’s “it’s 2016, get out of the closet” to isak anyone :( -”takk sanasol!!!!” thank u isak for my life -I wanted to be with you aloneeeee -even’s face when he sees the pool like we get it youre a director -how many times do i need to say even is such a dick sjkfsd “does it look like i care about my hair?” “usually but not right now” like this would only work on isak i love soulmates!! -even just.. fully choking isak out ssdhgfd got em -when the first notes of im kissing you start ooh boy -even going in for the kill kiss and isak going from huh to oooo shit and pushing his lips out at the last minute. phenomenal

ep5 -ngl as soon as im not in love comes on my heart goes uwu bc like!!!! that song the meaNING.... them......... i jus love this scene sm like theyre in their own little bubble and they both feel so comfortable and at peace :(( -even leaving isak comics about an inside joke of theirs like yall mind if i scream -isak feeling left out from the conversation and his friends whew i felt that... and having them talk about how gross it is to makeout with a girl w facial hair?? blease :( -taking stock of isak’s nicknames: issy k, isabell, izzy, baby jesus, -im not even gonna bother trying to articulate thoughts on Pause bc it’s a literal masterpiece. thank u tarjei henrik and julie for inventing television with this one -MAGNUS SDFKJSDFJKDSHK "oooh my name is Jonas and I love idealism and reading klassekampen and I don’t like plastic and I skate on a skateboard made of sustainable wood and wear old clothes because new clothes are bad for the environment and I only drink recycled water” screAMMM -what i said abt pause also applies to pride ugh its such a powerful scene and!! the beginning of kicks to isaks stomach. honestly what i fucking love about this episode is how it goes from hell yea best day w even ever to crying in the street within one week (s3 had the best balance of angst and payoff thanks) -even’s Soft Party Flannel... forever tainted by this scene rip -not knowing why even kissed sonja keeps me up at night -speaking of. how used and stupid isak must’ve felt when he saw even completely unbothered, hooking up w his ex at this party?? whew :( -bros is one of my all time favourite clips solely bc of the music?? lift me up gives me chills and when hold my liquor starts i LOSE it -ep5 and 6 remind me of that quote “to see what your characters are really made of you have to break them” because julie rlly goes all in and god it hurts so good

ep6 -never have i ever seen insomnia portrayed as accurately as tarjei did here and i remember when i first watched the cantina scene i was like. winded bc its SO true to sleep deprivation whew -i really like that isak wasnt together with even when he reached out for help and came out to jonas. bc it was him, on his own, being strong enough to talk to his friends and then eventually he was confident and secure enough in himself to be in a good place when even started reaching back out!! -i have no idea what its like to come out to someone, to be afraid of your friends rejecting you, everything isak went through. but tarjei’s acting of when, like, you have something you KNOW you have to tell someone, and youve put yourself in the position where youre going to have to tell them, but youre terrified and eventually just force yourself SAY the words?? -and isak’s smile when he realizes jonas is gonna be his bro no matter what :’)))

ep7 -weirdly one of my favourite isak looks (black t-shirt grey snapback c-c-c-combo) -”what’s your name again?” have i mentioned i love sana and isak bc i love sana and isak -jonas truly is the best friend oh man. perceptive, thoughtful, loving, laidback, a friggen BRO. tbh i was wary of him in s1 and thought he didn’t treat eva well (tho I recognized he loved her a lot, he was just bad at being a boyfriend) but jonas in s3?? just goes to show how powerful your perspective of someone can change viewing them in a different role!! because while jonas was a crappy bf, he literally is SUCH an incredible friend and his actions and words and just! him! in s3 completely redeemed any illwill I had towards him :’) -maybe im a little gay (up there with other s3 comedy classics such as “thats a boys name”) -mahdi season WHEN ugh a legend -’when someone asks isak if hes going to a family party’ literally what other reason for living do i have if not to read the boy squad text convos -isaks locker finally opening and his smile at evens drawing whewwwwwww!! also even rlly is that guy who wont text you back but will leave hand written love letters in ur locker -also. another stellar look from valtersen -slutt a meld meg is a whole masterpiece like what other piece of media has the RANGE -eskild: play hard to get. jonas: no smiley!!! isak: nah fam im good B)

ep8 -this episode is BEAUTIFUL bc you feel practically euphoric?? like hell yeah theyre finally together!! isak is out and accepted and even is done with sonja! but theres also this unsettling undercurrent of worry bc you know deep down something isnt right? why is sonja calling isak? why is even acting kinda strange? whats going on? yknow?? -literally never going to get over 5 fine frokner :~) even is such a goddamn nerd and he’s the man of isak’s dreams can u believe!! -sana’s little speech is SO important in so many ways ooo i love her so much -also have we discussed eskild making evak do a photoshoot for him. highkey those are my favourite pictures of ALL time u can tell even was like hm strange but im down while isak was more omg guys stop🙄 omg haha eskild i cant believe youre making me cuddle with even for a photo🙄 i cant believe ur making me snuggle this dude for a pic!!!! definitely would not have done this otherwise!!! -magnus only realizing it’s THAT even after seeing how isak looks at him. whew -isak is so brave i rlly love that kid! his text to his mamma <3 -no r*make will EVER nail text conversations like mari/julie did w evak’s this week thanks for coming to my ted talk. i'd quote the best ones but it would literally double the length of this post (ok ill cave. “hahaha shut up❤️” GETS me) -you dont know whats in store but you know what youre here for. hallo -isak running around oslo with even’s clothes looking for him :( his heart is so big he cares about even so so much -when Part II (on the run) comes on in the credits its like a kick in the teeth honestly

ep9 -ive already screamed enough about cherry wine but god it fucks me up -cannot put into words how much I love eskild and how good of a person he is, he just has so much love in his heart -”wait they have waffles here? see ya” -this convo is why i love skam so much!!!! magnus giving insight and good thoughtful advice to isak was such a brilliant move by julie (also truLy heartwarming) bc like. magnus is a flawed layered character! he’s dumb and ignorant and not very careful with his words BUT hes also such a sweet guy. i genuinely dont think he would hurt a fly and him talking about vilde (in ep10) is ;-; bc he really likes her and respects her and wants to be a gentleman! hes so loving and just. yeah. also i wonder if isak and magnus (and vilde) ever talked about having mentally ill parents and lent on each other for support bc like....<3 [sidenote- this is why i HATE b***** like they absolutely massacred magnus’s character and magnus did not deserve that!] -det er bare slutt........ very cool of tarjei to invent acting here. also the character development makes me WEEP like at first isak lied and told his pappa it was over bc its easier to brush stuff off and say you were joking than be vulnerable especially about 1. having a boyfriend and 2. saying youve already broken up?? but then isak was like hey im done with lying about who i am bc i want my life to be REAL and he told his dad the truth even if it was hard and even if he was trying rlly hard not to cry -isak reaching out to even<3 standing up for even<3 -o helga natt. another scene i genuinely cannot comment on bc u cant really put into any written language how magical and breathtaking and heartbreaking and powerful and brilliant this scene is. so. -jk. obvs i cant say anything intelligent enough to give this scene justice but probably the most stunning piece of television i have ever had the privilege of watching. even’s text breaks my heart every gd time (esp since we never really see this side of him before finding out he’s bipolar? his guilt, insecurity, feeling like a burden, being scared of losing everyone in his life because he thinks he’ll hurt them). the music is SO beautiful i cry real tears as soon as the strings start. also the brilliance of JUST o helga natt playing and no dialogue except for isaks one line? isak’s realization when he sees the cross. him RUNNING across oslo to go to even. the FLASHBACKS all going backwards in chronological order until them smoking on the bench. isak looking at the bench and not seeing even and u can feel his heart breaking and urs breaks too! but then he remembers the bathroom and he turns and theres even and whewwww. du er ikke alene<3

ep10 -minutt for minutt is THE most healing clip im telling u. and like.. seeing even depressed really is hard and as someone who was very very depressed for 4-ish yrs of their life it rlly hits me? like when youre in an especially bad funk and you cant get out of bed and youre just numb and exhausted and feel so shitty and u want to be alone but you really dont???? could go on but literally i owe henrik holm my life for his portrayal of even -not to be a soft bitch on main but when isak tucks the blanket over even and it keeps getting pulled off his back so isak just. covers that spot with himself? -i do love that call between sonja and isak bc once again! a flawed (realistic) human being -and isak thinking its his fault even is depressed? it means a lot that sonja told him its no ones fault, even is just bipolar. and i wonder if isak felt that way about his mamma as well, guilty for her being ill, and if what sonja said made him feel better about that situation too :( -lowkey random but when isak is rambling really fast and he goes “maybe we’ll get bombed tomorrow and talking about all this is a waste of time” it continually punches me in the throat bc that is /exactly/ how i ramble and think like tarjei........ pls -like eskild said. there really is so much love in isak’s little grumpy teenage body<3 -isak no longer just passively accepting life as its given to him, now he fights for him and even!!!!! -isak is such a forgiving person and seeing him able to just accept things and move on? incredible -i remember when i first watched ep1 i was like oooo even and isak are gonna be kosegruppa partners and thats when theyll first get together, cooking food or smth!! but lmfao after episode 3? kosegruppa whomst???? also hilarious vilde thought isak of all people would willingly sign up for kosegruppa just to go to revue parties -even and linn friendship!!!! -cannot articulate how mf heartwarming it is to see even smiling and being more himself after being depressed (also thank u julie for having ups and downs coming out of his depression- its so true to life having one day when youre feeling awesome and then the next you feel awful again for no reason and its SO frustrating) -I had to stop watching passe pa meg cause it made me toooooo crazy! it would just be like: “I like seeing you laugh” and I was like: *SCREAMS* -im the fucking master of lying 😤 -literally don’t know why isak and even ragging on kosegruppa is so funny but “did you think I joined to have fun” gets me every time -I SAW YOU THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL -also even literally radiating love @ isak watching get snarky w vilde on the phone bc it reminded him of the first time he saw him! even rly is that boyfriend who thinks isak being pissy is the Best Thing he has Ever seen -halla boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiz -literally the glo up of isak telling his friends the order in which he’d bang them -No filter! wow I love symbolism -so nice to see the girls together for a lil bit :) -the boys hyping up mags while also telling him to be respectful awwwwww -take desperate to a whole new level- Confucius -who’s going to show isak how to properly hold a beer can -literally evak banter gets me thru the day. thank u tarjei and henrik for having phenomenal chemistry + improvisation skills + making isak and even the dumbest nerdiest boys i have ever seen -biology partner. and friend. ;-; -even literally is the biggest stoner blease -isak’s talk with eva is just sooooo<3 and not to be emo on main but every single word of the last few sentences he says hit me so gd hard because i feel the exact same way in my BONES -livet er nå 💛

final thoughts :( <3 -this season is so special. it feels like one really long oscar-worthy movie or smth?? i cant even exblain, its just magical. ALSO very dear to my heart. -julie really said you guys have seen isak sad and alone and repressed for the past two seasons so heres him falling in love with the best person in the world and coming to terms with who he is and being brave and opening up and finally being happy and living a real life -this season definitely feels different from s1/2/4 to me editing or production or music smth wise? as in, its got a lot fewer aesthetic shots and the cinematography seems a bit different if that makes any sense???? I also think this is the season most focused just on the main (i.e. not many- if any? sideplots going on) -literally will never get over the thought, love, and detail put into this season. when i say there is literally nothing i would change about it, i mean it and coming from my nitpicky ass??? means a lot lmfao. the acting, directing, music choices, symbolism...... sublime -s3′s cold rainy autumn aesthetic makes me ACHE for fall and also nostalgic for a highschool experience I never had lmao?? also. all the nighttime clips >>> -don’t know what else to say except thank u skam for my life

#take a shot every time i say whew #fully put more effort and time into this than most of my uni projects xx #its super rambly but thats bc its mostly just my direct stream of thought #also super long! and probably still missing things i wanted to say #AND like 3 weeks late fshfjjkdjkfsd #skam #clownfest 2019 #blabbey

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televinita · 7 years ago

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kateschechterxthorwasmyfirstotp replied to post: If you did not watch the last episode, they kind of righted that wrong...

Eh...I read what they tried, but I deemed it Not Good Enough. That was a pretty fundamental betrayal of my deepest shipping principles and too many years apart for me to ever feel okay about them again.

#I have been trying to coherently explain it for like 20 minute and I keep getting bogged down in anger and sadness at the memories so tl;dr: no

EDIT: actually you know what, I am gonna explain it, via copy-pasting the long ass 4-part blog post I made about it the night it aired (I didn’t watch because I was behind on the season, but I hung out in the Tumblr tag and read live reactions), which incidentally was the night after we put my dog to sleep so those two Sadness Memories are wrapped around each other. I always meant to post at least part of it to Tumblr and I regret not doing that.

February 2013

Wednesday: Unedited Ranty Version LOL NOPE BYE. Literally just...not accepting this. Never watching the episode, done with future episodes, the show can just stop here. Unlike with Glee, I am above this. I don't feel it hard enough to be canon, and god, I am so much better for it. Sucks for all the fans who can't just handwave it and decide not to believe. I'm not even going to bother repeating all my Kurt/Blaine rage from last fall, because Sara and Grissom met late enough in life that they aren't in quite the same category of fairytale romance, even if they are soulmates, but -- my anger about relationships losing their magic if you break up in the middle and see other people after finally getting together? So very applicable. (Honestly, show, what happened to them having a marriage that worked for them and no one else needed to understand? Why couldn't you just leave that alone? Why did you have to pick? There was no reason to pick. No picking! /nasally Seinfeld voice.) I'm kind of sorry they already lost their spot in the Top Five All-Time OTPs Kingdom to Kurt and Blaine, because I would have really enjoyed kicking them the fuck out tonight. If I believed this were happening. Which I realized, 5 seconds after writing the above, that I am not. Goodbye, and good luck. Thursday morning (a.k.a. just kidding I’m still mad as hell and back to yell) I like how they keep talking about "implications into next year" and how the story will continue. No, it won't. You've separated them before, a fact I had forgotten about because I refused to watch 9x05 and it was clearly just a pause button on the way to spinny-camera grand reunion kissing as opposed to a real breakup, but there's no way to fix this now. There is no more to the story; you don't get to tell a story after this. Glee already proved to me that there is no way to make a worthwhile arc out of a vile bomb drop. Although I am kind of sorry that this relationship could actually have withstood cheating and it would have been easier to swallow than divorce. Maybe because it still feels like cheating. You're meant to be with someone, you can't have extracurricular people! I have some unfinished business with those first 7 episodes of season 13, and I'm not sure what to do with that -- they were great and I hate to leave them unwritten about, but if I go back there is a slim chance it will get devious like Grey's Anatomy and suck me back in underhandedly, and I'd rather spite myself than give it that opening. So I'm not totally sure if this is the end. But it sure has that really certain Bones Episode #100 level sense of THIS IS UNFORGIVABLE. GAME OVER. Thursday night Reading other people's opinions is always a dumb way to go, because instead of saying my piece and being done, now I'm riled up and feel like I need to FORCE people to understand something they just don't seem to be getting, whether they're being practical and pragmatic or writhing about it in "but they were my first real ship!" angst. (as if they are only a ship, instead of so much more) The thing is, this isn't just a dumb writing choice you can complain about. This isn't even about whether it's in character or not. It is literally. Not. An option. Some couples just aren't allowed to break up. A UST couple that takes more than 5 years to get together is one of them. And once they get married, that's absolutely it. A victory for permanent commitment and contentment. There's no divorce in good storytelling, there are no separations. That lazy nonsense is reserved for books, movies, and silly soap opera types like Grey's Anatomy. Couples like Grissom and Sara, they are foundations. Institutions. When you want to change the look of your house or test out something new, you work with the existing structure. You don't knock it down and build it back up from the floorboards. To be fair, I was always upset by the "long distance marriage" - there was no reason for it; there was never a reason Grissom couldn't be off screen right here in Vegas, teaching at a local university or simply pursuing his own research supplemented with travel when necessary. The longer it went on, the less happy I felt. But since they told us it worked, I put up with it for the joy of having Jorja Fox back on my screen. I see now that was a mistake, and the only way to keep them safe was to push them away. The point is: TPTB broke television law. I can't judge this like other shows as a good or bad direction for the characters, or wonder how it will affect Sara in the upcoming episodes, because they are untouchable. It's honestly laughable that anyone thought it was okay to even try this. Can you imagine if the second X-Files movie followed through on its misdirection and went "lol yeah Mulder and Scully haven't seen each other in 5 years"? I

[2017 edit: FYI I have not stopped being angry about the bitter irony of this comment since the revival spoilers hit.]

If you need more universal examples, that's like tuning in to find out the Brady Bunch has split back up into two separate households, or Disney is going to experiment with a new movie where Minnie elopes with Goofy.

You don't get to pretend you're setting up for a season or two-season arc. This isn't an arc. This is a slash and burn project. Let's pretend, for a minute, that this is planned as an emotionally complex journey that will force them to examine what they mean to each other and get them back together, Costa Rica style, in next year's season finale. Do you think that would be worth it? Do you think the struggle to get there will make the ultimate conclusion heartwarming, fill you with elation as you see them beat all the odds? It will not. It will be long tainted by then, a sour coda to an unfixable mess, because what you had wasn't important enough to preserve. You can't ever get back to what you were, and it's already too late. That is the best case scenario. There are no character motivations to explore. There is nothing to dig into. A death warrant was signed and went up as effectively as a brick wall in stopping the development of this relationship in its tracks. Televinita out. #breakingupwithCSI #I reject your canon and substitute my own Thursday: Post-Essay Messiness Oops. Reading my old reviews because I can't remember GSR's chronology off the top of my head, and...there is no way I'm letting anyone use this as justification for being in character, but this conversation does seem sort of relevant all over again. "Sooner or later a relationship in stasis withers. You get angry. You need more than the safety of knowing that you're not alone." "Then he should've just walked away." "Well, maybe he couldn't. Maybe he needed her to leave him." Apparently I also got kind of angry in the early part of season 9 when Sara left again, and may have threatened to break up with this show at that time? *chagrined look* But 2008 Me seems to have still accepted this as a possible, if highly undesirable, turn for the couple. What changed? And am I crazy, or is it possible to decide neither of the times Sara left were actual breakups as opposed to pause buttons? Oh, that's right. What changed is they got married. I repeat, when it comes to long-running couples on TV, wedding bands are as much a promise to the audience as they are to the people involved. You put a ring on it after proper courtship, that's a universally accepted sign for "you win: permanent freedom from being jerked around for Drama/Conflict/ratings."

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himbowelsh · 8 years ago

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Kitty and Harry for ship meme?

meme my heart away (ACCEPTING)

who hogs the duvet

They’re both absolutely shameless with this. Harry needs to be warm at night, but Kitty gets cold, so they’re both equally demanding. Usually they just wind up snuggled close together under the duvet, absorbing body heat from each other.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Harry knows that Kitty is busy during the day, but… he just likes to check up, you know? Sometimes he just needs to talk to her, so he’ll give her a call. Kitty will pick up no matter what she’s doing, and a quick check-in will turn into a twenty minute long conversation.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

Kitty gets really nice gifts, like vases or flowers or pictures. Practical stuff – she’s the type of friend to get someone a toaster or waffle maker. Meanwhile, Harry comes up with the WEIRDEST things. He gives a lot of joke gifts, but also giant stuffed animals. He once gave Nixon a giant Christmas tree for his birthday – in September.

who gets up first in the morning

They both have a deep love of sleeping in, and are kind of useless in the mornings. If neither of them have anything to do that morning, they’re more than willing to just stay in bed, half-asleep and cuddling each other. Harry runs his fingers down Kitty’s spine while she giggles into his shoulder. Eventually they’ll both sit up, a little more ready to face the day, and start working through each others’ phenomenal curly bedhead.

who suggests new things in bed

Harry is pretty vanilla, actually. It’s Kitty who gets him into the more adventurous stuff (she’s kinky as hell, and teases Harry every chance she gets). The first time she brought out body oil and thigh highs, she was seriously worried Harry was going to have a heart attack.

who cries at movies

They can both wind up a little sniffly over Happy movies, but Harry’s the one who just BAWLS at sad ones. Kitty might tear up, but it’s nothing compared to him.

who gives unprompted massages

Harry loves surprising Kitty with a good, old-fashioned massage. He’s not the best at it, but he can usually get Kitty nice and relaxed after a little work.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Harry has the immune system of a goldfish. Kitty, meanwhile, can fend off colds and flus like a champ, and work through the ones she does have. She never has to worry about catching what Harry’s got, so she loves to dote on him and look after him. (Harry eats it right up, of course.) What really takes Kitty down are her periods – she suffers so much that a lot of times she’s just left bedridden and miserable. Harry is always The Best husband – he gets her chcocolate, massages her stomach, makes sure she has hot compresses and pain meds. He loves getting the chance to “play nurse”.

who gets jealous easiest

Harry is protective of his girl, to be sure, but Kitty has a jealous streak like there’s no tomorrow. She knows Harry would never cheat on her, EVER, but if she sees another girl trying to come on to him she goes on the defensive. Harry kind of likes seeing this side of her come out.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

Kitty non-ironically listens to yodeling. Harry tells her that the next time she tries to put it on in the car, he’s jumping out.

who collects something unusual

Kitty still has a collection of stuffed animals from her teenage years. They went with her to college, and followed her when she moves in with Harry. They live in the back of her closet now (Harry refuses to let them occupy the bed) but anytime Kitty’s upset she might take her favorites out and cuddle them.

who takes the longest to get ready

Hah, is this even a question? Harry can squeeze in an extra nap in the time it takes Kitty to get out of the bathroom. She loves to leave the house looking and feeling great, and accepts nothing less.

who is the most tidy and organised

Harry is kind of a human disaster all over the place? He functions perfectly well even if everything around him is in chaos. Kitty, on the other hand, needs at least some form of organization to keep herself sane. She stress-cleans sometimes, so it’s not that bad picking up after Harry’s mess.

who gets most excited about the holidays

They’re both crazy about the holidays! They get so into it that their friends are always a little worried about them.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

Harry loves to cuddle Kitty, but he loves being cuddled even more. Kitty’s got strong arms and a grip like a toddler with her favorite teddy, so she’s more than happy to hold Harry for however long he wants to be held.

who starts the most arguments

Kitty gets frustrated over a lot of little things, and neither of them are above petty bickering. They go back and forth, however -- usually blips in domestic tranquility are forgotten a few minutes later. The only times that real arguments occur, it’s over something serious. They can never ice each other out for long. They have to talk it out, and even if it takes a while, they’re very good at communicating and working things out.

what couple traditions they have

They cook together! Kitty’s a baker and Harry’s great with actual meals, so they like to try teaching each other how to master each others’ crafts! It’s very playful -- they tease each other, taste test, and flick batter and sauce around. Small food fights aren’t uncommon, but it’s all fun.

what tv shows they watch together

They love funny shows. Friends is one of their classic favorites, but they also enjoy How I Met Your Mother and Seinfeld. Kitty’s also totally into Gilmore Girls (it was the show that defined her youth) and Sex in the City, which Harry teases her for endlessly.

what other couple they hang out with

Winters and Nixon, of course! Kitty’s also formed a kind of weird friendship with Speirs, so he and Lip double date with them a lot. Sometimes it even turns into triple dates with Winnix, which is as wild as it sounds.

how they spend time together as a couple

They’re a very cuddly couple. One of their favorite things to do is just to sit on the couch and snuggle while watching movies or shows. Harry also loves to listen to Kitty sing -- anytime there’s a song she knows on, she can’t help but chime in, and he adores hearing her. (Sometimes he’ll even beatbox, badly, at the most inappropriate times, which never fails to get her to crack up.)

who made the first move

Harry and Kitty met on a bus. Harry literally tripped and landed at Kitty’s feet; they caught each other’s attention instantly, and he spent the rest of the bus ride flirting with her. She was so charmed that she agreed to go out to dinner with him that night, and when he brought her home she kissed him outside her front door.

who brings flowers home

Harry loves romantic stuff like this, and Kitty is just as starry-eyed for it. They’re both dorks.

who is the best cook

Harry is the best actual cook, but he’s been teaching Kitty. One of their favorite things is to work in the kitchen together!

#mY CHILDREN #Anonymous #kitty grogan #harry welsh #THANK YOU I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

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marginalgloss · 7 years ago

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summons to the self

Against Everything is a collection of essays by Mark Greif, most of which were originally published in the journal n+1. I suppose you could describe them as essays in the old sense of the world: they are general in the grand way, non-specific and apparently all-encompassing; the momentary focus on a particular subject is only ever a springboard towards a wider point about the nature of music, or food, or even the Meaning of Life (and that one’s a four-parter).

For Against Everything one might as well read About Everything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that; though I had the sense here, as I often get with broadsheet columnists, that the author is only building a case to support an outcome determined in advance; that they risk nothing in perpetual dialogue with themselves. Which is not to say that this kind of dialectic is without interest: the only risk comes in mistaking one’s own bon mots for profundities.

Greif is an exemplary generalist: you always have the sense that he’s read everything worth reading on any given subject, and that he earnestly wants to tell you something about it without resorting to trickery. He is expressive and emotive without being manipulative. His tone is authoritative without being shocking, so you don’t always notice when his aphorisms take a turn towards the bizarre. His take on exercise, for example, is fairly scathing:

‘Exercise means something other than health to a young person who conceives sexual desirability as the truth about herself most worth defending. And youth is becoming permanent, in the demand that adults keep up an outward show of juvenescence. The body itself becomes the location of sexiness, rather than clothes or wit or charisma. Yet this is probably less true for society — which values personality still — than for the exerciser herself, who imagines an audience that doesn’t exist. Saddest of all is the belief that an improved body will bestow bliss on the unloved.’

There’s a lot to unpack here. The overall argument of this piece is that exercise culture is an unwelcome aberration; gyms are a bizarre ritualised arena in which one of the last private bodily functions is rendered public; keeping fit this way is ‘like a punishment for our liberation…a set of forms of bodily self-regulation that drag the last vestiges of biological life into the light as a social attraction.’ Like all his stuff, it’s well written, and quite funny. And you couldn’t exactly say it’s not true any more than you could say a Seinfeld routine is untrue. The observations are quality.

And yet I read the paragraph above again and my patience begins to slip. The invocation of an imaginary ‘young person’, then ‘society’, then an ‘audience’ — the reader is supposed to know what he’s talking about, I suppose. But who are they? The jibe about ‘the truth…most worth defending’ is contemptuous in that special way that suggests the author is privy to the real order of truth in her world.

It’s arch, this writing, and it deals in generalisations and simplifications, if only because those things are essential to the generalist. Is he right? I don’t know. Not always, perhaps: was there ever a time when ‘the body’ (whatever that is) wasn’t the location of sexiness (whatever that is); is it really the case that society ‘values personality’? And if that audience for the anxious young woman doesn’t exist, who is it that the author is talking about when he refers to ‘society’?

Perhaps I am being pedantic. But I don’t want to be unfair because I think his point about the ‘outward show of juvenescence’ is well made here, as it is in another essay about the way in which popular culture exemplifies the bodies of young children as the ultimate ideal. He’s perceptive; again, he’s difficult to disagree with, like a poet, or a very good advertising copywriter. But it may be that he is difficult to disagree with because his observations don’t amount to much in particular. And for every well-turned paragraph in this collection, there are two or three which leave me tripping over myself.

Sometimes the author seems to have had the same response to his own work, and there are several addenda here which clarify or even modify conclusions reached years ago. It’s perhaps for the best, for example, that he quietly revises his opinion that it was somehow important for him to start learning to rap since Obama came to the Presidency (‘…it doesn’t sound good to ask what practicing Slick Rick’s “La Di Da Di” had to do with the first American president of African descent…’).

Actually his essay on rap music is pretty good; despite the author’s puzzlingly literal approach to reading lyrics, there’s some memorable stuff here about the contrasts between gangster rap and white indie music trends in the 90s as being also about a vision of unashamedly aspirational capitalism versus conspicuous ethical consumption; the former built out of necessity, the latter only surviving through the nourishment of a century of accumulated middle-class capital.

Would it be a better essay if it were only about that stuff? Perhaps: though I can’t say I didn’t get a kick out of the story of Greif’s own attempts to rap along with his favourite records on the bus, while covering his mouth to avoid embarrassment and skipping the parts a white man shouldn’t really be caught singing. But how strange that all this should be wrapped up together with the stuff that is actually about the music.

Perhaps that is what writing is now; perhaps readers won’t accept writing about rap music (or anything else) if it isn’t accompanied by the sideshow of a little author living his own little life amongst the text. And that’s fine, I think. It’s probably even good. But combining this with an approach that attempts to wholly encompass a subject that is inherently complex, varied and contradictory as rap music — that seems somewhat over-ambitious.

The best and worst of the writing here comes in the essays which deal with the problem of how to live. The author is adept at pinpointing the causes of contemporary dissatisfaction: we fall into the gap between early promised happiness and total freedom of opportunity towards the disappointing reality of specialisation, mediocrity, and a general deficiency of all the worldly pleasures we’re told we ought to be enjoying.

His suggested remedy is a combination of aestheticism (seeing everything in life as if it were a work of art) and perfectionism (not as the word is commonly misused, but in terms of weighing everything one might encounter as if it were an ‘example’ of how one should or should not live). ‘Perfectionism thus makes experience total, not by viewing outside people and things as art, but by feeling how each directs its summons to your self, and letting it enter and the self respond,’ he writes. I am not sure this entirely helps, but there you go.

It seems to have taken a year between the writing of that essay and the next instalment on The Meaning of Life for the author to realise that perhaps not everyone might not be able to observe the machinations of their own feelings in this way. Or rather: what if the ‘summons to the self’ is rendered as ‘piercing, grating, intrusive…it is a scourge. All you wish for is some means to reduce the feeling.’

The subsequent reflections on the ‘anaesthetic’ solutions to this problem of the scourge of existence are described as if they were literally anti-aesthetic: a reaction against the excess of stimuli that daily life brings. Greif’s catalogue of solutions is broad, wandering, digressive: it ranges from Epictetus and the Stoic philosophers, to campus stoners, to the difference between tragic representation in ancient times and the omnipresent tragedies of our current era. I like this very precise distillation of what it is like to watch a human being actually beheaded on video:

‘…The first showing of the video is bad. The second, fifth, tenth, hundredth, are — like one’s own experiences — retained, recountable, real, and yet dreamlike. Some describe the repetition as “numbing”. “Numbing” is very imprecise. I think the feeling, finally, is something like envelopment and even satisfaction at having endured the worst without quite caring or being tormented. It is the paradoxically calm satisfaction of having been enveloped in a weak or placid “real” that another person endured as the worst experience imaginable, in his personal frenzy, fear, and desperation, which we view from outside as the simple occurrence of death.’

All of this is very true, I think. But as ever with these essays, I’m left with little idea of what the author thinks the reader ought to do with this information. Is the general surfeit of this kind of media what’s making us depressed? Why can we not aestheticise the murder video? Why can’t it be another ‘summons to the self’ that is turned away, as not being a model on which to live?

No modification to the earlier argument can be suggested because already the author is off tilting at the next windmill. These essays are trapped in the same mindset that considers the person watching the video as if they were only interesting as an example of their type. The essay holds that person — that example of a person — at a distance. It uses them for whatever point that needs to be made; and then it leaves them behind. Fine: it isn’t really about the example of what that one person felt, watching the horrid video, any more than it is about the woman who had to exercise. But what is it about?

#books #mark greif #against everything

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rauliskafan · 8 years ago

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“Come to your senses...”

Author’s Note: Happy SVU Day, one and all!!! So... this story is something a little different for me, a Jon/Reader fic inspired by both a dream and some real life drama. Most importantly, it is dedicated to my amazing writing partner and friend, @vintagemichelle91, who has been a ray of sunshine and so many rainbows during a rough patch and always makes me believe in brighter days ahead!!!

It was hardly an apartment; better to call in an over sized mouse trap where the rodents always won, a sauna with steam in all the wrong places, a loft for your downstairs neighbor who only owned one CD and played the same song in an infinite loop all night long, night after night, until you swore you’d require a strait jacket come morning. But at least it was yours, a place to hang your hat after mornings waitressing, afternoons auditioning, and evenings playing piano in a dive bar between poetry readings and attempts at stand-up comedy. More than once you were almost fired when you laughed at the wordsmiths dealing in prose instead of puns. Better to bite your tongue to pay the bills.

Then the one two punch. The diner changed hands. It was as if your life literally became the Seinfeld episode where Monk’s was suddenly staffed by nothing but the bustiest of waitresses. You weren’t family, and you didn’t fit that bill. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world. If you still had the ivories to tickle.

Next the bar went under.

No laughing matter. No way you could stay in the city any longer. Not even in the closet you called your home. Only thing left to do was pack up and head to Jersey, to stay with your sister who kept insanely fit and taught other people to live the same way. Of course, that meant a domain where carbohydrates were contraband, and if she caught you with so much as a slice of pizza, she had no compunctions about dressing your down in front of her current boyfriend until you felt so small, so worthless, so---

“Hey.”

And Jon kept calling. Over and over again he had offered you his sofa before you crossed the GWB for this alternate reality. The guy was sweet, fun to have a meal with now and then, a few drinks… to watch a movie and fall asleep under the same blanket... It made you want for more. He never gave you any indication he felt anything close to the same way, and the last thing you needed was another complication. Easier to turn him down, to think on what might have been on sleepless nights in your sister’s spare room. Where you had to make do with memories if and when your craved a midnight snack. Or him.

“Are you listening to me?”

Snapped from your reverie by the sound of his voice humming through the other end of the line, you smiled shyly. Why? It wasn’t as if he could see you. Just the effect that he had...

“I’m listening now,” you murmured, lowering your lashes when he laughed, picturing his broad smile under the wide green eyes that always seemed to see neighbors, sidewalks, buses as if for the first time. Always inspiring him. How did he manage that much? How many times had you wanted to borrow some unseen pair of rose-colored glasses crafted in the confines of his heart? Would they fit your face and help your gaze?

“Glad I have your attention,” he said. “I want to see you.”

“I… I don’t know,” you said, realizing you were picking at the pink nail polish already fading from your free hand.

“What don’t you know?” he challenged, almost echoed. “Don’t you miss me?”

“I… sure,” you confessed, one nail now completely devoid of polish. You brought the offending finger to your lips to nibble on the empty, lonely extremity. “Not a whole hell of a lot to do out here.”

“Big sister doesn’t have you running ten miles a day?” he asked.

“Like I can even think about that when I’m wasting away to nothing.”

“Which is something I’m going to correct,” Jon said. “Look, I’m in your neck of the woods to go to this family thing.”

“Please don’t ask me to be your date,” you weakly begged.

“Baby, you’re my excuse to cut out early.”

“So you’re just using me to flee your family,” you teased, unable to even ape angry as you kept listening to his mellifluous tones.

“Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours,” he said. “Come on. I… I really miss you.”

In the end that was all he had to say. Yes you missed the city, yes you missed your freedom, and yes you missed disco fries and pizza with ham and peppers and onions all at once. But you missed him most of all.

“Fine, Scarecrow,” you said.

“Scarecrow? What do you… oh. I get it.”

Because of course he did. And it made your heart skip a beat or twelve when he read your mind.

“Wear some red shoes for me,” he said.

“I don’t know if I have any,” you shot back.

“Then just be there.”

“Where?” you asked.

“I… I’ll come to your sister’s place or---”

“No,” you said, quickly cutting him off. “I’m not at my best… I… I don’t feel like myself here.”

Jon was silent, your nail threatening to come off between your teeth as you awaited the return of his voice.

“That’s why I wanted you to…”

“Stay?” you whispered.

If he could read your mind, you could finish his sentences. So many people in the world would have called that a reason to take him up on his proposal, to take stock of where you were and where it could have gone. Such was the plot of a show he would someday surely write.

“I’ll say it again; would have been so bad?”

But you were afraid of reaching the last line of text and having the bottom fall out from under you when you were barely standing on such shaky ground.

“It’s a moot point now,” you muttered, finally biting off the nail, painting your pale skin with a burst of blood. No pain; it didn’t even make you wince.

“So you said,” he responded. “Well…”

Shit! Was he going to call the whole thing off, see it as a waste of time and not come around at all? Taking a sharp breath, you were ready to tell him that your refusal to call him roommate never meant that you didn’t care.

Please still come, Johnny.

At least for lunch. To give you something to look forward to at the end of another long and boring and utterly miserable---

“I guess I’ll see you Saturday,”he said. “Wherever you want to meet.”

A wave of relief washed over you.

“I… yeah. There’s like a diner in the center of town.”

“Had to pick a diner, right?” he joked.

“You’ll be in your element.” But not really. Not when he truly belonged among the clouds and the stars in the sky.

“Sounds good. Just let me know the address.”

Jon ended the call. Suddenly your nail hurt. But as you washed and bandaged the cut of your own design, you couldn’t keep from grinning. He was coming. And it allowed you to feel so many things. First and foremost hope.

Until Saturday. Until the late lunch hour came and went, and he was nowhere to be found. Trying to call him got you nothing but his outgoing message, the sound of his voice providing little to no comfort until you couldn’t bear to listen any longer. Finishing your fourth cup of coffee and feeling jittery, you felt certain that you could beat your sister in a footrace and keep running to the ends of the earth. Not necessarily a good thing. Because when the high wore off, as it would, no one would be there to catch you. Especially not Jon. This was why you didn’t agree to live with him. For all his flowery words and declarations that he only wanted to see you smile, the man was not to be counted on. Definitely not in a pinch. Never ever in the day-to-day. The man was like the city, an enticing facade with empty rooms and no thought for the future. Free from that trap, you paid for the coffee and dashed out to the parking lot. Ready to walk away, you were startled by the feel of a set of fingers curling around your elbow.

“Hey! Where are you running away---?”

“Where the hell have you been?” you demanded.

“I… the party.”

“That you never even wanted to fucking go to in the first place,” you practically snarled as you tried to pull away from him. But his hold tightened, and you found yourself pressed so close to his chest. The feel of his heart pounding thrummed against yours, and Jon’s green eyes narrowed, his lips falling into the frown that simply did not suit him as you relaxed in his hold and hung your head.

“Party started late,” he said.

“And you couldn’t call?” you asked, now avoiding his eyes.

“My phone died.”

That made you laugh. You pictured him so consumed with a composition that he neglected to charge the device before leaving the city for parts unknown. And he probably didn’t know your number. Truth be told, you did not know his either. Just his name, his face from a pic in Central Park that you tapped when your nails were in far better shape to hear his voice in the hope that you would see him soon. See him smile…

“You probably didn’t want to come at all.”

“Stop that,” he ordered, forcing your stare to his as your eyes filled with tears. Shaking his head, he brought your chin to his shoulder so you could savor his warmth and the feel of his arms folding around you. Jon let you linger in his embrace for seconds that felt like hours, that felt like home. Then, slowly, he eased you away, never leaving your eyes with his jaw still tight.

“The party was an excuse. I came here to see you. To find you.”

“And you find me a mess,” you said. “Don’t you wish you’d stayed at the party?”

“No, Would you believe it was dry?”

“Come again?” you asked.

“My cousin… she doesn’t drink. So no one can.”

“That’s just cruel,” you said.

“Like your sister,” he replied. Somehow you managed a giggle and mentioned a bar two blocks down.

“Come with me and I’ll…”

Your voice caught in your throat in a mass of hiccups, and you felt yourself ready to break down when he held you again. His fingers trailed up and down your back, and you were weeping out in the open until his lips met your ear.

“Are we getting a drink?” he asked. “We need a drink.”

The bar beckoned. Linking your arm in his, you started to walk. Jon’s eyes sparkled as strollers and bicycles rolled across the pavement.

“What?” he asked.

“I know that look. You’re already writing a song in your head.”

“See you know me so well,” he said. “No reason that we should fight.”

“No. But…”

Not wanting to break the spell, your mind already raced to the fact that every second with him was a second closer to no longer having him this near. Pushing those thoughts from your mind, you kept moving, loving the feel of his arm curling around yours when Jon stopped short.

“Open House,” he said reading the sign before an old Victorian structure painted yellow with pink shutters and a wraparound porch. The only thing missing was a swing and two people…

“Let’s keep going,” you said.

“Why?” he asked. “We could take a look inside.”

“Johnny… why?” you asked. “It’s not like I can buy it.”

“And I’m sweating how I’m going to pay for our drinks. Come on.”

Reluctantly, you let him lead you up the steps to a grand foyer with high ceilings. Stained glass sparkled in the light, and Jon stood in a wave of colors as a woman with a tight blonde bun wearing a blue suit approached.

“Well hello there!” she started. “And who might you be?”

No one special almost trickled off of the tip of your tongue when Jon extended his hand.

“Jon Stephens,” he said, white lying, using his idol’s name while giving you a wink. “Author of Superbia? You know.”

The realtor’s face drew a complete blank, and when you saw her struggling to make the connection, you patted Jon’s cheek and tossed back a lock of your hair.

“Darling, don’t be a boorish snob,” you said, affecting your voice and nuzzling his cheek. “We’re need to focus on finding a summer place, remember?”.

“Quite right; let’s take a look around.”

The poor blonde backed away, and you took hold of Jon’s arm again, moving from the foyer to a room with a grand piano and little else save for the sunshine. Only when you were sure that you were out of anyone’s earshot did you turn back to face him.

“What was that about?” you asked.

“What?” he challenged. “Having some fun.”

“You were pretending.”

“That’s what I do.”

“But I… I can’t do that anymore.”

Leaving his side and slumping on the piano bench, the reality of your situation smacked you across the face. You could never afford a house like this. You couldn’t make keep up with the closet. But maybe you had to start thinking towards something like what your sister had, the modest Cape Cod and the job with benefits, a pension, a---

“Yes, you can.”

Winding one arm under yours, Jon’s arm surrounded your waist as his long fingers reached for the piano keys, and he played a simple tune that did indeed make you smile.

“Over the Rainbow,” you said.

“In my version Dorothy never has to leave the Scarecrow,” he said. “Baby…”

His voice trailed off for a few seconds, and you held your breath as he cupped your chin in his large hand.

“Jon, I---”

“Don’t say pretend like it’s a bad thing,” he started. “It’s hoping. It’s…”

His speech came to a halt as he finished Dorothy’s ode to everything and everywhere she wanted to be. On the last note, he looked into your eyes and pressed his head to yours.

“Don’t shut yourself off from what you want most. I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m not easy.”

“But?” you prompted him, daring to dream, to hope...

“But let go and imagine with me. I’m good company. If you’re game.”

You let your fingers, damaged nail and all, slide over his skin to start the song up again. Only a few notes and you left the bench with a heavy sigh. Almost immediately, Jon was at your back, his hands on your arms.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I…”

You swallowed hard. It was scary to say out loud.

“I… I want you to take me home, Johnny,” you said. “Your place. Your world. Can... can we go right now?”

His smile made your knees buckle. Good thing that he lifted you up and spun you around in the room made magical by so many rainbows.

Scary to say out loud. Even scarier to go it alone.

Now you wouldn’t have to know what that felt like.

#raul esparza #tick tick boom #vintagemichelle91 #because she makes me smile

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davidfostercomedyblog · 6 years ago

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The Time I Bombed Trying to Open for Peter Frampton

“What happens if nobody laughs?” people ask.

“Nothing,” I tell them. “Literally, nothing happens.” No one is laughing or doing much of anything. Maybe self-loathing personified decides to occasionally kick the weak when he’s down in the form of a heckle or boo, but other than that nothing happens.

Internally, everything is happening. Thoughts race, feelings emerge, issues of anger and/or insecurity come to the forefront or recede deeper into our subconscious, per our choice of response to each varying degree of disappointment. Our feelings likely run the same gamut as those of all human beings off stage in any realization of failure on display. It’s the worst.

Call it what you will: Sucking, tanking, going down in flames, it all means the same thing. Eating my dick, seems to be the latest contemporary slang for a failed set, which I can only speculate refers to its being an awfully pathetic act of self-abuse that each of us least wants to do. Most universally it is known as bombing, another etymology I can only speculate as suggestive of the unanimous death in the room resembling that of a small village after being hit with a bomb. The crowd is “dead” - not in the good way; but devoid of energy, and their lack of joy has returned the favor to the comedian, his ego and confidence. Everyone is checked out and gone, said void filled either with judgment, sympathy or disgust.

Everyone bombs. Every comic you’ve ever seen, as well as just about every bit you’ve ever busted a gut laughing at, has bombed at some point en route to the marriage of its perfection meeting the crowd primed to appreciate it. The construction of a bit, whether long and ranty or a short one liner, is like the evolution of a barber’s haircut drawn out over weeks, months or years in a barber’s chair set on a city sidewalk for people from all walks of life and mentalities to walk by at all different times throughout its development to voice their opinion, as if it were finished. Of course, we’ve all had our hair cut hundreds of times, and thus all are aware that if we see the man with the clippers still looming over a funny looking “do,” there is still work to be done; whereas comics don’t get such a pass. Every audience assumes and expects, understandably, that they are receiving a finished product. I paid to see a show.Give me “your show.” Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that. Wedo not work like that. It’d be nice if we could – trust that we wish as much as you do for our bits to be completed fresh off the notebook. But a bit is not a bit until it’s been worked out many times in experimentation of how it impacts others. Like skateboarders have to try new and increasingly difficult tricks to become great, we must constantly work out new material, often crashing and burning, breaking our pride, dislocating our energies, getting bruised in the process. So while all art forms are attempting to connect and create a dynamic with its recipients, ours is one where immediate connection wholly defines it. We have to see and feel how it is received, and then based on the quantity and quality of the people in that room we can begin to determine how we can improve. It is a long term, polygamous relationship in which you probably only get to fuck us once. Sorry. We’re whores; whores who are required to be always adding to our repertoire if we wish to grow.

For all intents and purposes, each crowd as they exist takes on the mindset of one individual. A blind date, if you will. Some start awkwardly, but turn great once the ice is broken. Others start wonderfully but hit a mutual wall of disappointment that leaves both parties considering removing their online dating profiles as soon as they get home. Some dates are downright awful the whole time, some are so good they lead to the bedroom that night, and/or to the altar eventually.

For a new/young comic, bombs feel pretty similar to what laypeople might imagine them to (this is logical, as the brand new comic is still very much a layperson). It’s humiliating, with every joke being thrown out more desperately from their heels like Apollo Creed going inevitably down in flames against the Russian. Like a rookie baseball player in the first week of the season who is so far 1/10, his sample size is still minute. He boasts an embarrassing .100 average, which over a full year would get anyone sent down to the minors. What’s important to keep in mind is there are still 25 weeks left in the season.

The veteran comic, by contrast, has had between 5-10,000 at bats. Sure, he’s struck out, popped out, and hit into double plays nearly 2,000 times, but he’s batting .800 career, for Christ’s sake. He’s good. He knows he’s good, and everyone in “the league” who’s been around for any respectable amount of time knows he is never in danger of being sent down to the minors. He is mostly unfazed by your silence, comfortable in taking his time to think how best to respond to your heckles. Laughter need not come tonight, as it has already come countless times before, and is sure to come again tomorrow or the next night. So, although bad sets still exist as disappointing missed opportunities to connect and enjoy, they eventually taste, digest, and come out the other side much differently through a vessel of greater information, confidence and awareness. Blame, if it exists at all, turns more outward than inward, and the significance of each set diminishes as it becomes a smaller mathematical part of his lifetime batting average.

We never saw Jerry have a great set on Seinfeld. We heard about great sets and could assume they made up the majority of his track record, as his character was a professional comedian who’d appeared on The Tonight Show. Surely this was no amateur; but he and Larry David both knew that if a live set was to appear in an episode it had to go poorly, because failure is funny.

Watch any sitcom, movie, or any comic on stage. Misfortune and disappointment are the integral themes of every joke, as everyone knows there is no humor in great wealth, good looks, a level-headed peace of mind, or getting the girl, performing immaculately in bed and manifesting the perfect marriage. The only thing funny about that is how apparently unrealistic it is for most. This calls back to the reality that there is nothing at all ironic about comedians’ ultimate embrace of misery or symptoms of depression. Spare us the praise for “finding the humor in bad situations,” as bad situations are the actually the only places to find humor, and there is also a part of us that loves to laugh at the suffering of others.

Unfortunately, my mother and cousin were present for one of the most explosive bombs of my career. I’d gotten booked for a $500 feature spot at a theater in Englewood, Jersey, an unheard of gig for such a young comic. What was the catch?

“The catch,” which was not intentional, was that I was opening for a nationally famous musician who I was apparently a jerk for having never heard of: Peter Frampton, a legend in many circles, one of which would surely fill the theater, a demographic of mostly blue-collared, middle-aged, white biker types from middle and southern New Jersey. Guys whose middle school manifestations hated mine for being an honors class pussy with parents who loved him. Guys whose adult manifestations hated mine for being a hip hop, wanna-be, dumb “wigger.” It was quite possible I was not the right man for this job.

I researched Frampton before the show and became acutely aware that I couldn’t do the same jokes I’d been doing in the Bronx. Still in only my embryonic stage of development, I felt a bit dishonest telling the booker that 20 minutes would be “no problem.” I figured it might be a stretch and/or problem, but my 26-year old brain existed mostly between an admirable confidence and delusional arrogance that I could do anything, at least on one given night. Any given Sunday, as they say,not to mention that no comedian is ever going to turn down a challenge or money, let alone a coincidence of the two. And it wasa Sunday! As Mom and cousin were coming from opposite directions than I from the city, the plan was to meet after my set and go out for dinner to celebrate (mourn).

I waited alone backstage, Frampton nowhere in sight. I wore the only outfit I owned that didn’t obviously scream Hip Hop. A removal of my crooked baseball cap, slightly less baggy jeans, and a sweater instead of a hoody, although it was still Polo, with sleeves longer than my arms, much baggier than anything anyone in the building had ever owned in their life, truly a pathetic attempt. I looked like a white guy trying to look black trying to look white.

A disturbing calm came over me just before preparing to go on stage. While excessive nerves should be tamed with positive thought, breathing or whatever works for you, a complete absence of nerves is never a good sign either. A healthy amount of adrenaline beforehand is more than just normal, but almost necessary to do well. Personally, I’ve never had a good set drunk, as alcohol induces a very organic physiological apathy, which in spite of wanting to care very much, makes it impossible to connect with one’s listeners. On the other hand, the experience of nerves mean you care enough to calculate, think on your toes, and ironically, that you believe you can do it. In hindsight of my Frampton experience, I may have been intuitively precognitive that this was all wrong, and beyond some unforeseeable miracle there was no way it could go well.

The external situation was poorly set to boot. The crowd filling the venue was not made aware of any opening comedian. Stand-up is a relationship, and like any good relationship requires active listening, a different frequency and demand than music, which can be more passive and discontinuous. Inexperienced show producers classically make this mistake. They want to mesh two of their favorite things, comedy and music, in hopes of the result being greater than the sum of its parts. Sadly, this usually works about as well as George Costanza’s attempt to combine sex with watching sports and eating his favorite sandwich. Add to that the fact that the crowd was geared up for one of their very faves of all time, and Unknown Joke-teller is given a steep hill to climb.

As I stood behind the curtains with the stage director dividing his time and manic energy between whoever was giving direction into his headphones and tending to me, coordination seemed disheveled. I knew I’d be going on soon, but figured it would be after some kind of introduction to a dark room of seated people.

The house lights were still on. People were filing into their seats and there was no host or announcement over any speaker, when suddenly the stage director nudged my shoulder: “Go, go, you gotta go!”

“Right now? Just go and… What?”

“Yes!” he panicked. “We gotta get you off by 8:20, go!”

Little did he know this set wouldn’t make it anywhere close to 8:20.

I felt as naked and alone on the stage as laypeople imagine we feel.

“Hey, hey,” I weakly greeted them with the assertiveness of the guy who knows he has no chance with the girl.

“Take your seats, everyone.” I felt compelled to instruct them to where I desperately wished they already were.

God, the room was bright, and I could see them all. As nobody knew as much, and I didn’t know any better creatively, I dutifully informed them: “I am… a comedian – just here to tell you some… jokes, before the great, Peter Frampton comes out.”

A lone cheer in the distance for Frampton… people were still filing in. It’s never a good sign when you feel the need to practically apologize for your presence on stage or explain what you’ll be doing.“

“Take your seats, take your seats,”I continued.

I had nothing. No segue, no idea of where to begin, not an ounce of confidence in my pubescent well of material or the experience to improvise through such unexplored terrain. It was unlike any setting I’d yet been thrust into, and as feared, I was unqualified for the job.

I tried a since retired mediocre joke and got nothing. I tried two or three more of the same and got even less. Most of my stronger bits were geared more to the Bronx and urban crowds, and I hadn’t yet really learned how to write more universal material. As the lights finally went out in the house, the proverbial lights were going out on my set. Three strikes on stage are usually enough to acknowledge that you’re out.

“Alright,” I acknowledged the elephant in the room: “you guys obviously weren’t feeling those jokes…”

It was awful. I was rapidly dying, and like that quick realization of being physically overmatched in a fight, I had no idea how to get out of the stranglehold. I’ve got nothing for these people.

Disdain is as contagious as laughter, and the sentiment in the room became quickly unanimous. I can’t recall whether the first boo or heckle came first, but one surely immediately followed the other. It is rare for most humans to mature much past mob mentality, so once the green light is given for any animalistic behavior, it tends to snowball. It couldn’t have been much past 8:10 when the theater-filled boo’s looked and sounded no different than the notoriously disapproving Apollo Theater. They grew louder and more expansive. Finally someone started the perfectly two-syllabled “Frampton” chant, and although I had not yet been given the official signal to exit, this Monty Python-esq tirade was clearly demanding my time was up.

I thought of the show bookers sitting in the crowd. I thought again of my mom and cousin, and wondered where in the crowd they were sitting. Might they have been seated next to one of the loudest, most vicious hecklers in the room? Might they have beenthe loudest, most vicious hecklers in the room?

“Frampton” chants poured down like rotten tomatoes, and finally I couldn’t help but laugh at the scenario (at least one of us could amuse the other). Although I don’t remember myself ever booing someone off stage, I surely have silently done so in my mind, and been “that guy” in the stadium at sports events and had a blast every time. I knew the show was a bad situation to begin with, and the blame wasn’t entirely mine. I felt okay. However, as soon as I decided to hopelessly join in the “Frampton” chant into the mic, I knew my time was up.

I exited just before 8:15. The stage manager offered me a pat on the shoulder and an apology, handing me the least deserved $500 I’ve ever been given in my life. In fairness, there would be literally thousands more instances I’d earn $20 or even $0 in exchange for performances worth at least $500. Like accidental squibbed base hits in baseball, the good luck balances out with how often we get shafted.

I went backstage and quickly grabbed my things. Frampton wasn’t there, thank God. I’ve never so badly wanted to avoid meeting a celebrity. Is he even here yet? Who cares…

I snuck out the backdoor, praying not to see anyone who’d been in the theater. I wished I could change back into Clark Kent (or backinto Superman). Suddenly, I was 17-years old again, attempting to dart stealthily away from a wall I’d just covered in graffiti. My walk transformed into a scamper to go meet my mommy.

I heard a voice in the quiet suburban distance, a man outside the theater on his cell phone: “No, yeah, he still hasn’t gone on yet. Some comedian...” A pause, then a chuckle: “Poor. Very, very poor.” Of course I believed him, and felt bad about myself.

I called Mom and told her to leave – that I would not meet them in the lobby per the original plan. She understood. We sat down in the restaurant and Mom looked at me: “Those people were horrible! So rude! I’ve never seen anything like that!”Moms are the best.

I never heard from the booking company again. I think they shortly thereafter folded tent on the showbiz pursuit, returning back to the more stable world of high finance, their original trade. Is it possible my brightly lit expiration drained all of their hopes for success or belief in ability to spot talent, and I’d single-handedly shut down an entire company in just 15 minutes of bad jokes?

Although I’d been “wrongly cast” and the situation was poor, it left an awfully sour taste in my mouth. In typical human fashion, I chose to transform my inner sadness around it into outward anger and labeled the experience as (all) white people prejudging me, which caused me to hate them in return. I made the decision that my humor was not for white crowds, as they could not appreciate or understand me, in spite of the fact that this was a very specific kind of white crowd and I’d still only boasted a microscopic sample size. Apparently I learned how easily one can become racist: No more than a pinch of experience and a dash of maturity with a huge helping of rejection, and the broad strokes flow in excess. The fact is I’d just been a newbie in way over my head, still without the tools or experience to handle the curve balls, obstacles, and bullshit that come to comedians on a regular basis. As we finished our Chinese food and drove from the suburbs of Englewood, New Jersey over the bridge into Washington Heights where I lived, I thought it to be symbolic. I was back home, back amongst “my people,” ironically I suppose. I was done with suburban, white shows. I just didn’t want to feel that way anymore.

Sorry, Pete.

#peter frampton #comedy bomb #stand up comedy

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canaryatlaw · 4 years ago

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OKAY. so today was a lot but I'm going to attempt to not let this be too long because it's already late and I am sleepy. I had set my alarm for 6 am originally, because that's what my wake up time for going into the office on clinic days was, but I rolled over at like 5:36 and was like mmm nah I don't need to be there that early so I changed it to 6:30, which was definitely a good move because I did still get there super early. back on the bus for the first time, it wasn't bad, though trying to stuff a poptart in my mouth while wearing a mask presented unique challenges. The train was significantly less crowded thank GOD, pre-pandemic it was an absolute nightmare literally packed to the brim with people and it was typical for 2-3 trains to come and go before you can get one to squeeze onto (if you're lucky enough to have the doors stop in front of you so you're actually the person who can squeeze on) so I don't miss that at all. the seats are in sets of 2 though and it seemed like an unspoken rule that it was only one person per row and others were standing, but it wasn't bad. once I got to the courthouse did I hit the real trouble, though I will say I'm not nearly as irritated about it now as I was then. Basically, since I'd last been in the office (which was last September), they required all staff members to have ID badges to get in the building. since I hadn't been there, mine was sitting on my desk on my office. the sheriff's were immediately in my face about it, one of them had me pull down my mask and was like "I don't recognize your face" and they initially let me in to come back with my staff ID, but then our office was locked, and my key for the door was also sitting on my desk, so at that point they had me wait in the lobby until our other office person came in (since there were only two of us) so they could unlock the office and I could get the ID, which I was. And I was pretty annoyed at the time, but when I went back to show it to them they were somewhat apologetic and I said I understood, they were just doing their jobs (thinking I sometimes also have to piss people off to do my job so I can relate, but I didn't say that part out loud, lol). So minor annoyance lately, no real harm done. It was nice seeing the staff I hadn't seen in months and have just been talking to on the phone, and of course the people who I'm actually friends with who can be very valuable allies when I need a favor done and I'm just getting stonewalled by whatever douche was trying to say something stupid. the day itself wasn't bad, mostly just running around with clinic stuff. we did have to give up on my motion from yesterday, just because the language in the statute unfortunately wasn't as broad as we had hoped (because it said "court holiday" which weekends don't count for, even though they're days court is not in session) so we have to restart everything from the beginning on that case, which is going to be annoying but I happen to really like this client (she's a few years older than me and I like, want to be actual friends with her haha) so we'll figure that part out. we didn't end up filing anything, but got 3 cases queued up for tomorrow to be filed in the morning, so I'll be busy with that. one of them is a former client of mine who I feel very protective over ever since she called me during an incident where R was trying to break down her door....so I'm going to step up and "lawyer" for her hearing, which just means that I'm asking her questions instead of the judge, it's nothing big but it allows us to control the narrative and explain things we think otherwise may have been seen as issues, though I don't anticipate that being an issue here, it's a pretty black and white case. anyway. my coworker ran and got us mcdonalds for lunch, so that was nice. I ordered the components of the BTS meal, which is just on the menu as a normal meal haha and it's not like I could have either of the special sauces so it doesn't really matter, I just like nuggets, fries and a coke haha. but yeah, things slowed down by the end of the day,

and I headed out around 5. the commute home was better too, definitely took less time (like an hour instead of an hour and a half or more) so that was nice. we were initially going to record for the podcast tonight but ended up bumping it till Thursday, which was good because I didn't really want to do anything tonight after being out all day. so I made some food, then watched The Flash and Superman and Lois, then just left the tv on the CW for the Drew Barrymore show that plays after and it's pretty cute, haha. at 10 it switched over to Seinfeld, so I watched an episode of that, then cut over to Jimmy Kimmel when his show started. He had Tom Hiddleston on it about the new Loki show, so that was entertaining. and yeah, after a bit I went to shower and start getting ready for bed, and now I'm here and it's almost 2 am, and I do have stuff to get done in the morning (though I'm glad I can sleep in a bit longer than today) so I will wrap this up here. Goodnight babes. Sleep well.

#daily journal #June 2021

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businessliveme · 5 years ago

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Travel Tips From a Rock Star Who Flies 500,000 Miles a Year

(Bloomberg) –Alison Mosshart is a member of not one but two rock groups: She’s long been lead singer of the Kills, next to Jamie Hince, and is also part of the Jack White-led supergroup the Dead Weather. Mosshart is also an accomplished artist and author.

Her latest project combines many of those passions: a multimedia book, CAR MA. The 500-copy limited edition sold out earlier this summer, so Mosshart is re-releasing it just in time for Christmas. The love letter to autos is a fitting work from the daughter of a car dealer. “It’s all about traveling and being on the road and automobiles and art and music. It’s my life in a book, really.”

When she’s touring, Mosshart can log up to 500,000 miles in the air each year; when she’s not working, she merely flies between her homes in Los Angeles and Nashville. “I always keep my plane tickets, and we just finished a three-year tour last November, so I came home and they were piled literally up to my knees,” she says. “I keep them all in cigar boxes, and I have tons of them—though now they use that weird laser print; like receipts, they just vanish. So I’m going to have no record of where I’ve been.”

Read: Angelina Jolie’s ‘Maleficent’ Fails to Match Its Predecessor in Weekend Debut

The only supplement you need when it’s hard to eat healthfully on the road …

Green Vibrance supports you living your best vampire life. An artist friend of mine, Dana Louise Kirkpatrick, suggested this stuff to me. I was at a Shepard Fairey exhibition with her in L.A., and I was just destroyed from touring. Food situations can be difficult when you’re on the road and on planes, or trying to get dinner in towns where everything closes before you get off stage. It’s easy to go days without a decent healthy meal. If I have a packet of this a day, I’ll get more bang for my buck, vitamin- and mineral-wise … a fighting chance of not becoming gray and malnourished.

… but pair it with this vitamin, and Mosshart swears you’ll never get travel-sick again.

Berocca is an all-purpose wonder disk, an orange, fizzy, vitamin C frisbee. I lived in London for a long time, and I started seeing a [doctor] and, he was, like, “You know what, Alison? You really should drink this every day.” I was 25, and he said if I did that I��d never get sick. That was an overstatement, but [15 years later] I rarely, rarely, rarely get sick. He was on to something. It’s great for hangovers and combating fatigue. I take it with sparkling water because then it’s twice as fizzy. And it’s great to mix with tequila and soda water, too, if you feel like being healthy and having fun at the same time. That’s what you discover when you’re having a party at 6 a.m. in the morning at your house, and you’ve run out of mixers. Delicious. Game over.

Her favorite city is in Croatia—and no, it’s not Dubrovnik.

On tour, I love having a day off in Zagreb, Croatia. It’s a great walking city. I’ll walk all day and stop to write and people-watch. The Museum of Contemporary Art is great there. The parks are expansive and pretty. The Esplanade hotel is gorgeous. The people are kind. Go to the food market. Ride a bike. Get lost. Drink Croatian wine. Go to the art deco shopping mall. Enjoy a cigarette with your coffee—indoors, like our ancestors did. And there’s just a great music scene there, and they’ve got great music festivals there. To me, Zagreb feels like a sanctuary.

Read: Spotify Sued By Eminem Publisher Over Billions of Unpaid Streams

She buys the same, very personal, very tacky souvenir everywhere she visits.

I collect drawings from those artists in the street that draw your portraits—really badly—the ones that look nothing like you. I love doing that. The first time I did it, I was somewhere on a bridge in Europe. I sat down and was actually nervous. I thought, ‘I hope this guy is speedy, I don’t know if I can sit still this long.’ After I got it, though, I was addicted to the idea, because it was so ugly. I mean, they’re so bizarre. I will even prepare myself and be, like, ‘What do you want to wear in this drawing that you’re about to get?’ I’ll find the guy that’s literally the worst in the row of guys doing it and beeline straight to him. I always think: One day I’ll do something with all of these. It will be really funny.

Set yourself up for joy, even after your vacation is over.

I’ve always shot pictures, since I was a kid, and I studied photography. I don’t care about phone photos, though, as it’s not as special. I bring a point-and-shoot film camera and plenty of film, because if I don’t photograph [somewhere], I’ll probably forget I was ever there. I love coming back from tour or a trip and sending my film off to get developed—this is a setup for joy. Life moves so fast, and you don’t really get to reflect on anything. It becomes a huge, messy blur, and you need some kind of photographic evidence of things because otherwise, no one will believe you. When I get them back in the mail, it’s a complete surprise, and so is every picture: I did that? I saw him? Her? Really? Looks like I had fun! There will be a time when I have four, maybe six, rolls of film to develop.

Forget meditation—try a road trip.

If I go on a trip by myself, one of my favorite things to do is just drive. I’d drive to Louisiana, or Texas, or I’d drive to Detroit. Just in some direction from Nashville in my car. It’s not really about where I’m going or what I’m going to do when I get there. I just love being on the highway. I’ve done all of them over and over and over. But I love 40 West. It’s the big line that cuts through the whole country, from east to west. It’s pretty phenomenal. There’s nobody but you and truckers.

She loves coffee and red wine when she travels, although not for the reason you might expect.

Art supplies are something I always carry, because you never know if the next hotel room or backstage will have a nice little area to paint in. Bring some paint brushes and some decent watercolor paper, as it doesn’t take up much space. If you run out of paint, black coffee and red wine are great paint substitutions. You learn that in restaurants and cafes when you’re a kid. You’re drawing on a napkin, you need some shading, you dip your finger into the coffee. Wine is incredible because it has so much pigment in it. You mix those two together; you need just a pencil. A pencil and some water and some wine and some coffee. I’ve made really awesome paintings with that. In fact, there was a lot in my first New York art show—it’s one of my preferred mediums.

Never feel guilty about overpacking again.

I don’t travel light, man. At all. That’s not the sign of a bad traveler. Just don’t pack more than you can lift—that’s the only rule. My suitcase is comprised of art supplies, microphones, outfits for stage, and then outfits for normal life. And then gym clothes, because in every single town, I try to find a Pilates studio. I literally will pack all my cigarettes and my coffee, just in case I need it. I don’t really want to go buy some toothpaste at the corner; I want mine. I don’t really want to go buy someone else’s face stuff; I want mine.

When it comes to hotels, quirkiness trumps trendiness.

I spent so much time at [New York’s] Chelsea Hotel that I felt like I lived there for years and years and years—until the day it closed. It had big rooms and beautiful high ceilings—and OK, maybe not a lightbulb in all the lamps. Since then, I found this cool place called Hotel 31 in New York. There’s nothing hip about it, but the rooms are, like, $75 per night. [Editor’s note: nightly rates from $103.] I went and did a photo shoot there, because I found it online and it looked absolutely insane. The wallpaper is insane. The bedspreads are insane. It’s all super 1960s, ’70s, ’80s. I don’t think they’ve redone anything since that time. Everything is clashing. It’s an eyeful. It’s brilliant.

Read: You Can Now Watch ‘Seinfeld’ on Netflix

On Anthony Bourdain and his bulletproof suitcase.

I knew Anthony Bourdain when he was alive, and he was quite fascinating to talk to about traveling. One of his biggest points was that his suitcase was bulletproof. He was really proud of it. It wasn’t very big. And he always packed his jujitsu stuff. Not that much stuff, but that suitcase was bulletproof.

The post Travel Tips From a Rock Star Who Flies 500,000 Miles a Year appeared first on Businessliveme.com.

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trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

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6 Famous TV Finales Everybody Gets Wrong

With the exception of those soap operas that will outlive our grandchildren, most TV shows eventually come to an end. Final episodes tend to be polarizing; you either love them, or you vow to spend the rest of your days destroying the bastards who created them. The thing is, if you look back at those episodes with a cool head, you might realize that the critical consensus had it all backwards. So before we all realize reality only exists within a snow globe, here are some alternate views on the most famous (and infamous) TV finales ever.

Breaking Bad — A Child-Poisoning Psycho Becomes A Superhero

Unless you had a relative who got half their face blown off in a senior living home explosion, chances are you loved Breaking Bad. As for the finale, the critics lapped it up like the blue stuff:

The last episode served to provide emotional closure for beloved protagonist Walter White — you know, that guy who poisons kids and casually watches women choke to death. Which raises a question: Do we want this guy to get a happy ending?

The ending works out so incredibly well for Walt that people have theorized that it’s a fantasy, or even that he’s dead and becomes a ghost (which would at least explain his ability to Patrick Swayze his way into people’s homes). The episode is basically nothing but Walt running through a checklist of shit he wants to do before he dies. It’s one wisecracking Morgan Freeman away from going full Bucket List. And we’re rooting for him the whole way, even when he scares the shit out of the ex-friends whom he (falsely) blames for his misfortunes.

Walt then visits Skyler — again, almost materializing out of thin air — and admits to her that he didn’t cook meth for his family. He did it because he “liked it.”

Which feels like a big moment, but it’s not really enough. Walt’s such a jerk that he can’t even muster an apology for years of lying and making his family the target of a murderous fried chicken restaurateur. For some reason, though, this is good enough for Skyler, who then lets Walt have a tender moment with their baby. You know, the one he once abducted. Even Ted Danson and Steve Guttenberg couldn’t make this not creepy.

Then comes the show’s big moment: Walt has to save Jesse, which involves fighting Nazis. Even if you hate Walt, between him and Nazis … well, what kind of asshole would root for the Nazis? So Walt gets to be the badass hero in the end.

One reviewer at Salon points out that while the creators talked about the show as the “transformation from Mr. Chips to Scarface,” Tony Montana actually got his comeuppance. Walt, on the other hand, gets to go out completely on his own terms. He’s practically smiling as he dies before the police can arrest him.

Walt martyrs himself and escapes punishment, which is a big problem if you think his transgressions were beyond the point of redemption. Of course, if you believe he then wakes up on the set of Malcolm In The Middle, a lot of these problems go away.

Friends — Ross Ruins Rachel’s Career, While Monica Wrecks Joey And Chandler’s Friendship

People seemingly loved the Friends finale, either because they thought it was a good capper to the beloved sitcom or because everything pre-Joey seems like goddamn Faulkner in comparison.