I express my respect and admiration for Michael C. Hall on a regular basis, and also for the hit show Dexter he brings to dreary, intelligent and visceral life. On the same token, I still maintain dismay for the third season, and for the inevitable story arch of making him a loving father and husband...until I saw the season four premiere on Sunday, I wasn't entirely sure why. Jumping of sharks is bad for any show, let alone one I'm so moved by.
The ever inspiredJohn Lithgow as the Trinity Killer is a welcome addition to the cast (the grizzly doing away with he brings is an almost ironic juxtaposition to Dex's befuddlement), the dialogue is still fleshed out and funny. Aside from the sub-plot pairing Detective Batista and Lieutenant Laguerta romantically (not necessary and out of left field), the initial episode was closer to the heart and soul the first two seasons had. I was relieved and intrigued. But still....
Anyone who feels at odds with the world simply by the way they view of it, can relate to Dexter, even as he snuffs out human beings, manipulates and lies. But that's the beauty of the premise and the execution of the show. Seeing humanity where none should be, to further the most inhumane exploits. Obviously there's less and less daily ritual/personal identity with a family in tow, and that's probably the hardest part of the transition (on the show and in life), the compromise. It's a big one for a serial killer in particular. Their routines and structure keep them off death row and in their own private regime of unthinkable. It's a bit painful to watch the rogue jaguar of dark justice stumble and falter like an alley cat.
After musing a bit I realized the heart of my grievance: the lone-wolf vicariousness has been tampered with. A character's life I eagerly anticipate identifying with and observing, evolves into more familiar and familial waters, yet a fraction of me still wishes for his former days of solitary strength, as I do for myself, I 'spose. As he adjusts to the practice and daily pressure of the most common "American Dream", the essence and fortitude of his dark passenger is compromised. Too close to home, I guess. And considering the man in question, that can be a scary thing, ya dig?
I won't turn my back on his new path, nor will I belittle the writers prerogative to take him to vulnerable places. From the season teaser that followed episode one, it looks like a nail biter despite any softer side. High five on that.
The double life he leads can still thrive, after adjustment. Both are messy, high stress and lonely, any way you slice it. If anyone can do it Dexter can, and I'll lend my viewership in support.
Oh, and more Masuka, please.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Modern Bromance
I made a new friend recently. We met via the internet (shocking, I know), we got to know each other via plain old fashioned kindered spiritness and conversation, and we've made many plans to further our mutual appreciation. Drenched in a steady stream of friendship break-ups lately, I'm SO refreshed (or I guess dried off?) to have something that isn't clouded by the comfort of familiarity, isn't mangled in pre-tense or that "niceties" barrier we all are affixed to out of safety and time constraints. Comfortable, exciting connection to another human is a missing piece of the identity puzzle, and I feel very fortunate to have snapped it into it's long dormant place.
I watched Atonement this weekend (I know it's old news, but movies like that they happen when they are most useful), awed once again by the tender nuance of James McAvoy and a bit haunted by the loneliness a tragic love story ushers in. After I listened to my "Mopin' It" mix a few dozen more times and let the saddies out, I realized there's no need to feel that way. Having someone you are fond of to write letters to (or in my case text movie quotes to) when in doubt of the world or just in daily strife and struggle...that's what romance is, no matter who it's with. The feeling that the world isn't a heavy burden, but a boundless playground. The eager anticipation of seeing that person again. With any luck you won't suffer the fate of Robbie and Cecelia (torn apart by juvenile vindictiveness and war), but even if you do, at least you had moments of levity and love. Platonic or otherwise. We could all due with more, don't fight it with neurosis if it happens along.
I don't know what's in the cards for myself and the caped crusader of nerd-dom I happily consider my newest Bro Montana...but I'm super stoked to find out. I have a feeling this one will be McConaughey/Armstrong/Gyllenhaal good.
I watched Atonement this weekend (I know it's old news, but movies like that they happen when they are most useful), awed once again by the tender nuance of James McAvoy and a bit haunted by the loneliness a tragic love story ushers in. After I listened to my "Mopin' It" mix a few dozen more times and let the saddies out, I realized there's no need to feel that way. Having someone you are fond of to write letters to (or in my case text movie quotes to) when in doubt of the world or just in daily strife and struggle...that's what romance is, no matter who it's with. The feeling that the world isn't a heavy burden, but a boundless playground. The eager anticipation of seeing that person again. With any luck you won't suffer the fate of Robbie and Cecelia (torn apart by juvenile vindictiveness and war), but even if you do, at least you had moments of levity and love. Platonic or otherwise. We could all due with more, don't fight it with neurosis if it happens along.
I don't know what's in the cards for myself and the caped crusader of nerd-dom I happily consider my newest Bro Montana...but I'm super stoked to find out. I have a feeling this one will be McConaughey/Armstrong/Gyllenhaal good.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The SMD: Dreadtime
I can remember being really excited to hit the hay, as a kid. That love hasn’t left me as an adult (we are sleep deprived as a race), Logan on the other hand, hates it. HATE. Like, she will stay up until she collapses mid Spongebob belly laugh, hate. It’s her sassy little way of giving me the middle finger, and I hate how effective it is. When she has been denied something she feels she’s entitled to, seen a show that scared her (after insisting upon watching it) or the "not tired" skitzoids. To our credit, the meltdowns in public, breaking of important personal effects, and the Wolverine berserker freak outs are employed less and less. I let the cat out of the bedtime bag a while ago though, I showed how exasperating it really is to me that she won’ t just submit and let me have the few hours of no kid time I get. Time used to work, write, clean or just vegetate depending. It's mandatory and always one of the sure highlights of my day, in all honesty.
She’s four and we’ve gone rounds since she was first asked to go it alone. She’ll go for a week or two without a hitch, lulling me into a false sense of pride in her big-girl progression. Then she makes with the stubborn with glorious fury and we battle. Not in an I’m-trying-to-be-good-don’t-be-mad-please way. She full on saunters out with an impish gleam of delight in her eyes, or struts out with a hey-hows-it-going-what’s-the-good-word nonchalance that’s almost worse.
You’re not supposed to show anger (or bile filled rage) as it fuels the fire, so I effed it all up in the first place, I know. Can't blame her for that, but I refuse to excuse her completely. She's smarter and better than that. Since I realized how pivotal my reactions are, I’ve walked away from the scene of spoiled brat whinefest many a time uttering “Faussssting FFFSSSHHHineballer….assk-erfuuuudge ewwwwww!” I could be paraphrasing. She reduces me to a disgruntled network non-swearing employee and she could care less. I’ve created an asshole.
We’ve tried a good many angles on this drain of sanity and swear words, as any parent does. Recently though, she’s grounded the day following a relapse (in excess of three times out of bed, grounded means no computer, fun snacks or communal areas), gentle coaxing if she gets shaky and I see the impish glint before lights out. It works the best so far, yet in the first few seconds of a breakdown, I instantly want to throat chop her to save her from herself. Instead I non-swear more and try again.
The heartstrings get worked a lot at bedtime, but after she finally wises up and takes my advice…I walk by her room and see that curly little head on her pillow, such a peaceful lamb of adorable serenity…I take a mental picture so I can recall it tomorrow night when I need it most. Then I haul ass to the no-kid time, and I enjoy the shit out of it.
She’s four and we’ve gone rounds since she was first asked to go it alone. She’ll go for a week or two without a hitch, lulling me into a false sense of pride in her big-girl progression. Then she makes with the stubborn with glorious fury and we battle. Not in an I’m-trying-to-be-good-don’t-be-mad-please way. She full on saunters out with an impish gleam of delight in her eyes, or struts out with a hey-hows-it-going-what’s-the-good-word nonchalance that’s almost worse.
You’re not supposed to show anger (or bile filled rage) as it fuels the fire, so I effed it all up in the first place, I know. Can't blame her for that, but I refuse to excuse her completely. She's smarter and better than that. Since I realized how pivotal my reactions are, I’ve walked away from the scene of spoiled brat whinefest many a time uttering “Faussssting FFFSSSHHHineballer….assk-erfuuuudge ewwwwww!” I could be paraphrasing. She reduces me to a disgruntled network non-swearing employee and she could care less. I’ve created an asshole.
We’ve tried a good many angles on this drain of sanity and swear words, as any parent does. Recently though, she’s grounded the day following a relapse (in excess of three times out of bed, grounded means no computer, fun snacks or communal areas), gentle coaxing if she gets shaky and I see the impish glint before lights out. It works the best so far, yet in the first few seconds of a breakdown, I instantly want to throat chop her to save her from herself. Instead I non-swear more and try again.
The heartstrings get worked a lot at bedtime, but after she finally wises up and takes my advice…I walk by her room and see that curly little head on her pillow, such a peaceful lamb of adorable serenity…I take a mental picture so I can recall it tomorrow night when I need it most. Then I haul ass to the no-kid time, and I enjoy the shit out of it.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The SMD
Writing is my first love, but acting is my hot torrid mistress. If I'm Archie, writing is Betty and acting is Veronica, if you catch my breeze. I love them both dearly in different similar ways. I ventured out into the refreshing languid California sunshine to pursue what I love, what seems like ages and millenniums ago.
Then I met a charming man on a movie set (I was an illustrious extra for a year) and got a permanent souvenir of what love was to me at the time...I'm a single mama now, which is a far cry from any vision I had of my life. Like, Bangkok to Antarctica cry. But it's what I know to be better, in many ways. Let me count them.
The Single Mama Drama.
I don't offer this information freely. I don't post "proud parent" on Facebook or MySpace (to those that still use that 'dinosaur'), if there's a potential gentleman caller that I happen upon I don't mention it within initial conversation. I shy away from other mommies at the playground that sport the rock, I weened my kiddo on The Simpsons and Happy Meals. By all conventional standards, sounds whack, doesn't it?
There's a stigma and a cliche that goes along with "single mom" I have to fight against every day ('cause it's my nature to rebel against cloistered oppression), so to be out and proud has been uncomfortable, four years running. People dismiss/pity you almost instantly when you're lugging a little one and no ring yourself, so on rare occasion I'm alone in a social setting, I prefer to present myself as a person first, a mama second. It allows them to check themselves without me slapping a bitch (male or female) which is the usual gut reaction. I have plenty of other necessities to manage.
It's a little manipulative one could argue, but so is pretending to care about someones unique life circumstances just to liken them to the decay of western society internally. I can see it in their eyes, despite any progress we've had as a culture. It's still there, even if just a flicker. And a flicker is enough.
When that (imaginary sounding yet very real) person (I encounter all the time btw) realizes that you can be single, young, attractive, intelligent, have a sense of style and self and still be pursuing what you want out of life AND be a decent mom, it's like a light bulb of appreciation pops on. One that otherwise would be misused to cast an eerie glow of hurtful ignorance.
As an incognito member of the Mommy Club, I get to be a fly on the wall. The term single mom is often associated with such judgemental gems as: desperate for a man, down on her luck, liberal and indiscriminate libido, battered wife, or my personal loathsome fave, used goods.
The daily romance you have with your child/children, dispels those uninformed labels if you are brave enough to own it, I'm learning. Women feel like any/all of those things at one point or another. The fact that a kid is in the picture shouldn't be any ones business but your own, and those you choose to let into that world. It's sacred and it's a whole other person to consider. It's a thankless, dirty, lonely, heartwarming and heart wrenching job. It's a lifetime commitment.
Logan Scarlett, my daughter, is a dizzying blend of sugary, whip smart kewpie-doll and fearless, ferocious gladiator. In the same breath, she'll say, "I love you mama, you're berry beautiful" and as I bend down with tears in my eyes to hug her, "you're smelly, can you stand over there?". Her bright blue eyes pierce me and praise me.
She's not an Oscar, indie film cred, or a visual medium of self expression, but she's a truth serum and the biggest influence on both my Betty and Veronica I've ever had. A catalyst that keeps stirring my soul and challenging my comfort zone, inspiring growth and weeding out the negative. What a precious thing it is. Even if it makes me want to run screaming to Aruba on daily occasion. All is as it should to be, between a lioness and her cub. It's my job to make sure that's true everyday.
So for all those like me without a Dr. Spock to consult on being a modern single mama, and for the kiddos that all deserve the best mama they can get (a happy mama is a happy household, that ain't no joke), any comfort I can afford, I gladly do so. Symbiosis.
Unleash your own personal Riverdale of an outlet (whatever that may be) and hold your head high. Fight the good fight, and don't ever let the drama win.
Then I met a charming man on a movie set (I was an illustrious extra for a year) and got a permanent souvenir of what love was to me at the time...I'm a single mama now, which is a far cry from any vision I had of my life. Like, Bangkok to Antarctica cry. But it's what I know to be better, in many ways. Let me count them.
The Single Mama Drama.
I don't offer this information freely. I don't post "proud parent" on Facebook or MySpace (to those that still use that 'dinosaur'), if there's a potential gentleman caller that I happen upon I don't mention it within initial conversation. I shy away from other mommies at the playground that sport the rock, I weened my kiddo on The Simpsons and Happy Meals. By all conventional standards, sounds whack, doesn't it?
There's a stigma and a cliche that goes along with "single mom" I have to fight against every day ('cause it's my nature to rebel against cloistered oppression), so to be out and proud has been uncomfortable, four years running. People dismiss/pity you almost instantly when you're lugging a little one and no ring yourself, so on rare occasion I'm alone in a social setting, I prefer to present myself as a person first, a mama second. It allows them to check themselves without me slapping a bitch (male or female) which is the usual gut reaction. I have plenty of other necessities to manage.
It's a little manipulative one could argue, but so is pretending to care about someones unique life circumstances just to liken them to the decay of western society internally. I can see it in their eyes, despite any progress we've had as a culture. It's still there, even if just a flicker. And a flicker is enough.
When that (imaginary sounding yet very real) person (I encounter all the time btw) realizes that you can be single, young, attractive, intelligent, have a sense of style and self and still be pursuing what you want out of life AND be a decent mom, it's like a light bulb of appreciation pops on. One that otherwise would be misused to cast an eerie glow of hurtful ignorance.
As an incognito member of the Mommy Club, I get to be a fly on the wall. The term single mom is often associated with such judgemental gems as: desperate for a man, down on her luck, liberal and indiscriminate libido, battered wife, or my personal loathsome fave, used goods.
The daily romance you have with your child/children, dispels those uninformed labels if you are brave enough to own it, I'm learning. Women feel like any/all of those things at one point or another. The fact that a kid is in the picture shouldn't be any ones business but your own, and those you choose to let into that world. It's sacred and it's a whole other person to consider. It's a thankless, dirty, lonely, heartwarming and heart wrenching job. It's a lifetime commitment.
Logan Scarlett, my daughter, is a dizzying blend of sugary, whip smart kewpie-doll and fearless, ferocious gladiator. In the same breath, she'll say, "I love you mama, you're berry beautiful" and as I bend down with tears in my eyes to hug her, "you're smelly, can you stand over there?". Her bright blue eyes pierce me and praise me.
She's not an Oscar, indie film cred, or a visual medium of self expression, but she's a truth serum and the biggest influence on both my Betty and Veronica I've ever had. A catalyst that keeps stirring my soul and challenging my comfort zone, inspiring growth and weeding out the negative. What a precious thing it is. Even if it makes me want to run screaming to Aruba on daily occasion. All is as it should to be, between a lioness and her cub. It's my job to make sure that's true everyday.
So for all those like me without a Dr. Spock to consult on being a modern single mama, and for the kiddos that all deserve the best mama they can get (a happy mama is a happy household, that ain't no joke), any comfort I can afford, I gladly do so. Symbiosis.
Unleash your own personal Riverdale of an outlet (whatever that may be) and hold your head high. Fight the good fight, and don't ever let the drama win.
Case By Case Cases
The well has been very dry, my friends. A couple months and a couple weeks dry. Any creative person can attest, sometimes you have to back off and live life. In blog terms locutionl has died and is now climbing back from time lapse purgatory...thank you to any who follow, and I hope the hiatus can be repaired.
I started to write on a couple things over the last month and a couple weeks...but alas, it was shit, and ultimately a mechanical response to the urgency a blog can incite, and that's bad. I don't ever want to go through the motions when it comes to writing, but I don't want to disappoint either. So here we are.
Part of the problem has been that I am not writing what I know completely...therefore I'm going to start a demi-blog (part journal part blog) to give a release to my real day job...more on that in the next entry.
The title of my comeback blog as it were, refers to my life in general. Well, the lack there of in generalities. There are so many loose ends right now...where's my next rent money coming from, where's the writing going, who's really in my corner, am a a gas bag or a valid voice of my generation? Is all the sacrifice effing worth it?
If I dare lumping all my experiences into a manageable stress wad of anecdote, there's generally (there's that word again) a consistent exception to the rule. "One day at a time" they say. Yeah, but what do you do for said 24 hours when there's nothing to do but wonder what your doing? "I get by with a little help from my friends" but if you have none in close proximity, how do they get you by and vice versa? "Believe and you shall receive" but when results are few and far between, how do you keep vigilant enough to change the tide?
I'm a positive person and I stand by all of those phrases I just listed...but not when it's in a blanket that covers all the telling details. "Case by case basis" is the new anecdote I adhere to the most. Especially in matters of the heart and all the crazy mess that comes along with it, you have to examine what it REALLY is and honestly try to fix it. Don't toss out a quick fix quote that really doesn't touch the real problem...use them if you've wrangled with the real issues and have no other avenue. They're most effective that way.
And when all else fails...Don't worry, be happy because, like attracts like. All's well that ends well.
I started to write on a couple things over the last month and a couple weeks...but alas, it was shit, and ultimately a mechanical response to the urgency a blog can incite, and that's bad. I don't ever want to go through the motions when it comes to writing, but I don't want to disappoint either. So here we are.
Part of the problem has been that I am not writing what I know completely...therefore I'm going to start a demi-blog (part journal part blog) to give a release to my real day job...more on that in the next entry.
The title of my comeback blog as it were, refers to my life in general. Well, the lack there of in generalities. There are so many loose ends right now...where's my next rent money coming from, where's the writing going, who's really in my corner, am a a gas bag or a valid voice of my generation? Is all the sacrifice effing worth it?
If I dare lumping all my experiences into a manageable stress wad of anecdote, there's generally (there's that word again) a consistent exception to the rule. "One day at a time" they say. Yeah, but what do you do for said 24 hours when there's nothing to do but wonder what your doing? "I get by with a little help from my friends" but if you have none in close proximity, how do they get you by and vice versa? "Believe and you shall receive" but when results are few and far between, how do you keep vigilant enough to change the tide?
I'm a positive person and I stand by all of those phrases I just listed...but not when it's in a blanket that covers all the telling details. "Case by case basis" is the new anecdote I adhere to the most. Especially in matters of the heart and all the crazy mess that comes along with it, you have to examine what it REALLY is and honestly try to fix it. Don't toss out a quick fix quote that really doesn't touch the real problem...use them if you've wrangled with the real issues and have no other avenue. They're most effective that way.
And when all else fails...Don't worry, be happy because, like attracts like. All's well that ends well.
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