AHS: Coven

A lot of people with very important opinions did not much care for this past season of American Horror Story.

I, on the other hand—in spite of some glaring plot holes you could drive a truck into—found it completely enjoyable and of the three seasons,  definitely the most entertaining. It was always on my “must watch” list and something I always looked forward to seeing.

Whatever shall I do now that this particular story is finished?

Granted, there wasn’t much horror (per se) this year, but I loved the scenery chewing, the set design, and the performances of all involved. Maybe I just have low standards.

Or perhaps not.

From tv.com:

Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk’s American Horror Story is a national treasure. When you watch as much supposed “prestige” television as I do, you realize just how special and audacious something like this is. AHS doesn’t care about coherent storytelling or logic or reasonable pay-offs. (Most shows ONLY care about those things.) This one operates firmly in dream logic territory because guess what? That’s where horror lives too. And guess who horror’s next-door neighbor is? Comedy. Both genres thrive in that weird subconscious level below rational thought. Explain a joke and it’s no longer funny. Explain a villain’s motivations and he’s no longer scary. Anybody complaining about AHS‘s lack of coherence is not only judging it by an incorrect rubric, they’re really just admitting being uncomfortable without the safety net of traditional storytelling and they’re mistaking that admission with criticism. This is the rare show where both plaudits and disdain are accurate responses, but the fact that that effect is intentional is what pushes it into genius territory. Nothing is less cool than using someone’s self-deprecation against them, and that’s what the worst critics have been doing: “It’s stupid, it makes no sense, it’s silly.” THAT’S THE POINT.

The most difficult part of any week was staying away from the spoiler-laden reviews on Thursday morning since we rarely stayed up to watch the show when it was actually broadcast (11 pm is rather late for a school night when one has to be up at 5 am the next morning). I confess, I strayed into one of reviews today without having seen the season finale, and wasn’t especially surprised when I read who became the next Supreme. (It was an idea I’d been tossing around in my head for weeks.)

I was sad to see two of my favorite characters meet their ends in this final episode, but was also delighted to see karma doled out to two other characters who so richly deserved it.

Again, from tv.com:

Well, that’s that. This season is dunzo. I loved it with all of my heart. What a true celebration of actresses and comedy. Don’t listen to bozos who complain about it being “a mess” or “it didn’t add up” or “it was not as good as previous seasons.” Those are FALSE COMPLAINTS. Television doesn’t have to conform to some kind of formula. It doesn’t have to set things up nor pay them off. It merely has to set off dazzling fireworks in our brains. I don’t know if I’ve seen a drama as brave and hilarious as this one, nor something that trafficked so heavily in dream logic and, uh, nightmare imagery. I am always suspicious of people who think “it made no sense” or “it was unsatisfying” is a legit criticism. What they are really doing is stating a plain fact of a certain kind of storytelling: Few things are as unsettling as surprises, and that’s what this show is about.

It will be interesting to see what Messers Murphy and Falchuk come up with for next year.

I cannot wait.

Coca Cola is About Ten Minutes Away From Their Very Own Coors Beer Moment

Towleroad reports that Coca-Cola has fauxpologized for the social media campaign created by its South African division. When users attempted to add the word “gay” to their image of a Coke can, the very snarky response they received was “Oops, let’s pretend you didn’t just type that.”

Coke’s statement:

“We are aware that the Share a Coke promotion we are running in South Africa has generated an unintended outcome. [Yeah, it was highjacked to point out social injustice, much the same way Chevy’s campaign was back in the early 2000s.] We apologise for any offence caused. The Share a Coke programme was created to allow consumers to take the iconic “Coca-Cola” script and replace it with their name on the can. In South Africa, the digital version of the Share a Coke promotion did not properly limit the customisation to individuals’ names. We’ve taken down the site and are in the process of revising the digital tool immediately…As one of the world’s most inclusive brands, we value and celebrate diversity. We have long been a strong supporter of the LGBT community and have advocated for inclusion, equality and diversity through both our policies and practices. Again we apologise for any offense this has caused.”

In other words, “in the process of revising the digital tool” means “we’re going to make sure the filters catch ALL the possibly icky words you filthy homos might try and use to disrupt our ad campaign.”

Fuck Coca Cola. Anyone remember what happened to Coors beer back in the 80s? There are gay bars that still won’t serve the swill…

Yes, Another Rant

Just skip this if my bitching offends you.

OH MY GOD it SNOWED this afternoon. Less than 2 inches. AND because it never does that in Denver, IT HAS BROUGHT TRAFFIC IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING CITY TO A NEAR STANDSTILL.

It normally takes me about 25 minutes to go the ten miles to and from work. Today it took nearly 2 HOURS to get home.

If we ever have the fortune to win the lottery in a big way, we’re paying off Ben’s student loans (the only reason we’re still here) and then GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF THIS PLACE.

A Forgotten Memory

I don’t remember what I was originally looking for when I stumbled across this on YouTube, but it brought a ton of memories flooding back. I was absolutely obsessed with this movie as a young adult. I was in eighth grade at the time, and being the same age as as the character, developed a huge crush on “Francher.”

From Wikipedia:

The People is a 1972 television film, broadcast as an ABC Movie of the Week on January 22, 1972. It is mostly based on a novella by Zenna Henderson, “Pottage”, but also contains elements from her stories “Ararat”, “Gilead”, and “Captivity”. It stars Kim Darby and William Shatner.

This science fiction film tells the story of Melodye Amerson (Kim Darby), a young teacher who goes to a remote area to work with a group of individuals who have isolated themselves from civilization and maintained an independent community, vaguely similar to the Amish or a religious commune. Melodye is unnerved by the secretive behavior of her students, and the fact that all fun, games and activities she proposes are forbidden to them. Valancy (Diane Varsi), an elder in the community, advises Melodye to stay, because she senses that things are about to change in the valley, and Melodye herself is a part of that change.

Melodye soon discovers that the secluded and “backwards” residents are actually aliens with mild paranormal powers. A natural disaster destroyed their planet, and they are hoping to establish a life on Earth. Landing in the late 1800s, initially they shared their secret with local residents, but found themselves condemned as witches. Many were killed, and the survivors forbade their children ever to use their abilities, even with extreme discretion. Young adults like Valancy (and even some of the older people) have been pushing for an end to these restrictions.

What surprised me the most about seeing this again some forty years later is how I remembered not only the music, but also most of the dialog. This is amazing considering this was many years prior to VCRs, so I couldn’t have seen it more than a couple times yet somehow managed to commit so much of it to memory. This speaks volumes about what an impression this movie left on me.

It also explains the origin of a lot of the themes contained in a short story I wrote a couple years later in high school; something else I had completely forgotten about until I found it while going through my Dad’s effects a year ago.

Looking Ahead, Making Plans

One of the things Ben and I have decided needs to happen once his mom moves out is that our place needs a makeover. We’ve talked about painting an accent wall in the living room and both bedrooms for quite some time now, and while we haven’t actually gotten around to doing it, it has prompted a conversation on how the whole place needs a bit of a refresh to get the taste of the last year completely out.

The leather sofa I bought five years ago is falling apart at the seams. It came with a ten year warranty, but since I foolishly tossed out the receipt at some point, we’re outta luck on getting it repaired. But I can say that now, after finally owning a leather couch, it’s not something I want again. Back to a nice fabric, thankyouverymuch—and preferably one that can be removed and easily cleaned.

Since we won’t have two dogs running around who seem to think the entire apartment is their personal toilet any more, we can also think about getting a rug put back down in the living room. It’s also time for new bedding, drapes, and lamps in the bedroom.

Ben’s into bright colors. I’m more muted and earth-toned. But I think we’ve found things we can both agree on. The all-wool rug is a big-ticket item, but we both love the colors and think it’s worth every penny.

I’m really looking forward to this!

Comments Have Been Disabled

When I started this blog all those many years ago I did it as a public extension of the private journals I had been keeping since the late 1980s. It was a way for me to vent my frustration at the way any number of things in life—particularly the political landscape of the Bush years—were heading.

I have been doing a lot of bitching and moaning about my personal life lately, and while those posts make up a really small portion of the overall blog, apparently some people are getting annoyed and are threatening to stop visiting my site.

My response? I don’t care. To those people I say no one is forcing you to come here, and frankly if you stopped, I wouldn’t even know. I don’t track my visitor stats, so your threats to stop reading are akin to telling an Atheist he’s damned and going to hell.

And lastly to paraphrase that famous line from The Rocky Horror Picture Show , “I didn’t make it for you.”

So until further notice, commenting has been disabled. I have enough bullshit to deal with right now without also having to deal with people whining about what I write.

We Have Died and Gone to HELL

It’s the only explanation.

I don’t remember the exact moment of our deaths. I don’t know if it was shortly before we were scheduled to move to Denver, or if it happened en route, or if it was—most likely—February 2013, when she arrived; the Destroyer of Worlds.

As I lay wide awake at 4:15 am this morning—again—I started quietly sobbing because I realized that my friend Cindy was right a year ago when she learned that we were moving Ben’s mom up “temporarily” and told me, “She’s never going to leave.”

After five trips to the ER in the last 30 days for uncontrolled neuralgia in spite of a steady diet of beer and morphine (yes, at the same time), she’s now decided to go out on short term disability for the next six weeks. WHY? What is this going to accomplish? Are we going to see any real change—like seeing a doctor who will do anything other than rubber-stamp another scrip for pain meds or god forbid, checking herself into rehab to get off the stuff to begin with—or is it just going to be six weeks of more self-medicating and endless Judge Judy blaring from our guest room?

I asked Ben if this was going to affect her move out date since she will still be drawing her full salary and he said it wouldn’t.  As much as I’d like to believe that I have no faith it’s going to happen. She’s already talking about returning the bedding she bought for her own place, so I’m sure  something is going to happen that will prevent her from moving out yet AGAIN.

At this point I fear the only way to get her out of here is for Ben and I to move back into a one bedroom apartment when our lease expires at the end of August.

When she’s working, she’s on an odd shift so she normally doesn’t get home until around 7:30 pm, giving me a couple hours of alone time (Ben doesn’t normally get home before 7 either) to unwind from work. But now I’ve even lost that brief respite from her crazy. For the next six weeks I’ll be going directly from work to Starbucks until Ben gets home because I simply can no longer abide being around her if he’s not there.

I never believed in a real, physical Hell, but I’m really starting to question it now.