Six Feet Under
Chester and I have been obsessivly watching Six Feet Under that I've gotten on interlibrary loan for the past few months. It's one of the greatest tv creations I've ever seen, and I'll do battle with any of ya'll who claim it to be pretentious and lofty. Dude, it's a show about DEATH, what do you expect? If you don't like Six Feet Under than I want you to make something BETTER. Top it, bastards!
Anyway, I have a total love for this show and all the characters, and I am actually sad to see it come to an end. Granted I only ever saw ONE episode when it originally aired, but I've caught up. Gah! Fuckin' fantastic!
But we have one episode left that I've been subconsciously putting off watching because I know I'm probably going to cry, and I hate crying at gay ass things like television and movies. But Six Feet Under is all-encompassing. Shit like that really happens EVERY DAY. So I've decided it's ok to cry at the last episode.
There will be more crying I am sure as I also feel the need to document a tragedy. About 5 months ago Chester's little sister got pregnant, and just yesterday and through the night she gave birth to Little Anastasia, who had passed away in her womb. The circumstances of this whole occurence weren't good, and it's a blessing in many ways that this happened. Babies with Turners Syndrome are rarely born, and from what I've read, death is a better alternative than a life with Turners. I hope K can find some comfort in this, and also that she will learn about the delicacy of life and how PROTECTION SAVES LIVES.
We're conceived just as easily as we could be aborted. Life is delicate. Screw that, I'm not that gentle. I've been broken a few times and haven't we all?
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On a happier note, a memory.
One night, long ago in the Bassment, Chester and I were hittin' the baby and heeding its call like usual. The weather had taken a turn and in the distance we could hear rumbles of thunder. From the Bassment, the noise has a muffled, ominous tone, and honestly, I don't like being home alone in the Bassment when it's thundering.
Well, Chester and I are rather impaired when the thunder started, so we both register a feeling of intensity. "Oh man! This is intense!!!" The thunder was creeping both of us out, so to banish our bad vibes, I was overcome with the feeling that I could, without a doubt, mentally send the name of a song to Chester through telekenisis. So I tried.
And tried. And tried some more. More thunder, more head vibes. By this time my brain is swelling inside my hard candy shell of a skull, and I come to the point and I give up.
Long story short, I tried to send "Cumbersome" by Seven Mary Three to Chester's mind to take our minds off of the scary thunder.
I guess I had a high-ly inflated sense of my mental powers. Oh Cheech and Chong, you make my life merry.
There's an hour left to work and I really don't feel like doing anything, but if I do nothing, the hour will drag. Maybe I'll cover some paperbacks. Maybe play some Bookworm. Meh. I'm alive and things are good. The better the times, the less I seem to use LJ. Thanks for being a superb crutch, my underused LJ.
Until next time, Salame!
Anyway, I have a total love for this show and all the characters, and I am actually sad to see it come to an end. Granted I only ever saw ONE episode when it originally aired, but I've caught up. Gah! Fuckin' fantastic!
But we have one episode left that I've been subconsciously putting off watching because I know I'm probably going to cry, and I hate crying at gay ass things like television and movies. But Six Feet Under is all-encompassing. Shit like that really happens EVERY DAY. So I've decided it's ok to cry at the last episode.
There will be more crying I am sure as I also feel the need to document a tragedy. About 5 months ago Chester's little sister got pregnant, and just yesterday and through the night she gave birth to Little Anastasia, who had passed away in her womb. The circumstances of this whole occurence weren't good, and it's a blessing in many ways that this happened. Babies with Turners Syndrome are rarely born, and from what I've read, death is a better alternative than a life with Turners. I hope K can find some comfort in this, and also that she will learn about the delicacy of life and how PROTECTION SAVES LIVES.
We're conceived just as easily as we could be aborted. Life is delicate. Screw that, I'm not that gentle. I've been broken a few times and haven't we all?
-------------------------------
On a happier note, a memory.
One night, long ago in the Bassment, Chester and I were hittin' the baby and heeding its call like usual. The weather had taken a turn and in the distance we could hear rumbles of thunder. From the Bassment, the noise has a muffled, ominous tone, and honestly, I don't like being home alone in the Bassment when it's thundering.
Well, Chester and I are rather impaired when the thunder started, so we both register a feeling of intensity. "Oh man! This is intense!!!" The thunder was creeping both of us out, so to banish our bad vibes, I was overcome with the feeling that I could, without a doubt, mentally send the name of a song to Chester through telekenisis. So I tried.
And tried. And tried some more. More thunder, more head vibes. By this time my brain is swelling inside my hard candy shell of a skull, and I come to the point and I give up.
Long story short, I tried to send "Cumbersome" by Seven Mary Three to Chester's mind to take our minds off of the scary thunder.
I guess I had a high-ly inflated sense of my mental powers. Oh Cheech and Chong, you make my life merry.
There's an hour left to work and I really don't feel like doing anything, but if I do nothing, the hour will drag. Maybe I'll cover some paperbacks. Maybe play some Bookworm. Meh. I'm alive and things are good. The better the times, the less I seem to use LJ. Thanks for being a superb crutch, my underused LJ.
Until next time, Salame!