Love Letters (lilac_one)
When the lovely brooklinegirl asked me to do one last rec about why I love Due South, I said yes without hesitation, partly because I'm apparently one of her minions, and partly because what could be bad?
So I thought about it for a while, and realized that the show is brilliantly written (see airinshaw's post of great quotes), but the main reason I adore it is because of the characters. So herein, my love letters to the Rays and Fraser.
Dear Ray, Vecchio, I mean the first Ray Vecchio,
Your reputation preceded you and I am embarrassed to admit that I was a mite predisposed against you. I didn't pay you proper attention during the Pilot or VS, which were pretty much the only two episodes I saw you in, besides CoTW, for years. For a long time, I only had Seasons 3 & 4, so I couldn't get to know you even if I had wanted to do so.
Luckily for me, I eventually watched all your episodes and realized that I had completely underestimated you from the start. You dragged your ass out of the hospital, smuggled weapons over the border, and trekked into the middle of nowhere to help Fraser defend himself. All this after only knowing the guy a short time.
So what if you're kind of an asshole to your sister and don't always listen to Fraser? He is the most annoying man in the world, after all. And in the end, when it counts, you're there, right where you need to be, and I'm not just talking about picking through dumpsters and getting wolf hair in your car, although it's pretty amazing how you use your hard-saved Riv replacement money to pay people to listen to Fraser in "A Few Good Men."
No, you're also doing the tough stuff. "Victoria's Secret" kind of writes the book on it - I mean, you shoot Fraser in the back to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). "The Deal" is another prime example of that. So is "Dead Guy Running," and you're not even physically present in that one.
I admit to being slightly put off by your very loud and colorful shirts, but your eyes? More than make up for any hideous shirt. Seriously. When I look in your eyes, I have an extremely difficult time looking away. Or remembering my name. Oh, yeah.
So, my dear Ray the first, in case I wasn't totally clear, you wholly kick ass and I love you.
Love,
Me
P.S. Please tell Frannie I think she got a raw deal, spending the rest of her life with a bunch of immaculately conceived kids. She should have become a cop. Her interrogation technique cannot be beat.
Dear Fraser,
While I can only offer you the sincerest of condolences on the murder of your father, I am glad you wound up in Chicago. For one, it's always good to have people willing to put themselves on the line to make the world better (see pretty much every single episode). It's even better when that inspires other people to try to make the world better (see any episode with Ray or Ray).
On the surface, you are SuperMountie, able to jump off tall buildings with a functional sheet parachute (which, by the way, is pretty darn amazing, considering the number of kids who break arms or legs each year trying to jump off the roofs of their houses or garages with a sheet parachute and instead of catching wind and floating gently to the ground tend to smack into said ground following the laws of physics) and taste all kinds of truly disgusting stuff without ever getting ill.
Ah, but those of us that know you recognize it for what it truly is - a way to not have to engage, to push away politely. When you are truly comfortable with someone, although you may still pull the SuperMountie stuff and expect the Rays follow, with the Rays you feel comfortable enough to be SuperSnark. And oh, how I adore the snark.
I adore how you're a great big woobie because your mother died when you were just a lad, your father might as well have been dead, for all he was around while he was alive, and your grandparents didn't seem to be so warm and loving.
I love how you're so good and smart at so much stuff, but you still kind of suck at people. I love how you look in the tub. I love how you do buddy breathing. I love how you smile when you're in the snowfields. I love that your idea of a vacation is chasing a litterbug across the country. I love that you totally believe in both Rays no matter what.
I love that you regularly talk to your half-wolf and dead father. And that they both answer you.
I don't believe you can't dance, despite what you may have wanted us to believe in "Mountie Sings the Blues," because you seemed to be moving just fine in "Some Like it Red" and "An Invitation to Romance."
I love your whole oblivious Mountie act, where you pretend you don't understand that a woman is coming on to you. I adore how you love your friends and you'll do just about anything for them. I 'm crazy about how you opened the car door into Orsini.
I love that the best chemistry you have with anyone on the show is Ray and Ray. I adore your complete inability to keep any sort of normal body space between yourself and them.
And in case I wasn't clear, I love you.
Love,
Me
Dear Stanley RayK,
I must admit that when I first saw "Burning Down the House," it was love at first sight. Instant total devotion.
And when the hormones settled a bit, I discovered I was still head over heels for you. It's not about your experimental hair, which changes colors about as often as I do laundry. It's not about your eyes, which I'm still not entirely sure of their color, or your smirk, or the lines between your eyebrows or your really sexy stubble. It's not about your bracelet or how you're so orally fixated or how hot you look holding your gun. It's not about the Champion tattoo. It's not about your blue flip-up sunglasses. It's not about how I want you to take me in your arms and dance with me like you used to dance with Stella. It's not about your t-shirt covered belly or your geek glasses.
It's about your loyalty, your professionalism, your dedication, your ability to work with Fraser as a duet, in spite of having to punch him. It's about you trusting your instincts. It's about righting old wrongs, whether making peace with a bank robber or freeing a woman unjustly sentenced to death. It's about how you didn't kill Dewey. It's about how you hit that homerun. It's about how you offer Dief coffee. It's about the Smarties in your own coffee.
It's about how you're damaged but in no way stupid. It's how you don't always know when to quit. It's about how you put together a beautiful paragraph. It's about how on the inside you're a poet, but on the outside it's shake bad guys, shake.
It's about how you will follow your partner off of tall buildings into the Lake they call Michigan, onto pirate ships, onto the wings of planes. It's about you protecting Ray so he can bring down the mob. It's about a one with a smiley face. It's about riding a motorcycle through a window. It's about eating spaghetti cooked over a campfire and ice fishing in a reservoir. It's about how you know you can depend on your true friends when you need asylum. It's about how you love with your heart and soul. It's about riding off into the sunrise in search of that reaching out hand.
And okay, I admit it. It is, just a bit, about your t-shirt covered belly and your geek glasses.
Love,
Me
Now, please post your own love letters in the comments. Inquiring minds want to know why you love DS.
So I thought about it for a while, and realized that the show is brilliantly written (see airinshaw's post of great quotes), but the main reason I adore it is because of the characters. So herein, my love letters to the Rays and Fraser.
Dear Ray, Vecchio, I mean the first Ray Vecchio,
Your reputation preceded you and I am embarrassed to admit that I was a mite predisposed against you. I didn't pay you proper attention during the Pilot or VS, which were pretty much the only two episodes I saw you in, besides CoTW, for years. For a long time, I only had Seasons 3 & 4, so I couldn't get to know you even if I had wanted to do so.
Luckily for me, I eventually watched all your episodes and realized that I had completely underestimated you from the start. You dragged your ass out of the hospital, smuggled weapons over the border, and trekked into the middle of nowhere to help Fraser defend himself. All this after only knowing the guy a short time.
So what if you're kind of an asshole to your sister and don't always listen to Fraser? He is the most annoying man in the world, after all. And in the end, when it counts, you're there, right where you need to be, and I'm not just talking about picking through dumpsters and getting wolf hair in your car, although it's pretty amazing how you use your hard-saved Riv replacement money to pay people to listen to Fraser in "A Few Good Men."
No, you're also doing the tough stuff. "Victoria's Secret" kind of writes the book on it - I mean, you shoot Fraser in the back to keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life (that's my story and I'm sticking to it). "The Deal" is another prime example of that. So is "Dead Guy Running," and you're not even physically present in that one.
I admit to being slightly put off by your very loud and colorful shirts, but your eyes? More than make up for any hideous shirt. Seriously. When I look in your eyes, I have an extremely difficult time looking away. Or remembering my name. Oh, yeah.
So, my dear Ray the first, in case I wasn't totally clear, you wholly kick ass and I love you.
Love,
Me
P.S. Please tell Frannie I think she got a raw deal, spending the rest of her life with a bunch of immaculately conceived kids. She should have become a cop. Her interrogation technique cannot be beat.
Dear Fraser,
While I can only offer you the sincerest of condolences on the murder of your father, I am glad you wound up in Chicago. For one, it's always good to have people willing to put themselves on the line to make the world better (see pretty much every single episode). It's even better when that inspires other people to try to make the world better (see any episode with Ray or Ray).
On the surface, you are SuperMountie, able to jump off tall buildings with a functional sheet parachute (which, by the way, is pretty darn amazing, considering the number of kids who break arms or legs each year trying to jump off the roofs of their houses or garages with a sheet parachute and instead of catching wind and floating gently to the ground tend to smack into said ground following the laws of physics) and taste all kinds of truly disgusting stuff without ever getting ill.
Ah, but those of us that know you recognize it for what it truly is - a way to not have to engage, to push away politely. When you are truly comfortable with someone, although you may still pull the SuperMountie stuff and expect the Rays follow, with the Rays you feel comfortable enough to be SuperSnark. And oh, how I adore the snark.
I adore how you're a great big woobie because your mother died when you were just a lad, your father might as well have been dead, for all he was around while he was alive, and your grandparents didn't seem to be so warm and loving.
I love how you're so good and smart at so much stuff, but you still kind of suck at people. I love how you look in the tub. I love how you do buddy breathing. I love how you smile when you're in the snowfields. I love that your idea of a vacation is chasing a litterbug across the country. I love that you totally believe in both Rays no matter what.
I love that you regularly talk to your half-wolf and dead father. And that they both answer you.
I don't believe you can't dance, despite what you may have wanted us to believe in "Mountie Sings the Blues," because you seemed to be moving just fine in "Some Like it Red" and "An Invitation to Romance."
I love your whole oblivious Mountie act, where you pretend you don't understand that a woman is coming on to you. I adore how you love your friends and you'll do just about anything for them. I 'm crazy about how you opened the car door into Orsini.
I love that the best chemistry you have with anyone on the show is Ray and Ray. I adore your complete inability to keep any sort of normal body space between yourself and them.
And in case I wasn't clear, I love you.
Love,
Me
Dear Stanley RayK,
I must admit that when I first saw "Burning Down the House," it was love at first sight. Instant total devotion.
And when the hormones settled a bit, I discovered I was still head over heels for you. It's not about your experimental hair, which changes colors about as often as I do laundry. It's not about your eyes, which I'm still not entirely sure of their color, or your smirk, or the lines between your eyebrows or your really sexy stubble. It's not about your bracelet or how you're so orally fixated or how hot you look holding your gun. It's not about the Champion tattoo. It's not about your blue flip-up sunglasses. It's not about how I want you to take me in your arms and dance with me like you used to dance with Stella. It's not about your t-shirt covered belly or your geek glasses.
It's about your loyalty, your professionalism, your dedication, your ability to work with Fraser as a duet, in spite of having to punch him. It's about you trusting your instincts. It's about righting old wrongs, whether making peace with a bank robber or freeing a woman unjustly sentenced to death. It's about how you didn't kill Dewey. It's about how you hit that homerun. It's about how you offer Dief coffee. It's about the Smarties in your own coffee.
It's about how you're damaged but in no way stupid. It's how you don't always know when to quit. It's about how you put together a beautiful paragraph. It's about how on the inside you're a poet, but on the outside it's shake bad guys, shake.
It's about how you will follow your partner off of tall buildings into the Lake they call Michigan, onto pirate ships, onto the wings of planes. It's about you protecting Ray so he can bring down the mob. It's about a one with a smiley face. It's about riding a motorcycle through a window. It's about eating spaghetti cooked over a campfire and ice fishing in a reservoir. It's about how you know you can depend on your true friends when you need asylum. It's about how you love with your heart and soul. It's about riding off into the sunrise in search of that reaching out hand.
And okay, I admit it. It is, just a bit, about your t-shirt covered belly and your geek glasses.
Love,
Me
Now, please post your own love letters in the comments. Inquiring minds want to know why you love DS.