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Wired Up

Courtesy HBO

I know I’m pretty late to this party. It’s only thanks to the advent of Amazon Instant Video and my Prime membership that I’m finally getting around to watching HBO’s inner city crime drama The Wire. But I still want to talk about it. Maybe ‘talk’ is too gentle a word; I want to sing its praises.

Crime dramas and television are one of those chocolate/peanut butter combinations. It’s popular because the aspects of one compliment the other. In most instances, you have case-of-the-week shows like Law & Order or CSI, giving fans their weekly infusion of familiar characters in the pursuit of justice. Some episodes are stronger than others, but the show’s popularity is maintained because we are creatures of habit, and television shows can be habit-forming, even if they’re subscribing to a formula.

The Wire‘s formula is a completely different animal. It’s a wolf, prowling and watching, while other television crime dramas play like puppies. Not to say there’s anything wrong with the aforementioned shows; I’ve done my share of indulging in a good Special Victims Unit binge. But The Wire is simply a breed apart. And it exists that way for a few very interesting and powerful reasons.

Instead of relying on a ‘ripped from the headlines’ rotation of cases, The Wire tackles one case a season. Just one. We see how the case begins, who is involved, what drove them to that point, so on and so forth. In some cases, it can take a few episodes for the investigation to truly begin. These are true procedurals: we see the process in all of its grueling details, the camera an unblinking, non-judgmental lens giving us all of the facts. There are times when The Wire almost feels like a documentary in its presentation, which brings me to the authenticity of the characters.

It is not forgotten, not for a moment, that each and every character in The Wire is a person. Even minor characters feel like they have dimension and agency. We won’t always like the decisions characters make, but we can understand why they’re made. I’m a season and a half into the show, and I have yet to see a character do something that makes no sense from their perspective. Sure, a character or two has done something that to me seems obviously bone-headed, but the show is written in such a way that I can get into the character’s shows and see things through their eyes, even if the vision isn’t all that clear.

The biggest thing about The Wire that keeps me coming back, though, is the conversations. The dialogue in this show is some of the best I’ve ever heard. It feels authentic and natural. Even the legalese spoken by lawyers and judges feels like its born out of years of experience, not words on a script. There’s also the fact that it’s being spoken by some extremely talented actors. There’s just as much expression in the looks and body language of these people than there is in the words. You can feel discomfort, anger, satisfaction, and scheming, all taking place just under the surface. Text and subtext blend together into storytelling that is truly gripping and absolutely brilliant.

If you have access to it, via Amazon or some other means, I wholeheartedly encourage you to check out The Wire. I can’t call this a full review since, as I’ve said, I’m only a season and a half in as of this writing, but you can bet I’m in it for the long haul, now. It’s simply one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

No Guilty Pleasures

Courtesy Hasbro

I’m making plans to go see Transformers: Age of Extinction later this week. Possibly on that most American of holidays, Independence Day. What better way to celebrate the birth of a nation and honor the sacrifices made by those fighting for its autonomy than a big-budget action movie filled with Americana iconography and military/weapon fetishism? I’m someone who tries to see media in general, and movies and games in particular, from a more critical standpoint, adding my voice to those attempting to discern good qualities from bad and directing the spending of those willing to listen.

Admittedly, however, there is a part of me that will always love the Transformers, no matter what Michael Bay does to them.

And that’s okay.

I’m honestly getting more and more disillusioned with the notion of the ‘guilty pleasure’. There’s an idea in our culture that there are certain things that we are not allowed to enjoy, or at least not allowed to admit we enjoy. We should hate ourselves for eating food we know is bad for us. Entertainment that goes for cheap thrills or laughs should be put down. And if you admit to enjoying sex, slut-shaming will fall on you by the bucketfuls. I mean, it should fall on everyone in this culture, but I think we all know women get it a lot more than men do because the patriarchy is, in fact, an extant and present danger to progress and free thought.

Let me wrestle this thing back onto my point. My point is that, as long as one is being safe and smart in their choices, no pleasure should be labeled as guilty. Sure, if you eat nothing but fast food all the time you’re going to have health problems, but that isn’t to say you should never eat any fast food ever. There are those who make that choice, and they’re healthy people I admire. I may even join them someday. But on occasion, I will get a hankering that can only be satisfied with a late night Taco Bell indulgence.

Basically, if no actual harm is occurring, and things are being taken in moderation (including moderation, as St. Augustine would say), it’s difficult for me to really describe any pleasure we take from life as “guilty”. After all, life is long and difficult, and moments of true pleasure, joy, and release can be hard to come by in our daily struggle to keep ourselves and our dreams alive. Why make things even more complex and potentially hurtful for ourselves or others by leveling judgement on what we enjoy?

Sure, some things can be objectively bad or wrong with what we like. We can acknowledge that red meat is bad for us. It’s easy to see the flaws in a movie that’s not up to standards. Hell, I love Flash Gordon even though I know some of its effects are cheap even by the standards of the day and a good few story points make zero sense. But I love it in spite of those flaws. I enjoy the hell out of the time I spend laughing at the antics or belting out Queen lyrics. It’s just fun. It’s a pleasure. And I don’t feel guilty about it.

I don’t think you should feel guilty about your pleasures, either.

From The Vault: Drill, Baby, Drill

Watching Gurren-Hen last night, I come back to the reasons why I fell in love with Gurren Lagann in the first place. I want to revisit that.


Courtesy Rabbitpoets
Courtesy Rabbitpoets, will credit original artist!

When I encounter a new story that I find myself enjoying thoroughly, there’s a part of me that can’t just leave it at that. I have to look deeper than my superficial glee and take a look at what really calls to me about the tale. I have to examine characters, plot points, meanings and development. I don’t know if it’s my background in doing so for years at university, or my desire to better understand other stories so I can write mine better, but in any case, it’s what makes me review and critique stuff on a regular basis.

Case in point: I just finished watching the anime series Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann and I enjoyed the hell out of it.

I’m no stranger to big robot anime. Voltron and Robotech (Macross in particular) were staples growing up. When I hit university I was introduced to more – Macross Plus, Gundam Wing and the brilliant but bizarre Neon Genesis Evangelion. There are plenty of other mecha anime out there, and plenty of anime that get classified as shounen – aimed primarily at young or teenage boys with exciting action and plenty of fighting. One might think, with a cursory glance, that Gurren Lagann is in the same vein as these, even with its unique aesthetic, but it doesn’t take long for the series’s true strengths to reveal themselves.

In a few other series I’ve dipped my toe into and even enjoyed, the main character gets his special power or destiny, and pursues it with dogged determination that, while admirable, does not vary his character much. Gurren Lagann, on the other hand, lets its characters develop naturally. The character of Simon, in particular, goes through a lot of growth from the beginning of the series to its end. In addition to the respect I give a story for the willingness to actually end legitimately and well, there’s the fact that the Simon at the end of the story is a different person, a more developed person, than he was at the beginning. The same goes for Yoko; a character that easily could have been relegated to simple fan service is also allowed to grow, breathe, develop, and take on a life of her own.

Another way in which the series sets itself apart is in the fact that actions have consequences. Each victory that our heroes gain take them deeper into a world they did not anticipate, and as much as the show likes to treat the laws of physics more like loose guidelines than actual rules, there’s no cheap resurrections and no going back. Changes are irreversible, and consequences must be dealt with. In a general genre and specific sub-genre that is usually all about an empowerment fantasy free of consequences, seeing a show that drops the hammer on its character multiple times for things they do is refreshing.

As cool as it would be to pilot a giant mecha, Gurren Lagann seems to treat its unique and strikingly designed machines as exactly what they are: vehicles. They’re the means by which the story and its meaning are delivered, and the meaning is this: it’s okay to be yourself. In fact, the ideal way to live one’s life is to forge ahead making one’s own destiny with a sense of self-belief. Believing in yourself can be hard to do, especially when it feels like the whole world is against you, but when people have faith in you, and you have faith in yourself, there is literally nothing you can’t do. Rather than relegate such things to occasional character moments or after-credits messages, Gurren Lagann makes this the driving force behind its narrative, a massive drill that bores a hole right through your expectations. The individual’s sense of self-worth is a weapon in and of itself; when fully realized, it’s an extremely potent one.

I may be reading too much into an anime series, or drawing an inordinate amount of inspiration from it, but that’s who I am. I take the lessons I find from what I experience and I try to make them a part of my life. I am, as always, a work in progress. I will never stop learning, never stop growing, and never stop writing about it. That’s what I do. And the more I do it, the more proud I become of what I’m doing and what I will do in the future. I may not live up to some expectations, I may make mistakes, but I will make my future my own, because that’s what you do when you come to realize who you are and what that means to you and to the world around you.

I’m a writer. I’m a fanboy. I’m a critic and a philosopher and I fight for what I believe in.

Who the hell do you think I am?

500 Words on Momentum

Courtesy allthingshealing.com

With everything that’s been happening, I am more and more aware that it can be extremely difficult to maintain a consistent pace. From running to writing to preparing for life’s next adventure, things seem to be happening in short, irregular bursts, rather than unfolding according to any sort of plan. I keep telling myself that I’m going to do X, or set things up for Y, or be more vigilant regarding Z, but more often than not, I’m just satisfied in getting home and being free from responsibility for at least a couple hours.

A big part of it is, I believe, momentum. Last year at this time, I was working out regularly, pretty much every day, and pushing myself to write more. I’m not sure where all of that energy went, or if it never left and I simply lost my pace of the long, cold winter and the rough road I’ve been on over the last few months. It can be hard to start certain things, like an exercise regimen or an intense artistic endeavor, but I’ve found that once you do get started, it can be equally hard to stop.

There are a lot of things you can do to jump-start your endeavors. An adjustment in sleep or diet can be a good place to start, as can changing your surroundings. Leave what’s holding you back behind, at least for the time being, and let one of your new ideas have some time in the spotlight. You really don’t know how something is going to turn out until you try it, after all, so even if a new project goes nowhere, if it leads to you coming back to something you were struggling with stronger than ever, it will not have been a waste of time.

In fact, time you spend trying to regain momentum is not a waste, either. I’ve never been mountain climbing, but I imagine the same applies. The first few steps up a mountainside are not a waste of time, no matter how deliberate you make your pace to prepare yourself for the climb, take in the scenery, snap photos, or take another inventory. When you’re preparing to run, you may spend time making sure your water, your music, your shoes, everything is in order. Again, not a waste of time. It helps organize your mind to deal with what’s ahead. And it’s likely to make the event even more rewarding.

This is a case of saying it to myself as much as to anyone reading: Don’t give up. Keep trying. Continue to push forward. Even if you’ve stumbled, tripped, or slowed to catch your breath, the race is not over. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. If you’ve lost your pace, don’t worry. You can get it back. Just keep breathing and measure your steps. Before you know it, you’ll be beating your old times and on the road to victory. You just have to want it. You can do it!

Bad Shed

The time was right. The scales were old, and worn. New skin was eager to emerge beneath. She rested, waiting, avoiding food, her eyes cloudy and unfocused, all but blind. She curled under her favorite rock, out of sight, out of the light. The surface of the rock was rough, as was the bedding in the enclosure. The air was moist and warm, perfect for her. The time was right.

Slowly, deliberately, she rubbed against her rock. She pushed her head forward towards the hazy light ahead of her. The moisture of the air in the open areas of the enclosure kiss her new scales. Inch by inch, she emerges from her old skin. White and dry, it begins to fall behind her. It is a long, difficult process. But it is necessary for her to live.

It isn’t quite halfway along that things start to go wrong. She’s moving forward but nothing is happening. It feels like she’s going nowhere. The more she moves, the tighter the ring of old skin becomes. Her tongue flicks out. The air has gone dry. She is trapped in her own skin.

It is irrational to hate the air, hate the tank, hate the rock that is no longer assisting her. But she can’t hide the frustration. There is a hiss. A waste of precious air. The air is closer, now, more entrapping. It’s getting harder to breathe. This isn’t right. Our skin is not supposed to be our enemy. This is supposed to be an exciting time, a new beginning, the next step forward. Instead, with each passing, gasping moment, it feels like the end.

There is a large shape outside the enclosure. Noise, movement, things that seem superfluous because it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. There is a rush, a breath, moist and warm and welcome across scales old and new. A surge of hope. A burst of energy. Maybe just one more inch. It would be easier to quit, to lay down, to rest, to sleep. Forever. Maybe just one more inch.

She sheds another inch. And another. And another.

When it’s over, she curls up on her branch, near the light she doesn’t comprehend. It’s not as distant or warm or complete as the one outside with the noises and the breeze. It’s closer, and it hums, but it’s warm and welcome and she rests. Her old skin lays forgotten near the rock. It would have killed her. But she was stronger. She was more determined. And she had help, help unlooked for, but help she had needed, help she adored nonetheless.

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