Tuesday, April 24, 2007
I have kind of a new mini-routine I try to follow in the morning if I can get up early enough. I watch as much as I have time for, maybe 15-20 minutes, of a tivo'd episode of Dexter (showtime). This allows me to wake up, munch on something, drink some coffee, wake up before I have to actually move my ass. Great show, by the way. More on that later.
okey doke, fast forward, imagine me here then gone then back. The saddle is laden again after lunch, company fiesta style, only not much of a shindig, er, well, rather a sarcastic pity party version. Shit is fucking up faster than a Grecian toad around here. This is fucked up, that’s fucked up, I’m surprised Ad-Rock hasn’t showed up with a whiffle ball bat.
BUT the biggest saving grace is the portion of fucked uppedness that was my fault, well, I think I found an exit strategy. What could have been Armageddon became now not as lucrative a project as it might have been, compared to effin up the works of the jaws of life of man of woman of child and the whole island falling into the drink.
Back to Dexter. This show manages to jump all over, and get across with a high degree of clarity and subtlety, the whole idea of the massive disconnect that is likely quite prevalent in the predatorily violent section of a certain segment of humanity, shit, in prolly a scarily big section of people in general. Which makes you think also of the violent portion that is plagued by the opposite problem of a massive connect, ie too much emotion. The character in question feels almost nothing except for the thrill of killing and the thrill of planning out and carrying out the killing, at least this is what he tells himself, and you’re not sure if you totally believe him.
It all is eerily similar yet really quite different in a vast number of ways from a screenplay that I began writing about a year & a half ago, before I’d ever even heard of the show (before it started airing, I believe), the only similarities being the “hero” or main character being a serial killer. From there all bets are off, aside from the character being somewhat sympathetic (much moreso in Dexter, which, granted, makes the character more workable, especially in the framework of an ongoing series. This is the huge difference of this context, than, say, the protagonist in American Psycho, who engenders more frightened pity and disgust than the vague deranged understanding spawned by the Dexter character), but it’s still interesting to see how one writer handles the idea. The background work that was done on Dexter’s character fascinates. Especially the idea that he had a father figure to help guide him at becoming a proper chameleon into society.
And here I was going to talk about my life. Hmmm, consider this sidetrack #1. well, it is about my life, because I start my day watching the show. Not my fault that there’s so much further to say about it.
Uh, from there I go to my car and then get in & drive to work & deal with drama here. Oooh, this is a nice item from mi vida loca. I get to see live video of my unborn little girl today, a la the ultrasound personnel at Kapiolani Center for Women & Children, and that is always a fun celebration, especially with your 10 month old squirming and kicking and squealing and having a good old time in your lap as you peruse said images. Okey doke, slice of life & unvoiced yet intimated depth & meaning laced menageries thereby accomplished or possibly not, and even a bit of the old background noggin mass media tidbit analysis, thus allowing me (or, rather me allowing myself) to humbly depart, for now, the environs of this here space.