Month: February 2014

Welcome to the machine

saladtongs

The psychoanalysis machine that is.

I have my first appointment with a clinical psychologist on Monday. This is after four months of telling my father that I would see someone ASAP.

I feel like a total dumbass for doing this. There are people out there with much larger problems than I. What the fuck am I going to say to this person?

Seriously what am I going to say, and more worryingly what if I go to my first appointment and its on one of the ‘good’ days. She’s gonna think I’m full of shit or some kind of hypochondriac.

Gah.

Don’t talk to me in the morning

donttalktome

Look, random colleague whom I do not know, I do not want to engage you in conversation at 8:50am in the morning. It’s nothing personal, I’m just not ready for banal small talk about the quantity of milk in the fridge. What’s more, I’m making it quite obvious that I do not wish to be spoken too.

I’ve not been rude to you, I’ve done that fake smile and given a cursory nod. I’ve returned your salutation and said “good morning” and then carried on making my coffee. Read between the gigantic, cut-the-atmosphere-with-a-knife-lines, you idiot. I’m not mentally capable of dealing with your asinine chatter this early, and if you push then I will bite. I realise you are just trying to make conversation, but why must you try to force it out of me? Can’t we just say good morning to each other and let it be?

Apparently not. Humans seem to get naturally uncomfortable when there’s silence in a room with people. I do not understand why. You are doing your thing and I’m doing mine. We are going to spend less than two minutes sharing this room space, can you really not go two minutes without having to force some kind of pointless conversation on me?

Look, I’m well aware that I need to be nicer to people and more accepting of others viewpoints, and generally ‘be a better person’ if I want to get better mentally. But this doesn’t mean I have to put up with your bullshit in the morning. And don’t give me a weird look because I don’t wish to talk to you at that time, it just makes me feel worse and you are being fucking selfish. You are not the centre of my universe, do not presume that wanting to talk to you before I’m fully awake is high on my list of priorities today. Give both my eyes the chance to open fully and then maybe we can jive.

f.

This thing of ours (Or, That’s how you end a TV show!)

“Yar there be spoilers ahead matey!” Tony Soprano is now a pirate.

I just finished watching The Sopranos, like seven years after it finished airing on TV. I’ve done that a lot lately, catching up on older shows since apathy = more TV and movie times.

I watched The Wire first, at the insistence of my brother. I had tried to watch the pilot episode twice before and fallen asleep due to a combination of weed and weed. Eventually though I bore through and made it to the end, then watched like four more episodes in a row. That show is tits, you guys. I’m seriously. Tits.

The writing, acting, production design, cinematography is all extremely well put together and makes for gripping television. Fucking brutal in its honest portrayal of life on the streets, in the city bureaucracy, corrupt police departments, and public school systems.  I burned through all five seasons in about two months.

But back to the subject at hand, The Sopranos finale.

I don’t know how I did it but I’ve managed to completely avoid all spoilers for the whole show since it aired. I think partially because I was never interested in it before, although I do like mafia style movies, the idea of a TV show about them never appealed to me. I didn’t think they would have enough material for season after season of stereotypical Cosa Nostra antics. Hey guess what folks, I WAS WRAAANG.

It’s hard to describe The Sopranos and I want to try and do so without coming off as some pretentious critic, which I ain’t, I just watch a lot of movies and tv shows. With a lot of weed.

It’s a show that divided opinions and broke conventions with its mental tangent destroying sub plots. There is for example, an episode that has like a twenty-minute dream sequence in Tony’s head that feels like a goddamned David Lynch movie. It’s ok David you cool, but you know what I mean, your films are whack.

It mindfucked its audience, hard, and threw you curveballs like you wouldn’t believe. It’s violent, it’s raw, and it has characters that I’m never going to be able to forget (Silvio Dante was a dude, well except for all that bad murder he did). It was a great show, and I know the ending disappointed a lot of people but in my opinion it was perfect, and an artistic stroke of genius.

For those aware of the final scene (and those not this is your last spoiler warning), if you are clinging to some belief that life goes on for our friend Tony and that the ending is open to interpretation well I’m sorry but that’s

falseYou know you are wrong.

It is not open at all. He is dead boys and girls. It’s sad but inevitable in his line of work I’m afraid, and the straight cut to black is proof. He has received a bullet to the brain, so we see what he sees, just like we had been all the way throughout that final scene. It’s totally not what you expect to happen, just like the entire rest of the goddamn series. Brilliant.

Gah, for me to speak any more about it would not do it justice because I suck at trying to describe things. Instead, if you’ve seen the ending and were left lacking, read this excellent article from some guy at Den of Geek who might bring you some closure. You poor dears.

You should also read it if you liked the ending, because it’s interesting and well written and was the first thing I hit when I googled ‘sopranos ending wtf’.

f.