Excellence...at a Cost
So, Game of Thrones made me cry like a fucking toddler missing her horsey on Sunday night. I will not spoil anything, but I will talk about my Feels.
At first, I was living in the moment. My reaction was a series of NO's that were incalcuable, with face grabs, and jumping up and down on the couch. As the scene concluded, I was dry-crying with a threat of tears, and basically just trying to deal with all of the information that had just splatted out of my new 43 inch TV. I had to go to the bathroom from before Arya first saw the castle, so as the credits rolled I got up and kind of reeled to the wiz palace (thank you, Leslie Knope). Where I lost my fucking mind.
So I'm on the trrrlet, SOBBING. Real tears! Which is hard for me these days. As a side note, I'm on the anti-crazies. I am taking them so I don't have panic attacks on the train. Plus side: I hardly ever have panic attacks on the train. Negative downer Debbie side: joint pain, dry mouth, crippling pain in the hips after too much movement, lack of filter sometimes. Plus/minus side: I give so little fucks about a lot of things now. I still do my makeup in the morning to look "right" for the world (no tiny "mole" eyes and fake clear skin), I can still laugh at things and feel sad about things...the laughter is not so donkey-ish, however...and the sads...? Well, they are usually little hiccups, not much on the emotional richter scale.
But last night? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I absolutely MUST tip my hat to my family and friends who have read the books. Not once did they ever give a hint to what was about to happen last night. Not a whisper! Not a hint! And now I know why they wanted me to read the books: To protect my sorry ass from the shock, horror, and absolute devastation of last night's episode. They are absolutely AMAZING. After Eddard Stark, I didn't think GoT could shock me. Lesson. Learned.
As a spewed out my emotions on Facebook last night, I felt somewhat ashamed at how good they got me. I know GoT isn't real life...and I knew the only time I'd ever had such a hysterical response to a show was back in '85 when Bobby Ewing died on Dallas. I was 13 and the previously mentioned (on this blog) junior high "God" Victor Silva had just been seriously injured in an accident. There had been hushed phone calls previously, where adults had discussed how to explain that this handsome, talented young man was lucky to be alive and unlikely to be anything like he had been before, and near to that day they'd laid it out for us. What brain damage meant, how unlikely it was that he would ever be the same again. I hadn't really absorbed it. But then, watching that episode of Dallas and seeing my favorite character die, I finally felt something...and then I felt ALL THE THINGS. And I was a honking, snotty, screeching mess for the rest of the night.
So, that's a real thing. GoT is another thing all together. And that is why, after my initial HATE RAGE--I actually edited my first response on Facebook, which was "I HATE YOU GAME OF THRONES"--I can step back and appreciate the BALLS this show has. Taking out Eddard fucked a lot of us up enough...but this? Mother. Fucker. HOW DARE YOU? But also, WOW, LOOK HOW YOU DARED, MOTHER FUCKERS. I don't hate HBO, GoT, or the author, as some colorful members of Twitter have shared. I admire the shit out of their courage, their foresight, and their ability to make us care so much about these characters--more than we thought we knew--to inspire such a passionate, tormented, and yes, vitriolic response. Hats off. Heads off. Whatever. It is all the same in the game of thrones.
At first, I was living in the moment. My reaction was a series of NO's that were incalcuable, with face grabs, and jumping up and down on the couch. As the scene concluded, I was dry-crying with a threat of tears, and basically just trying to deal with all of the information that had just splatted out of my new 43 inch TV. I had to go to the bathroom from before Arya first saw the castle, so as the credits rolled I got up and kind of reeled to the wiz palace (thank you, Leslie Knope). Where I lost my fucking mind.
So I'm on the trrrlet, SOBBING. Real tears! Which is hard for me these days. As a side note, I'm on the anti-crazies. I am taking them so I don't have panic attacks on the train. Plus side: I hardly ever have panic attacks on the train. Negative downer Debbie side: joint pain, dry mouth, crippling pain in the hips after too much movement, lack of filter sometimes. Plus/minus side: I give so little fucks about a lot of things now. I still do my makeup in the morning to look "right" for the world (no tiny "mole" eyes and fake clear skin), I can still laugh at things and feel sad about things...the laughter is not so donkey-ish, however...and the sads...? Well, they are usually little hiccups, not much on the emotional richter scale.
But last night? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I absolutely MUST tip my hat to my family and friends who have read the books. Not once did they ever give a hint to what was about to happen last night. Not a whisper! Not a hint! And now I know why they wanted me to read the books: To protect my sorry ass from the shock, horror, and absolute devastation of last night's episode. They are absolutely AMAZING. After Eddard Stark, I didn't think GoT could shock me. Lesson. Learned.
As a spewed out my emotions on Facebook last night, I felt somewhat ashamed at how good they got me. I know GoT isn't real life...and I knew the only time I'd ever had such a hysterical response to a show was back in '85 when Bobby Ewing died on Dallas. I was 13 and the previously mentioned (on this blog) junior high "God" Victor Silva had just been seriously injured in an accident. There had been hushed phone calls previously, where adults had discussed how to explain that this handsome, talented young man was lucky to be alive and unlikely to be anything like he had been before, and near to that day they'd laid it out for us. What brain damage meant, how unlikely it was that he would ever be the same again. I hadn't really absorbed it. But then, watching that episode of Dallas and seeing my favorite character die, I finally felt something...and then I felt ALL THE THINGS. And I was a honking, snotty, screeching mess for the rest of the night.
So, that's a real thing. GoT is another thing all together. And that is why, after my initial HATE RAGE--I actually edited my first response on Facebook, which was "I HATE YOU GAME OF THRONES"--I can step back and appreciate the BALLS this show has. Taking out Eddard fucked a lot of us up enough...but this? Mother. Fucker. HOW DARE YOU? But also, WOW, LOOK HOW YOU DARED, MOTHER FUCKERS. I don't hate HBO, GoT, or the author, as some colorful members of Twitter have shared. I admire the shit out of their courage, their foresight, and their ability to make us care so much about these characters--more than we thought we knew--to inspire such a passionate, tormented, and yes, vitriolic response. Hats off. Heads off. Whatever. It is all the same in the game of thrones.
posted by Shiny at 11:23 PM
1 Comments:
I got to watch part of one episode one time. I know I would love this show if I kept up. I'm sorry my comment is so disappointing. I can't say, "I totally get what you're saying and I know who you're talking about!"
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