Can’t wait to tackle this. Summer reading, y’all.
If you could sum up Friday Night Lights with one sound or motion, it might be a sigh. FNL never trafficked in good vs. evil in the way of Harry Potter, it was concerned with smaller nuances, but in the way that FNL was chiefly about good people trying to do good things in a difficult world, whether on a team or in an Order, the two were cousins. Though based on a movie and a book, there weren’t really any expectations for Friday Night Lights the way there were for old mister wizard. No the surprise of FNL wasn’t that they somehow pulled it off, it was that NBC managed to make a warm and wise and deeply human show, one that taught us things about people (and ourselves!), that was about football. Football! All-American brutality suited-up and beer soaked. And yet, in this show’s shaky and wandering lens, lovely, too. And important, in an unexpected way. You see, of course, the show isn’t really about football. Football is just the metaphor for the struggle and grunt and defeat and victory of Life Entire. And while this might seem like a beating-over-the-head kind of theme, FNL handled it with a delicate, warmly winking grace. It knew we were on to it.
The great tragedy of FNL isn’t a Potterian melange of orphans and fallen heroes and terrible sacrifices. This show’s tragedy is, of course, that nobody fucking watched it. I was once the person on the other side, rolling my eyes about all you devotees, saying “OK, OK, I get it already, now please shut up.” Of course I later came to learn the error of my ways, and I apologize deeply to everyone everywhere for this mistake, but so many tragically didn’t. But while the show’s general unpopularity — NBC dumped it on Direct TV after three seasons, but miraculously didn’t outright cancel it — was disappointing in a lot of ways, it was also kind of fun, wasn’t it? This little Texan secret, this beautiful swoosh of afternoon light and twanging wistful music that was all ours, just the happy few of us. So, like in Potter, the sad part of FNL became something pretty, too. I do wish, though, that the show’s ending was getting some small amount of the fireworks that its English cousin is getting.
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Richard Lawson, a writer I love
Best ever. Something in my eye.
“Give all of us gathered here tonight the strength to remember that life is so very fragile. We are all vulnerable, and we will all, at some point in our lives… fall. We will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts… that what we have is special. That it can be taken from us, and when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. We will now all be tested. It is these times, it is this pain, that allows us to look inside ourselves.”
Could really use this guy today. Pretty tired and kinda hungover.
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In case you worried I wasn’t spending my money wisely these days, I’ll have you know I just ordered a bunch of these very important greeting cards, featuring Jordan Catalano as the eternally nude and wounded Patron Saint of Twinks.
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Let’s Tuesday brah.
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The moment you conclude that, on balance, the Internet is a bad thing.
When you realize you’ve just read the full Wikipedia entry on Adam Sandler’s Big Daddy
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“Love it or hate it, Community without its creator makes as much sense as Mad Men without Matt Weiner or Inspector Spacetime without Constable Reggie....”
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Dawson’s Creek has finally been added to Netflix Instant to help you out on those hungover summer mornings when you can’t get out...
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