And now my heart, it is broken. And it is you who have broken my heart...
Please be warned, the following post contains much gushing, lots of talk about The West Wing, and several sentences that start with And. Because I'm too lazy to write properly.
I really have nothing to say except that it's five am and I can't sleep and I finished re-watching The West Wing and I think it's maybe the reason that I can't sleep because I love it so damn much.
It's not the first time I've rewatched that show, it's not the third or the sixth. I've watched it a lot. Cover to cover. And I seriously, seriously have no idea how to accurately express my love for it.
When I ploughed through BSG at an alarming rate a few months ago and came to the end too soon and found myself with nothing to do and a giant hole in my heart where this incredible piece of television genius had stormed through it without ever stopping for a moment, I felt almost bereft. I thought to myself that Battlestar may even have come to replace The West Wing as the T.V. thing that I love most.
But now I realise that they're just going to have to house-share because I swear to God, that show does not fade, does not falter, does not ever get one hair less brilliant than it was the first time I watched it, on shiny new DVDs the first day they came out in my pyjamas staying home 'sick' from school.
And ok, I know it has its problems. I have problems with it. And they're not few and they're not inconsequential. But God when I'm watching it I just can't bring myself to care.
I've watched it so many times, and I always start it again feeling like I know exactly how it will go, how I will feel, which parts will make me laugh, which will make me cry, and I kind of watch it in the background for a bit while I'm doing other things. And then suddenly I'll be cracking up at the strange and magnificent timing of Joshua Malina's awkwardly erudite Will Bailey. Or bursting into tears because Richard Schiff's face is just so expressive I could die from it. Or just brimming with love for Timothy Busfield at the end of Institutional Memory when he tells CJ he wants them to talk, because he likes the sound of her voice.
And I end up completely and utterly gobsmacked that it can still make me feel new things. And always miserable and completely destroyed that John Spencer is dead. Johnny it seems we hardly knew you.
And now it's over again and that feeling, that hole in my heart that began when I finished BSG that I patched up with old episodes of Poirot and Faure's Requiem and reading Somerset Maugham books late into the night, it's torn back open. And I can't get to sleep.
I'm not saying that it's perfect, or even that it's well balanced or not a little bit sexist in some kind of really sneaky ways that I don't know that even Sorkin knows he does, I'm just saying that I really freaking love it. And I wanted to say it out loud.
I can hear the motorway from my bed. Why are so many people driving at 5.30 in the morning?
I really have nothing to say except that it's five am and I can't sleep and I finished re-watching The West Wing and I think it's maybe the reason that I can't sleep because I love it so damn much.
It's not the first time I've rewatched that show, it's not the third or the sixth. I've watched it a lot. Cover to cover. And I seriously, seriously have no idea how to accurately express my love for it.
When I ploughed through BSG at an alarming rate a few months ago and came to the end too soon and found myself with nothing to do and a giant hole in my heart where this incredible piece of television genius had stormed through it without ever stopping for a moment, I felt almost bereft. I thought to myself that Battlestar may even have come to replace The West Wing as the T.V. thing that I love most.
But now I realise that they're just going to have to house-share because I swear to God, that show does not fade, does not falter, does not ever get one hair less brilliant than it was the first time I watched it, on shiny new DVDs the first day they came out in my pyjamas staying home 'sick' from school.
And ok, I know it has its problems. I have problems with it. And they're not few and they're not inconsequential. But God when I'm watching it I just can't bring myself to care.
I've watched it so many times, and I always start it again feeling like I know exactly how it will go, how I will feel, which parts will make me laugh, which will make me cry, and I kind of watch it in the background for a bit while I'm doing other things. And then suddenly I'll be cracking up at the strange and magnificent timing of Joshua Malina's awkwardly erudite Will Bailey. Or bursting into tears because Richard Schiff's face is just so expressive I could die from it. Or just brimming with love for Timothy Busfield at the end of Institutional Memory when he tells CJ he wants them to talk, because he likes the sound of her voice.
And I end up completely and utterly gobsmacked that it can still make me feel new things. And always miserable and completely destroyed that John Spencer is dead. Johnny it seems we hardly knew you.
And now it's over again and that feeling, that hole in my heart that began when I finished BSG that I patched up with old episodes of Poirot and Faure's Requiem and reading Somerset Maugham books late into the night, it's torn back open. And I can't get to sleep.
I'm not saying that it's perfect, or even that it's well balanced or not a little bit sexist in some kind of really sneaky ways that I don't know that even Sorkin knows he does, I'm just saying that I really freaking love it. And I wanted to say it out loud.
I can hear the motorway from my bed. Why are so many people driving at 5.30 in the morning?