the last one
When I checked out Six Feet Under Season 1 at the library last November, I had no intention of ever finishing the disk. I was just curious to see what Peter Krause, who was amazing opposite the incredible Felicity Huffman in Sports Night, which I had just finished viewing.
The first episode did not impress me much, needless to say. But one thing intrigued me: Who was this woman who had just walked into Nate's life during a random airport sexual encounter? I decided to finish the discs as I was intrigued into finding out more about this Brenda Chenowith. Who was this man crying in her kitchen? Why did she have "Nathaniel" tattooed on her back? What was Nate getting into?
At the same time, I was laughing at Claire who put a foot into her boyfriend's ex-locker. I felt for David, being afraid to be gay but knowing deep down inside, that's who he was.
By the end of the first two discs, I was hooked. And I checked out the other two DVDs.
I cringed as David, distraught over his homosexuality, had unprotected sex with a creepy hooker no one in their right mind would even have sex with for free and was promptly arrested. I cringed as he became the typical WeHo boy, going to the clubs with the hot square dance teacher and trying ecstasy. But I understood how he was trying to accept and love himself. I was crying after the death of someone by hate crime affected David deeply and made him question himself, his sexuality and his faith. And when he came out to his mother, Ruth, I felt the same sense of relief he did.
This was juxtoposed with Brenda Chenowith and her bipolar brother, Billy, who felt he could not create art while on medication. I felt the same fear Brenda did when Billy decided he would carve off her "Nathaniel" tattoo.
And Claire's disturbed boyfriend, Gabe, was robbing convenience stores.
Just a normal day in the Los Angeles family that runs Fisher and Sons Funeral Home. Yet, I haven't even gotten to the AVM, The Plan, the accidental ingestion of ecstasy, "Don't throw that ring at me, that is so fucking cliche I think I'll fucking barf", the sister on Vicodine in Topenga Canyon, Olivier, Margaret Chenowith or the forced ingestion of crack at gunpoint.
That's not the half of it.
The show forced viewers to examine their own mortality. It took us down several roads never deemed possible on television. We saw the characters at their best and at their worst, and for the most part, continued to love them during both.
During the fifth and final season, the running theme was everything must end. Including this journal.
It's time to end this Livejournal. I've been planning to switch journals for a while (I started composing this entry on August 16), and I was going to wait until I had some income for a LJ name change token. But after the events of this week, I think it's time for a "new" start here at Livejournal end. I'm going back to my old LJ, and once I have a job in a few days/weeks, I'll be getting a name change token. (Although with the way my plans for getting out of here are going, the old name still fits.) This journal has been the source of some pain and frustration, and I'd rather start anew in hopes it really is a new start for me.
If you still wish to read my journal, let me know by commenting. Even if you still list my LJ as a friend, comment anyway. If you don't want to continue reading it, don't comment. And there'll be no hard feelings. I hope you continue to read it, but if you don't, it's your loss.
Interestingly enough, Oct. 13, 2003, three years ago today, was when I first started this journal.
Adiós, ratboyclarkkent.
The first episode did not impress me much, needless to say. But one thing intrigued me: Who was this woman who had just walked into Nate's life during a random airport sexual encounter? I decided to finish the discs as I was intrigued into finding out more about this Brenda Chenowith. Who was this man crying in her kitchen? Why did she have "Nathaniel" tattooed on her back? What was Nate getting into?
At the same time, I was laughing at Claire who put a foot into her boyfriend's ex-locker. I felt for David, being afraid to be gay but knowing deep down inside, that's who he was.
By the end of the first two discs, I was hooked. And I checked out the other two DVDs.
I cringed as David, distraught over his homosexuality, had unprotected sex with a creepy hooker no one in their right mind would even have sex with for free and was promptly arrested. I cringed as he became the typical WeHo boy, going to the clubs with the hot square dance teacher and trying ecstasy. But I understood how he was trying to accept and love himself. I was crying after the death of someone by hate crime affected David deeply and made him question himself, his sexuality and his faith. And when he came out to his mother, Ruth, I felt the same sense of relief he did.
This was juxtoposed with Brenda Chenowith and her bipolar brother, Billy, who felt he could not create art while on medication. I felt the same fear Brenda did when Billy decided he would carve off her "Nathaniel" tattoo.
And Claire's disturbed boyfriend, Gabe, was robbing convenience stores.
Just a normal day in the Los Angeles family that runs Fisher and Sons Funeral Home. Yet, I haven't even gotten to the AVM, The Plan, the accidental ingestion of ecstasy, "Don't throw that ring at me, that is so fucking cliche I think I'll fucking barf", the sister on Vicodine in Topenga Canyon, Olivier, Margaret Chenowith or the forced ingestion of crack at gunpoint.
That's not the half of it.
The show forced viewers to examine their own mortality. It took us down several roads never deemed possible on television. We saw the characters at their best and at their worst, and for the most part, continued to love them during both.
During the fifth and final season, the running theme was everything must end. Including this journal.
It's time to end this Livejournal. I've been planning to switch journals for a while (I started composing this entry on August 16), and I was going to wait until I had some income for a LJ name change token. But after the events of this week, I think it's time for a "new" start here at Livejournal end. I'm going back to my old LJ, and once I have a job in a few days/weeks, I'll be getting a name change token. (Although with the way my plans for getting out of here are going, the old name still fits.) This journal has been the source of some pain and frustration, and I'd rather start anew in hopes it really is a new start for me.
If you still wish to read my journal, let me know by commenting. Even if you still list my LJ as a friend, comment anyway. If you don't want to continue reading it, don't comment. And there'll be no hard feelings. I hope you continue to read it, but if you don't, it's your loss.
Interestingly enough, Oct. 13, 2003, three years ago today, was when I first started this journal.
Adiós, ratboyclarkkent.