God Is In The Details

Personal blog and nagging shame of @downonallfives. I have a Russian Blue cat. I play too many video games and sleep a lot. I live in a hoarder den of movies, music, and books in Southeast Michigan. I want to be Ric Flair.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

Fire Fly With Me

“I was the color red in a world full of black and white.”

RIP Windham Rotunda “Bray Wyatt” 1987-2023

This has been a tragic week for wrestling. Yesterday, Terry Funk, a 79 year old second generation legend died. Funk had a 52 year career spanning practically every promotion and continent. A first ballot Hall of Famer in every sense of the word, who even had a little sideline in Hollywood; Terry Funk was an old man who had done everything you can possibly do in wrestling and then much more. He accomplished his goals.

Today, a third generation wrestler, the son of Mike Rotunda, grandson of Blackjack Mulligan, and nephew of Barry Windham; Bray Wyatt passed away. After an electric return last fall it felt like there was either an unclear plan for his run or a creative difference between the performer and management. Following a match that was a neon splattered gimmicky promotion to sell Mountain Dew at the January Royal Rumble; Bray Wyatt once again took his leave. Rumors swirled that there were creative differences, Bray having personal issues, and even one of a prolonged illness. Today Bray Wyatt passed away of a heart attack caused by COVID-19 exacerbating existing heart problems.

Bray Wyatt, and another legacy talent - the son of Mr. Perfect, Joe Hennig made their WWE debut with the very unfortunate and puzzling ring names of “Husky Harris” and “Michael McGillicutty” respectively. The pair floundered after debuting in a big angle and returned to the developmental territories for repackaging.

Rotunda created the character Bray Wyatt, a sort of backwoods cultist who harkened to the character Max Cady in Cape Fear; portrayed by both Robert Mitchum and Robert DeNiro on screen. Wyatt also paid homage in his presentation to another Mitchum character, Reverend Harry Powell from Night of the Hunter. The character was awash in cinema; with his followers reminded attentive fans of The Last House on the Left and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Despite some fans initially heckling the repackaging with chants of “Husky Harris” when he debuted; Wyatt made a splash quickly and very soon erased the perception left by his failed first WWE tenure. Before he even had spent a year in the organization he was poised as the next generation’s supernatural, eerie badass - an elder millennial replacement to the aging, semi-retired Undertaker.

His first Wrestlemania match could not have been bigger for the character. One on one with John Cena at the 30th WrestleMania he was poised to go to the next level. Everything pointed to a Wyatt victory; after defeating The Rock at the most bought WrestleMania ever the previous year it was clear Cena was winding down and leaving his prime. He had one foot out the door for a film and television career and many fans who had grown up cheering his white meat kid friendly act had outgrown Cena.

WrestleMania 30 was held in New Orleans, clearly a town that has more in common with Wyatt than Cena. After an epic entrance with a band of plague doctors playing him to the ring as the crowd held their phone flashlights high the audience sang “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands” cheering Wyatt to victory. Inexplicably, Cena defeated the rising star clean in the middle of the ring. This did nothing for Cena’s already sky high profile but did not seem to take all the wind out of Wyatt’s sails.

Wyatt’s popularity persisted and he marched towards a WrestleMania match with The Undertaker the next year. The Undertaker’s WrestleMania win streak had ended the year prior and if there ever was a moment for a changing of the guard it was their match at WrestleMania 31. Instead of holding that torch aloft, Bray looked up at the lights of Levi’s Stadium as The Undertaker pinned him with his signature Tombstone piledriver.

This was not the final resting place of the Wyatt character though, he captured the WWE title in 2017. This unfortunately led to a series of comically awful matches with Randy Orton and a baffling feud and then pairing with Matt Hardy.

It was clear that the character had been derailed by 2018. Wyatt was taken off TV for a prolonged absence; but soon vignettes featuring a corrupted children’s television show of evil puppets began to air. These led to Wyatt returning in a brilliant dual character; the sweater clad children’s entertainer Bray Wyatt; who hosted his Firefly Fun House; an homage to Mr Rogers’s Neighborhood, Blues Clues, and especially Pee Wee’s Playhouse (eerily hosted by the recently passed Paul Reubens.) The show would feature the puppets being sadistic to each other, Bray barely containing his rage and bitterness beneath the calm, sweater-clad veneer he put forth. Bray would work through his personal issues via bizarre skits with his cast of demented puppets. Huskus the Pig Boy was an effigy to his resentments about his debut; Mercy the Buzzard was a sly homage to Dan Spivey’s short lived Waylon Mercy character who was an antecedent of Wyatt. A devil horned muppet version of WWE chairman Vince McMahon would guest on the show.

The sweater barely strait jacked his other personality, The Fiend. A psychopath in a human flesh mask bent on torture and cruelty who could not be stopped inside the ring. The Fiend adopted Mankind’s Mandible Claw as a finisher, itself a reference to killer Samuel Sheppard.

Wyatt’s new character was unstoppable and took the WWE by storm capturing the title and minting money for the company on their merchandise site. Wyatt was back and living up to the promise of his debut. He was headed towards the Undertaker level.

Then in February 2020, in a widely derided decision, The Fiend was soundly beaten by ancient, creaky Goldberg to build to a later canceled match against Roman Reigns that was violently rejected by fans.

In March 2020 the world shut down due to the pandemic. Fans could not attend WrestleMania and we were in for a bizarre and surreal show in an empty soundstage. Wyatt was set for a rematch with John Cena for the show initially set for a football stadium in sunny Tampa Bay. If ever there was a moment for the kind of wrestler that has guitar playing plague doctors set the stage for his entrance, it was now.

The match with Cena was to be a “Firefly Fun House” match. Nobody knew what this entailed. What we were about to witness, is in my opinion, the greatest match of the 2020s. The Firefly Fun House is a beautiful expression of a “post wrestling” era we live in. By 2020 most fans who have been following wrestling for decades pay cursory attention to the modern performers and their storylines and matches in the ring. Backstage drama, old timers sniping at each other on podcasts, fan nostalgia and review shows, and twitter beefs had supplanted modern wrestling to most fans.

In a cinematic match, a new wrestling format that would become a trope of the pandemic era, Bray and the WWE created a surrealist nightmare that had more in common with a David Lynch film than a grappling bout.

Bray had an axe to grind with Cena for his disappointment when Cena poured water on his burning hot career six years earlier in New Orleans. Ever the psychological sadist, Bray crafted a dream logic nightmare for Cena to enter that makes him confront his failures, insecurities, and disappointments just like Wyatt had for Cena-related setbacks going back all the way to 2010.

It also takes us on a tour of wrestling history; using beloved totems of different generations like the “Big Blue” cage and the Smackdown fist to play mind games with us, the fans about why we love this stuff and why we care.

Cena’s iconic theme plays before the empty soundstage to an eerie and uncomfortable silence that does not belong with it. It feels so alien and wrong without explosive dueling boos and cheers. Cena walks out on the stage as a broken montage of WrestleMania 1 clips cut to Bray inside the Firefly Fun House, giving a Rod Serling introduction to the insecurities made manifest within.

“You’re about to face your most dangerous opponent yet, yourself,” Wyatt threatens with unseemly glee. Wyatt departs and Rambling Rabbit points Cena towards Wyatt’s whereabouts.

Cena enters a black room and looks around briefly until a puppet McMahon lays down a gauntlet similar to what he did for Cena way back in 2002. Cena begins on an A Christmas Carol like visit of the ghost of Cena’s past. Wyatt stages a reenactment of Cena’s debut loss to Kurt Angle; which a much older Cena responds to in his rookie ring gear. In keeping with the dream logic Cena is unable to hit Wyatt as he mocks him with a cartoon soundboard and a series of verbal potshots.

Cut to the iconic introduction of Saturday Night’s Main Event in its heyday complete with the classic “Obsession” by Animotion. Wyatt cuts a standard shouting 80s promo behind the big blue cage, introducing Cena as “Johnny Largemeat” - Cena cannot stop curling dumbells and starts maniacally thrashing them until he loses control of his arms.

We then flash to Cena reprising his early freestyle rapper character, who is cursed with a strange form of mutism where he can only speak in raps. Cena attempts to turn the tables on Wyatt verbally; but Wyatt quickly rebuttals him and changes the narrative to remind Cena of those he stepped on climbing the ranks and that it’s lonely at the top. Cena still cannot physically attack Wyatt, and his attempt gets him knocked out.

Cut to a sermonizing Wyatt, regressing to his 2014 form, revisiting the heartbreak of WrestleMania 30.

Wyatt taunts Cena to hit him with a chair, he’s unable to.

Cut to Cena and Wyatt in nWo t shirts and black jeans, a visual even more bizarre than Cena’s grand WrestleMania entrance on an empty soundstage. Cena can finally attack Wyatt and tackles him and brutalizes him with punches, until Wyatt is replaced with the Huskus puppet.

The Fiend appears in the ring, materializing behind Cena to deliver the mandible claw. The Fiend pins Cena as we show sweater Bray gleefully counting the pinfall, Did Bray right his wrong? Was Cena swayed to some sort of dark side - there are moments where it feels like Cena has become the alternate Dale Coopers from Twin Peaks The Return with character flourishes akin to the evil “Coop” and the strange, simple “Dougie.”

There is so much packed into the editing and storytelling of this match that I could not possibly do it justice. When everything has been done that you can do in a wrestling match - what’s next? Instead of a wrestling match where you wrestle, hold a “wrestling match” about wrestling.

Elvis Costello once quipped that writing about music was like dancing about architecture. I assume he doesn’t own any 33 1/3 books.

A wrestling match that replaces contesting wrestling with being about wrestling was perfect for the turn of this new decade and many years of fan ennui. At a time where fans are more curious about all the things that happen outside of the squared circle that lead to the action inside it, it fulfilled a need we didn’t know we had. I recommend giving this, alongside the excellent Wyatt Family vs The Shield bout from Elimination Chamber 2014 where you also see Wyatt’s partner Luke Harper, aka Brodie Lee in action. Wyatt is pre deceased by Harper.

Sadly, that was about the peak of The Fiend character. An ill fated partnership with Alexa Bliss that never quite struck the right tone was a miss during the empty arena era. At WrestleMania 37, the first show in a year before live fans, The Fiend lost to Randy Orton in a match that was widely panned. The two third generation stars had a toxic anti-chemistry with each other and WWE kept returning to the pairing for reasons that feel like sabotage in hindsight. Wyatt was off TV for several months and shockingly released outright in the summer of that year.

After a prolonged absence and various hints at a comeback; Wyatt returned last fall at Extreme Rules in a thrilling segment to an explosive response. Sadly, the creative direction for Wyatt never found its legs. Behind the scenes it’s unclear if there was a creative struggle before Wyatt fell ill.

Bray was supposed to be the next Undertaker, and he wasn’t. He was the first, the only, and the inimitable Bray Wyatt. A backwoods preacher of doom and mayhem, a sadistic Ed Gein type killer, and a smiling, laughing, but unhinged children’s TV host. Already having demonstrated a knack for reinvention, Bray could have been many more things. He will have to be those in the imagination of the fans now.

What he did leave was important and memorable. I believe he had a Hall of Fame career, and though that claim may be controversial and contentious; that is the nature of the Wyatt character. He may have been polarizing, but everyone had an opinion on him, and not indifference; and I know wrestling fans universally feel like wrestling is suffering a tremendous loss. Even if he didn’t do something that connected with your tastes, he had something in his bag of tricks that would some day.

So smash your flashlight button one last time for Bray Wyatt and hold it up high. As the Undertaker himself would say, Rest In Peace.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

I Am Heavy, But He’s My Brother

“Is that how would describe your job, Cliff, carrying his load?”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood is a special movie to me for a lot of reasons but what I love so deeply and sincerely about this movie is the way it portrays friendship between men with such an authentic, heartfelt earnestness.

I have been blessed and cursed with a lot of things in my life but one of the biggest blessings of my life has been deep and meaningful friendships with the men who I choose as my brothers. I say choose as brothers because my brother by blood destroyed my family and broke my heart. That was almost four years ago and things have never been the same. It wasn’t too long after this film came out but the tracks were certainly being laid down.

This vague double entendre joke is made by an interviewer at the expense of one Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt) because he finds nothing about his friendship, loyalty, or even second banana status behind waning television star Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) uncomfortable or humiliating. He’s proud to be his friend and has a stoic’s embrace of his role.

Dalton for his part is an insecure alcoholic wreck who desperately relies on Cliff, not just for rides but affirmation, confidence, and love. Even when his flagging career takes him to Italy to make “Eye-Italian” westerns and he finds a wife; he relies on Cliff’s love to a very real and serious extent.

It’s a testament to Tarantino’s skill as a director that he was able to get these two megastars to completely bury their egos and be so giving and vulnerable to each other to tell the story of their lives. They feel like very real people, with very real problems that I would like to have a margarita with…even though there is a chance Cliff mayyyy have killed his nagging wife. I love who these two are for each other. As men we have a responsibility to our friends to care this much.

I have a friendship; and I hope that is never past tense that was this kind of brotherhood. There are elements of both Rick and Cliff to us respectively even if we may not look like these two. 17 years ago I met a man I could not love any more and I still do; and I think if I weren’t comfortably heterosexual I could never say that because I simply do not feel love like that in my romantic relationships.

We were a country mouse and city mouse, we had different socioeconomic and family situations, we were opposites on paper and completely the same in our hearts. Bonded over our obsessive lifelong love of professional wrestling, our off kilter senses of humor, and the decency, kindness, and respect we showed each other. It’s the only friendship of my life where I had never had a fight or disagreement. I’m not easy to get along with, and I’m completely estranged from my biological brother. I’ve had some friendships that long wither and crumble under the pressure of the years. But not this one, he’s a married family man but I know outside of his family and his mother and sister nobody could love him more than I do.

I’ve been through a real rough patch of the last four years. A lot of my woes self inflicted, some external. I’ve been out of work for months for the second time in three years. I’m hurting. Financially, emotionally, and spiritually.

I had an opportunity to go to an event I would have loved to have had him go to with me. It could have been something we never forgot. There was an opportunity that would let me go but not him, and I took it. I thought I could find a way to get a sign with his name on television and let him know he was there with me in my heart.

It hurt him badly; and I apologized. And I meant it. I am not sorry for going. I need to live my life forward. But hurting him hurt me, I am sorry for that. So deeply, so sincerely. If there was any way to physically include him I would have and he has to know that. I said I’m sorry and plead my case.

Since then there has been almost two weeks of radio silence between us. I am not going to add, I am not going to prod. If he wants to forgive me for how he feels I wronged him he will need to find that but damn it hurts. It hurts a lot. I love him and miss him and I can’t do this all by myself. I need my brother to carry the load, and when the shoe is on the other foot I will too. I have before and will again.

This movie presents an alternate history where the good times of a golden era continue to roll instead of ending in tragedy and heartbreak. The 2020s have been a brutal, cruel decade. A completely miserable time of plague and famine in every sense.

I turn 38 in 8 days, and frankly, all I want to do is get silly drunk and laugh my ass off and share a hug with the man I love as much as I ever could love another person. He won’t be able to see this post, but I hope he feels it’s in the universe and knows how I feel.

“When you come to the end of the line with a buddy who is more than a brother and less than a wife, getting blind drunk together is the only way to say farewell.”

Unlike the bittersweet ending of Rick and Cliff’s beautiful friendship, I pray this is not farewell after all these years.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course

“I’ll fake it through the day with some help from Johnny Walker Red”-Elliott Smith

Rewatching Netflix’s seminal animated series, Bojack Horseman, I had the music of the late Elliott Smith and the poetry of the late Charles Bukowski (I believe both are name checked in the series) flowing through my head. The show begins as a Hollywoo(d) satire pitched somewhere between Robert Altman’s “The Player” and Doug Ellin’s “Entourage” and ends with the gravity of The Sopranos or Breaking Bad.

Bojack Horseman (Will Arnett) was the star of an artless but charming family sitcom called “Horsin’ Around” in the late 80s up to the late 90s. His “friend” Mr. Peanut Butter (Paul F. Tompkins) anchored a watered down knockoff called “Mr. Peanut Butter’s House.” The series kicks off in 2014 with our heroes in middle age clawing back to the A-List.

The premise makes me wonder why the untimely death of Bob Saget didn’t reignite interest in the show, given that Horseman and Peanut Butter are fairly obvious stand-ins for Bob Saget and his long time friend and collaborator John Stamos.

The premise starts off with a tone akin to Entourage and ends in a tragedy similar to The Sopranos (also wisely name checked in the show, with an appearance by David Chase.) Nearly everyone Bojack has ever loved has died or parted ways on poor terms with him. He faces a life as a pariah, persona non grata in Hollywoo and even serves a prison sentence for his misdeeds.

Bojack is an alcoholic wreck of a horse (or is he more man than a horse?) - cursed with the family disease by his cruel mother Beatrice and detached father, Butterscotch. The generational trauma passed down from the Horseman and Sugarman clans that preceded Bojack is immense. Beatrice and Butterscotch are also intelligent, perceptive, and acerbic. Bojack carries the genealogical gifts they gave him to dizzying heights as an actor and comic. He’s as smart, funny, and talented as he is broken.

Bojack is flanked by his impish, couch crashing pal Todd Chavez, long-suffering manager/agent/house-cat Princess Caroline, and biographer/journalist friend Diane Nguyen. Diane spends much of the series in a fraught marriage to Mr. Peanut Butter. These characters help manage the tone of the show, with Todd often brought in to lighten heavy stories and Diane as a sobering voice of reason to check the behavior of our very un-sober equine hero.

Bojack Horseman does some incredible world building on par with the prime seasons of The Simpsons in its 77 episodes. It would be impossible for me to name check every character or touch on every plot. I can and sort of did tell you how things end but how they would unfold before you watching is incredible.

I finished my rewatch of Bojack Horseman thinking of Bojack’s mother, Beatrice’s grief for her husband Butterscotch “Everything is worse now.” I felt like my time with a friend came to an end; as awful as Bojack is - and he is awful- I saw a lot of myself in him. And I believe his pain helped me manage my own.

Bojack Horseman was shockingly canceled before the end of its intended 8 season Netflix run, wrapping in the twilight of the pre pandemic ‘10s at the dawn of 2020.

The series deftly juggles tones somewhere between a trip to the zoo and a trip to therapy. It is fun and funny and the emotional, painful episodes feel cathartic for their realism in a surreal setting and have a heartfelt sincerity. The apex of the show is “Free Churro” an episode that is almost entirely Bojack eulogizing his mother in an unflinching and bracingly honest way.

The show is not flawless. It has a few episodes I find skippable where it shoehorns in hamfisted politics. It has characters I find insufferable like Yolanda the axolotl and the 30s screwball comedy reporters. But much like Bojack himself you’ll find so much to latch onto and identify with amongst the flaws.

This is one of the best, most important, and most creative animated series of all time - don’t act like you don’t know.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

I told myself I shouldn’t write this. It’ll just be sad, make you look like a loser. It’ll remind everyone that you can’t let go of the past.

I only have been in love twice in my life. There’s a person who was special to me who could possibly shore that number up to three, but this becomes even more pathetic if I define the term loosely.

I will never see this woman again. Never is a long time and life is full of surprises. I’m pretty sure it’s not happening. And if I’m wrong I don’t know how that would make me feel or what I’d do. I believe she still lives close to me; it’s maybe not that far fetched. I wonder what she would say. Would she pretend she doesn’t know me?

The bridge between us burnt to ash; largely because in my bitterness and spite I was caustic and hurtful. In her bitterness she was controlling and manipulative.

I think of her a lot this time of year. February to April of 2013 were the most deeply and madly, emphasis on madly, in love I ever felt in my life. I had waged an eight month campaign to make her feel what I felt and was dumbfounded that my incredibly ill advised behavior and choices had somehow netted my desired result.

After dissolving a pretty lousy relationship where my ex had threatened to stalk me, I stayed single for several months. In June of 2012 I came across an OKCupid profile that made me fall head over heels in love before we even conversed. When I saw her and eagerly devoured every word of her profile I felt our connection was kismet. She had gorgeous strawberry blond hair, long and flowing with curls and flashed a sexually mischievous smile I’d later come to learn as a signature expression of hers. She was more educated than me, she was professionally ambitious and worked in my field, she liked Mr. Show (This of course led to me awkwardly shoehorning a slew of quotes from my favorite sketches into conversation.) There was a catch though - she lived in Ypsilanti even though her profile said Clawson. She hadn’t yet moved there and was commuting to Troy to work.

I took her to my favorite bar - an actually respectable first date restaurant in my mid twenties. I had sworn off taking a date there ever but I wanted to share something that was special and personal to me with her. I left the date floating. The way she smelled, her energy and vibrancy in person, and oh my word her voice. I had, in an effort to be confident and complimentary said she could be a great phone sex operator - a gaffe she teased me about our entire time together. My assessment was astute, she had a creatively dirty mind and a mellifluous delivery.

She continued to respond to me tepidly as I fell deeper in love. She was so cool. She attended the 2012 Lollapalooza - a legendary lineup, though I was baffled at how she had managed to miss Frank Ocean (Burial played on another stage at the same time, fair enough.) I bought her one of the most thoughtful gifts I had ever got anyone for their birthday; this classic style lunchbox full of candy I hand selected for her based on ones she professed to love and personal favorites. Still, I was “friend zoned.”

I embarked on a relentless campaign of self improvement to impress her. I got a better job. I began working out four times a week. I’d spend time that I’d normally spend playing video games reading and trying to be more interesting and think of ways to impress her. I wouldn’t fucking leave her alone. I wouldn’t do this now. I know better. Part of me knew better then.

To my shock, I had either managed to wear down her defenses or maybe genuinely win her over by the early winter of 2012. Maybe both. She had begun to invite me to smoke cigarettes with her in her car (Parliament Lights, at my behest) and have me over to get stoned and watch movies.

By February 2013 we had began dating in earnest and I felt like I had everything I ever wanted and she was all I imagined her to be. She began to take an interest in my interests and a real shine to my Xbox; I’d watch her play my favorite games like “Bioshock” and fall deeper and deeper for her. When she put the controller down we’d hardly sleep because there was so much to talk about and also to do.

As the winter turned to spring we were inseparable, one sleeping over at the other’s house nearly every night. Her townhouse was across the street from this seasonal ice cream stand which had become our “parking” spot. Everything may not have matched the fantasy I built up in my head but it sure was close.

We didn’t have a happy ending. She had been experiencing financial woes with heavy student debt and overpriced rent. To keep her from moving back home I agreed to move in with her. This was a disastrous choice, a hasty decision made far too early in our partnership. We had started playing house four months into our real start as a couple, a decision made in haste that put a strain on things between us the partnership could not bear.

By April of 2014 she had announced plans to move out and split with me entirely, it wasn’t a surprise. We remained in contact as “friends” until late 2017. There wasn’t a catalyzing single event, but she decided to cut me off entirely. Even when I learned one of our closest friends from the complex when we lived together had passed away, she ignored my message of his passing.

I was seeing a therapist who asked me to write a letter that would never be sent to her. This never-ending stream of shocking rage and bile spewed from my pen onto the page. I was deeply upset by myself and the exercise was not, in my view, therapeutic. Was I really that angry at her?

Since the dissolution of our relationship I have been largely single, outside of one ill-fated six month relationship and various flings. I’m not sure if she’s the reason why; but that letter has never sat well with me.

I had valid reasons to be angry. After we had split, I often felt like a backup partner when her subsequent relationships floundered. I’d be called upon for companionship and support when she wanted to be valued and admired.

This all takes me to the question if this was worth it. Am I glad she was a part of my life? For good or ill, on cool spring nights I think of her and how I felt. I remember it as a thrilling time full of possibility - but given my dysfunction in the seven long years since our split should I be grateful that it happened?

I’ve decided I can’t blame her for it not working out - and certainly not my life - and I’m not truly angry anymore. I’m happy it happened, since I know if I was capable of feeling so in love once; I will be again. It just may take me a really, really long time.

I needed to write this because for whatever reason, likely the horrific and painful last year I’ve endured, she’s taken up a lot of real estate in my mind lately. She has no social media presence whatsoever; or I may have been tempted to reach out. I can maybe rest a little easier having gotten this out of me; it’s a corrective to that nasty letter. I’m not angry anymore, and the love I felt was real and deep even if I fell out of it. I hope I fall back in with the right person some day.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

“He was conceived out of desperation and born into a mess,” Don Draper narrates from his own therapeutic diary. He’s referring to his youngest son, Gene, born from a fleeting moment of passion in Don’s decaying marriage to Betty — but clearly this sentence describes his own bleak, sordid origins.

Mad Men is one of the most spoiled shows ever so this will have spoilers. Don’s moment of zen became a meme seconds after the show wrapped. What’s strange is that the meme doesn’t seem to have an opinion on this ending of this series. The end of Mad Men isn’t beloved like Six Feet Under, polarizing like The Sopranos, or reviled like Dexter. It simply is an ending.

Much like Mad Men’s ostensible parent series, The Sopranos, there is some ambiguity. I guess you could interpret that the smirk followed by the “Buy the World a Coke” advertisement means that Don made a triumphant return and penned a masterpiece ad for his dream client. But does the smirk mean that Don has let such things go? Has his mentality changed to regard these conquests as trivialities? After his disappearance nothing indicates that McCann Erickson would continue to placate Don let alone give him creative carte blanche on their largest account. Don’s career, for all intents and purposes, appears over in 1970. He is a very rich man and McCann Erickson is a very unhappy workplace.

Mad Men is a hulking 92 episodes, a long show in today’s era of shows doing 8-10 episode seasons every two years; and sags heavily after season 5. The first half of Season Six is nigh unwatchable and the show got bogged down in constant business intrigue with multiple mergers and new names for Sterling Cooper. We’re saddled with pointless characters like Ted Chaough and Lou Adler who are one-dimensional and the show spins its wheels hard including a very poor creative decision to mostly pull the show out of New York and thrust it into Los Angeles to make Don “bi-coastal” — a move that was pretty clearly designed to accomodate outside film projects, not to bolster the quality of Mad Men itself.

Harry Hamlin, who had been mostly missing from TV since major stardom in the 1980s in L.A. Law does add to the proceedings as soft spoken and self-serving weasel, Jim Cutler. I never felt like Mad Men needed an antagonist character, but he was the most worthy one and had a unique presence and delivery. Don is his own worst enemy. Dick Whitman is the hero. The contradictions of Don, and Dick, who I think are primarily distinct (Hamm makes it very clear which he is playing) are the conflict.

Much has also been made of Jessica Pare. She performs a notorious burlesque at Don’s birthday party that embodied “cringe” before that was an ubiquitous word. By the time they had developed any chemistry together the show started ripping them apart by her acting career causing conflict about where they should live; and cooled tensions between Betty and Don reminded audiences of their superior chemistry and more fascinating relationship.

I skipped locating all my discs and watched Mad Men on IMDB TV which gave the series, appropriately, advertisements. Some were loud, garish, and artless; but there were some like a sexy beach themed ad for Calvin Klein “Eternity” set to a sultry lounge cover of “Unchained Melody” - I could imagine Don Draper flashing a whisky soaked grin of approval at the spot. This is a good way to watch the show; monitor your volume button as some ads are much louder than the show volume and horribly obnoxious.

Mad Men is a long, uneven, and imperfect show but its grace notes are incomparable. The “Carousel” sequence from Season One is one of the most perfect bits of TV drama ever. Jon Hamm’s performance as Don Draper and Dick Whitman, what little we see of the latter, are fascinating television characters portrayed to perfection. His work in The Town shows that he has presence in film and I’m baffled at how such a versatile talent has had a tepid career in the six years since the show signed off. Elisabeth Moss has launched into the stratosphere and I sure would like to see more of John Slattery, Christina Hendricks, and Vince Kartheiser (making Pete relatable and somewhat likable is a small miracle of the writing and performances on this series.)

Mad Men isn’t as good as The Sopranos, it isn’t as marketable as Breaking Bad, and it certainly could have told a more compact story; yet I loved spending time in its beautiful dream of the turbulent 1960s. I do not believe we’d have masterworks like “Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood” that were made in its wake without it.

My time with the show was much like Don’s relationships; thrilling highs and plunging lows - yet I can’t wait to hop on that carousel and revisit the series again soon. It truly is a time machine.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

“Fairytale of New York” is special to me. I don’t really fret much about Christmas and roll my eyes at attempts to sneak it into November. I really fell deeply in love with the song about ten years ago after their presence on The Wire showed me the delicate balance they struck between an irrevocable bitterness and irrepressible joy. They could not be a more ideal choice for a Holiday anthem for those of us with complex feelings about the holidays.

The song opens with a roaring, Dickensian statement of purpose: “It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank.” Soon the background begins to fill in, dreams of a bright future in a new country dashed by the bottle and the crushing gravity of everyday life.

The song then turns to a call and response duet between a couple laden with the nasty, hateful epithets that give the song a sincerity missing from the mercenary Christmas album fare we endure every year’s end. These naughty words have apparently got the song banned from BBC radio except a gelded, censored version. This reminds me of the brutal radio hackjob of “Heroes” on the radio that eliminates the “You could be mean/And I? I could drink all the time” - that song has been restored to its full glory on the radio since Bowie passed.

Kirsty MacColl died in a boating accident 20 years ago. I wish she had lived to see the worldwide cultural explosion of their Christmas masterpiece. Her performance on the song is just incredibly beautiful, mining hope from hopelessness. When she insults MacGowan there’s an “I dare you” playfulness to keep the faith and do better. There’s a playful insincerity to her bristling “Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it’s our last.” She was a treasure, this would not come together with any other performer in this way.

In the time since I fell deeply in love with this song it has escaped its containment as a beloved alternative to more staid, less controversial Christmas songs. Millions identify with the complex emotional ride the song takes you on. Beneath the bitter resentments and vicious reprisals there’s a childlike hopefulness in both performances. When MacGowan says “I have a feeling this year’s for me and you.” or “I can see a happy time, when all our dreams come true.” he means it. This song embraces the challenges of being a sincere Christmas anthem, but does so with real human emotions and facing the stark realities of life.

I used to feel possessive of this song and mildly annoyed at its exploding popularity. I felt both of the performances and their words so deeply. This was mine. But the exponential growth of this song’s popularity maybe means I’m a little less alone in the world. I’ve grown to embrace it.

Happy Christmas friends. I can see a better time when all our dreams come true.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

My favorite scene in Ben Younger’s “Bleed for This” is when Vinny Pazienza (Miles Teller), a teetotaler and drug-abstainer, opts to have his surgical halo screws removed without a local anesthetic. He grunts, screams, wails out in pain, and rips an arm out of the chair he’s seated in. It’s a tour de force moment for Teller, an actor I hadn’t thought much of before now.

I had been planning to do a roundup of all the films I watched, primarily genre stuff, but I felt a unique connection to “Bleed For This” because of the subject matter. Pazienza, staging a late career comeback at a higher weight class is struck in a brutal traffic collision. His spinal injury threatening his ability to walk again, let alone box. After going through a much less severe spinal surgery, I was riveted to this film like the halo screws to “Paz Man”’s forehead.

It’s a twist that made this movie hard to sell as it is better as a story if you go in blind - but without that detail it’s hard to sell this as different than the numerous great boxing movie classics you can rent. It looks to have made 12 million dollars worldwide on a small 6 million dollar budget which is roughly a break even by normal film budget math.

The film’s boxing setpieces look stunning and feel epic. There’s a lot of editing sleight of hand that really gives this film an equal sense of scale to a much larger production like The Fighter. If you are wondering, despite treading incredibly similar ground Bleed for This and The Fighter are wildly different films. I really enjoyed both, I like Bleed for This more.

Pazienza himself makes for great subject matter because he’s not a screaming, abusive menace like Jake LaMotta or a drug addled disaster like Dicky Ecklund. His biggest vice seems to be the blackjack table (the film does not downplay this) and some mild womanizing. For the most part he’s a confident, dedicated, and relatable hero - a serious boxer with a nice family. This forces the film to be creative and not lazily hang its hat on well worn tropes. The relationship between Pazienza and his father Angelo (Ciaran Hinds) and his trainer, Kevin Rooney (a nearly unrecognizable Aaron Eckhart, sublime and deserving of awards consideration for this part)- the disgraced alcoholic mastermind behind the rise of Mike Tyson, are warm and supportive.

I don’t plan on reviewing movies as a central focus here - I’m not very good at it and I ramble -but Bleed for This, and its director deserved a little more attention for the ambition and creativity on display. In a 20 year career Ben Younger has only directed three films with a fourth in development. His debut, Boiler Room - made in his mid twenties is a beloved cult film amongst business students (sigh...) though based on Younger’s deft and nuanced touch here I doubt the film glorifies securities fraud. The other film is a romantic comedy called “Prime” that seems to defy easy description. I’ll be watching both and likely reporting in here.

Younger deserves a better career. Hollywood should be falling all over themselves to finance his projects. Someone who makes ambitious films from original screenplays and is only 45 should look like a priceless commodity in a film industry laid to waste by COVID-19. He’s a name I would pick as a potential star of a second 1970s New Hollywood type film renaissance alongside more obvious choices like the Safdie Brothers and Robert Eggers. Even if he’s been sparsely working for twenty years he had been ahead of his time until now.

Bleed for This is available currently in HD on Netflix or on blu-ray disc for purchase. The soundtrack is excellent, play this one loud.

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

I thought I’d get things started right, with some purple attire Reign of Terror HHH on Playstation 2 and Prince using puppets to be a dick.

I love royal purple. When I was five my family moved into a new house and my dad let me choose what color carpet I wanted for my room and I opted for this color. I loved that carpet and my room and my laundry hamper replete with any sticker I ever collected. I am still a person who takes any free sticker they can get and puts it on everything as a “grown man.”

My name is Jared, I am in fact 35, I’m a Virgo and I live with my Russian Blue cat, Cascade. I’ve kept a tumblr for a little over 5 years- @downonallfives. @capturingm0ods inspired me to utilize the one I had registered in 2012 and barely touched when we became friends in 2015. I hope she does not mind being tagged.

I’m really proud of the @downonallfives tumblr. It’s the only thing I’ve done in my life where I felt cool. If anything happened to me that page would tell you almost perfectly who I was. What I was passionate about. What I found beauty in

I am in a major slump in my life. I got fired. I fucking hated that job and my dickhead boss. I hated computers and software and people and myself. I thought that my dismissal was a stroke of great fortune - I was going to quit and I’m getting a severance. Awesome.

Well, not so awesome. My esrimation that I could quickly get back in the workforce and land on my feet was pollyannic. And then it happened...spine surgery, two months in the hospital. That saga is many other posts for another time.

Without something productive to do I’ve spent a lot of time watching YouTube and sleeping. And Facebooking.

I think I have a nice little audience of positive friends I’ve cultivated on Facebook. But I made a couple of posts I was really excited about, one gushing about the superlative Sega Ages version of the classic arcade game Virtua Racing on Nintendo Switch. Another about the way my BMG music club 12 cds for a penny, buy 1 get 3 free etc.... and how the catalogs helped me cultivate and refine my taste in music. I was really excited to talk about that stuff but nobody really cared. There wasn’t any feedback or discussion.

I think I should still write about things like that. If I’m a weirdo who gets excited to see the BMG catalog numbers on a used CD maybe there’s other people who that matters to as well even if we’re not Facebook friends.

Talking about these things could be this awesome opportunity. It could connect me with people who thought only they cared about these little esoteric details that lend life so much flavor and variety. It also might help pull me off the damn couch and find what passion drives my next chapter in life.

Today is Thanksgiving 2020. I think Thanksgiving sucks, like, not the act of gratitude - that part is cool. It’s just a nothing holiday to me that involves sports and inedible food. There are no presents either. Wack.

Hopefully I dedicate myself to this and give myself something to look back on for Thanksgiving 2021 when hopefully this interminable virus nightmare is over - it better be over - and I’ve found a way to heal from the failures, falling outs, disappointments, and heartbreak of the past 6 years of my life. Some of the topics I’ll cover will probably start with my 2011-2013 halcyon days and then the steep decline I had personally in 2014 and my ups and downs over the following years. I have no fear of sharing embarrassing and unflattering details here, it’s useless if I’m not candid.

I know this was long - and there will be more indulgent, lengthy navel-gazing going forward - but also a variety of essays on my interests and the angle I have from this view of the world.

If you think I’m interesting to read come along for the ride. I need to do this for me, but damn I have stories to tell. I hope maybe it helps someone or they feel less alone. And I hope this is the eulogy for a time of incredible trouble in my life.

I’m thankful that someone might read this and nobody is making me eat turkey. 💟💟💟💟