GAME OF THRONES: ALL THAT POO AND A ZOMBIE DRAGON TOO

more poo
Sam’s chamber pot scene could have been funny if GoT had a rep for funny

I tried to watch the first episode of Season 7 after a three-year break and was reminded in the first two minutes why I had quit in the first place:  the showrunner’s preoccupation with fecal matter and mangled human bodies. All that poo before the opening credits invaded my senses and put me right off my food. The autopsy scene that followed was just the icing on the cake.

 

The fact that three scenes in took me right back to where I’d left off three years ago (with

cersei
She just doesn’t change–ever.

a reference to the red wedding) told me that not much had happened on Thrones during my hiatus and that the show moved slower than Harry Potter’s battle with Lord Voldemort.

 

 

 

 

casket
Getting down with Jaime in front of Joff’s coffin raised the euw bar on Thrones

Glacial pacing notwithstanding, how much longer will Queen Cersei hang in there? She has a new do and her stylist is fabulous, but all those scowls and scene chews wore thin by S7 E2 at just past the 30 minute mark. At least I didn’t have to suffer another randy legover between the siblings in front of a dead son’s casket (that one was over the top and too cloying even to shock).

 

 

 

I had to eventually skip to S7 E7 and fast forwarded a couple of times before the wall

funny thrones
A heart-warming stoner scene that, sadly, never happened

came tumbling down. Winter has finally come and the zombies are on the march.

 

Slowly.

 

Very, very slowly.

 

Like this show. In its last gasps.

 

Someone win the game, already. I’m worn out.

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THE DAILY YAMMER: IF YOU DON’T KNOW TOM, YOU SHOULD

It happened again—a signpost to my life and the lives of so many others has gone off toTom Petty wherever it is signposts go to. I’m miserable. Tom Petty not only wrote things you could drive your car really fast to, but he had a style that goofy kids like me could take on back in the mid-70s, early-80’s.

Those of you who weren’t there, dayam. I wish you could have been. But given the spike in 70s-themed shows and fashion lately, you’ll likely get a taste.

Tom Petty was cool, man, and if you don’t know who he is, I suggest you make a point of finding out tout suite.

Safe passage, brother. Hope you’re with George and Roy.

Adult, unapologetic and travellin’,

I am,

A.B. Funkhauser

music

 

INTRODUCING: THE DAILY YAMMER

Good morning everyone. Lately, it’s been suggested to me that I get a newsletter up and running because 1) it’s a great way to connect with people who might want to pick up what I write, and 2) it forces me to use first person, a device I fervently stay away from in fiction because the “I’s” make me feel self-conscious.

I thought on it, and while the newsletter works very well for writer colleagues of mine, I can’t see myself doing it  because I have Das Blog on WordPress–this wonderful space where I celebrate the publishing journey: yours, mine, everybody’s.

But here’s what I can do. I can spout off daily (or bi-daily or other daily) missives of 500 words plus or minus as the spirit moves me. Content shall be mine.

Welcome, then, to The Daily Yammer, a sub-sid of Das Blog where thoughts are short, commas are few(er), and everything said will be said so with “I”.

First person: this will take getting used to.

Adult, unapologetic and still writing fiction in third person,

I am,

A.B. Funkhauser

Mother, Mortician, Monkey

If you have something to say to me write: a.b.funkhauser@rogers.com

You will be answered. — A.B.

Gonzo

GILMORE GIRLS: A DISSENTING OPINION

Is it me or did the Sherman-Palladino’s get passive aggressive with a weird reboot ending?

Like every series fan, I got more than a little keyed up when I heard about the return of Gilmore Girls, an old fave that formed part of a near mythical line up on the old WB network. Would it fly?

Nine years is a long time, and scoring back the entire cast (the late Edward Herrmann excepted) for a mini Season 8 was a coup too good to miss out on. I had enjoyed a seven year love her-hate her relationship with Lorelai Gilmore, probably because I saw some of myself in her. Yacky, quirky, vulnerable and funny, she was also wise in the face of tragedy, if not hyper malleable when caught in a tough spot. Her on again, off again relationships, her inability to take a position and stick with it, and her fierce loyalty to her community always kept me rationalizing, wanting to make sense of her in the hopes that she’d come around to what I, the fan, wanted for her. In this, the Sherman-Palladino writing team succeeded in 2016.

The reboot showed us a Lorelai who hasn’t changed much since the show’s first run, and for those of us who caught on to the pathology behind her inertia, it was not only expected, but immensely satisfying on delivery. Still fast talking and coffee swilling, she is plagued by doubts about what the future holds and how she’ll deal with it when inevitable change comes. Aging is not touched upon nor should it be. Lorelai is timeless, blundering through life with steely determination and a calculating glint in her eyes. Both fox and hare, she will go on no matter what the show runners do to her and we love her for that. But when the narrative turns to Rory, something strange happens. Like her mother, she is still where we left her: questioning, seeking, battling to retain her optimism. All good things to highlight, given the current zeitgeist. But for the character, I wanted more.

After a Yale education and years on the international journo circuit culminating in a triumphant feature piece in a major magazine, thirty-two-year-old Rory Gilmore returns to Stars Hollow and her mother. Dislocated, without home and purpose, the gal is down. Will she pick herself up and triumph as her plucky mother did thirty-two years before, when she settled in the mythical burg at sixteen years young with a baby in tow?

I’m not sure.

HUGE SPOILER (BOLDED)

After four ninety minute episodes, writers “came full circle” to quote one of the series stars, ending with four (or three, depending on how you look at contractions) simple words from Rory: “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

Given the propensity for supermarket tabloids to push themes like “Baby and wedding on the way,” “Pregnant and dumped,” and “Christmas divorce,” I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was. One of the many charms radiating off this series was the sparkling message that a Gilmore Girl could not be kept down. Her errors, missteps and heroic stubbornness would always give way to a solution more positive than the last go ’round.

Rory’s rejection of her Gilmore past with a thorough dumping of privileged boyfriend Logan at the end of Season 7 marked her escape from her mother’s past, which she had little choice but to live as a minor. Nine years later, she is back, older and presumably wiser, but still tripping the edges of the past we thought she rejected. Instead of feeling good about it, I was reminded, yet again, of how dastardly nostalgia comes into play when its disciples spend too much time caught in its tentacles.

Is replicating the main protagonist’s life the penultimate or final plot point in 2016, or has Gilmore Girls been a spec fiction piece in a divergent universe all along? Far from happy ending, it seems to hint at something darker in the Stars Hollow universe: a loop doomed to repeat. Run, Rory, run, and don’t look back!

The reboot has been embraced and celebrated widely, with many fans calling for more. I had so wanted to be part of that club, but find I can’t: At least, not now; not until I figure out what I just saw and what it really means.

Adult, unapologetic and wholly cognizant,

I am,

FUNKHAUSER SIGNATURE

Gilmore Girls Fan

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