to the viewer goes the spoils

Image: Spoiler_Alert, a Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (2.0) image from alexlane's photostream


Just kidding, but really, this post is about spoilers and in it I might spoil a years old movie or book or two (particularly Harry Potter, so, don’t come crying to me if you don’t know how the series ends already). (Though I promise I’m not spoiling LOST in this post.)


You may have seen that phrase on the internet, or even have heard it in conversation.  You may have yelled it after someone ruined the ending to something for you.  I admit, I’ve been one to use it.  I’ve had a few things spoiled for me.  Like “The Sixth Sense.” Before I ever got a chance to see it, some friend blurted, “Ohmygod, can you beLIEVE that Bruce Willis was freaking DEAD the WHOLE TIME?” Me, somewhat crestfallen, “Um, what? I haven’t seen ‘The Sixth Sense Yet.'”  And then there was the time I was reading one of the Harry Potter books while working as a camp counselor and one of my campers was all, “Can you beLIEVE Dumbledore DIES??” Me, “WHAT!!! You’re lucky I can’t strangle a camper because otherwise you’d be dead right now!!”

And to some extent, it makes sense not to spoil books, as they’re something one reads on one’s own, or movies, as long as they’re still in the theatre.  But what about television? Continue reading “to the viewer goes the spoils”

On being unplugged, but not nearly as cool as Eric Clapton

I wrote this post about a week ago, when I was still kicking this idea around in my mind.  Heck, I’m still not sure about it.

I am thinking of starting a blog.  Thinking seems to be all I do, because I’m scared to pull the trigger in case the thing turns into a pit of narcissism and monotony.  No one wants to read my diary.  Not even me.  And yet, I write so little now that I’m a liar when I call myself a writer.  Can’t remember the last time I wrote anything, let alone something worth reading.

But we’re in the middle of this recession/depression/whateveritis and I think I’m going to want to tell stories some day about how we lived through it.  It’s not like, Dorthea Lange portrait-worthy, but it seems more and more that the world is crumbling down and skies are falling and yet, in many ways I’m happier, we’re happier than ever.

Continue reading “On being unplugged, but not nearly as cool as Eric Clapton”

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