What We Deserve

At the forefront of everything: It seems the consensus is that people are mixed with the second season of True Detective, which is also known as “California,” respectively after the location of the season. There aren’t any spoilers here, so if you’re looking for them, well, you should locate the IMDB or Wikipedia page.

(There will be no linking to the specific sites either, because that kind of instant gratification that society craves and has come to “appreciate” — in my opinion — played heavily into the mixed reviews of the second season of this HBO show. No, this isn’t a show you can binge watch when compared to the Netflix or Amazon or Hulu originals: Boo. Hoo.)

The tagline, after all, is: “We get the world we deserve.”

The entire season was very morose up until the end. Instead of taking place in three or four moments in the lives of the protagonists (and also antagonists in their own right), The story was told straight through with a couple of flashbacks positioned in there.

Similarly to the self-destructive natures of the characters in the first season, that’s the biggest quality that branches the seasons/stories of the anthology. The second season was less meta than the first. The first season, “Louisiana,” featured actors with more who are applauded more than despised. “California,” on the other hand, featured actors/actresses with a mixed track record. I’ve always been a fan of Farrell, and I’ve enjoyed Vaughn’s past efforts more than his current characters; I have more more respect in the latter now, and I hope he takes on more dramatic roles.

The second season did take on more characters, which did become distracting and detracting, but kudos for taking that risk. We got to know the characters until the very end of the season, and the story was told (most importantly).

And sometimes the bad guys win.

And if there was bad blood between writers and production: They are adults, and they’ll get over it. Stop using hypothetical issues that are not factually known as a crutch and basis for personal opinion. What it doesn’t take away from the fact that these writers were not going to tell the same story with similar tactics as the first season. Please be reminded that this is an anthology series.

Who knows: The next season could have a fair amount of humor — not slapstick or Will Ferrell-esque nonsense — but dry, dark humor. Then again, the humor could be a ruse and a perception by the third person or one of the characters themselves. A character could break the fourth wall and spout out soliloquies.

The characters could speak in iambic pentameter, and the story could take place in Ireland or Italy or Poland.

I cannot wait for the second season for Fargo. It takes place years before the first season, which did tie back to the movie.

Hi. We writers like to mess with you. We’re succeeding, judging by your frustration.

handle

But as real, true life should have it: Everything still is as unpredictable.

In the last month, for me, the superfluous joy yielded from a wedding was abruptly countered by a sudden onset of illness. After that storm passed, after a series of positive events, an even more abrupt onset of despair revealed itself.

Without going into specific detail, because I have respect for the family, it’s depressing to see a life taken so quickly. It’s been on my mind for a while, because I’ve known (knew) the person from a young age. Due to life and different routes taken, we never really kept in touch aside the secondhand updates from our parents.

Of course, there is that moment of reunion, a face-to-face yet brief encounter where everything makes sense. In the moment, there aren’t any words that can be formed when you reacquaint with another from the past, especially if there is no ounce of bad blood in between.

That pact of wanting to meet up and to run into each other again is verbalized, but life — you Trickster — shows its distracting abilities and meeting up doesn’t happen.

When I got the phone call about the random fate, I was idle in my bedroom. Had I been doing something, the news would have stopped me in my tracks, and excusing myself would have been necessary. But I was in my bedroom, and there was time for the impact to sink in.

I was also alone when I got the call about my maternal grandmother’s death and when the second plane hit the World Trade Center Tower. Oh, the brevity — impact sinks in and buries itself deeper when alone.

This parallels an element in regard to literature or media: There is always that episode of a television show where everything is going really well for a character, especially a secondary one, where the viewer knows something bad is going to happen. In this case, of course, I did not.

Mind you: This is not to make a joke or parallel life to fiction.

It was his time even though it wasn’t (shouldn’t have been) this person’s time. But Fate or God or whatever higher power saw the good that they were generating and used the innocence as an example for the rest of us.

I can only imagine that this guy is in a better place. That’s comforting to me.

The sadness in this person’s family members’ faces was captivating, because I could not grasp — although I had a slight understanding — of what they were experiencing.

After kneeling by that casket, the notion was even more instilled that we do have to take care of ourselves, be conscious of what we do and what we consume, and others important to us: to be honest, constructively upfront no matter how blunt the words are, because people are different and things don’t sink in as quickly as others. We deserve support, and we should be open to it.

The next day, an addendum to the common two-word statement consistently positioned at the end of a goodbye, my mother said to me: “Now do you see why I always tell you to be safe?”

[Author’s Note: There has been a cavalcade of events that have been on my mind the last week; hence the lack of writing. But similar to the first part, sometimes the endings are not always happy. We have to accept that. As I — and some of you who read this blog — have to be willing to write about pain. It’s a part of being honest, and I can’t deny myself or anyone of that. Not doing so would be, well, dishonest.]

[The above picture was taken from True Detective series opening credits.]

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