This really isn't a library matter. Other than, it's completely distracting me from my librarian-y duties. I watched the season finale of Dexter this morning, and I cannot stop thinking about it! Before any of our...possibly three readers...freaks out about spoilers, I am not releasing any. I promise. I will say, that if I was Stephen Colbert, the "I called it!" balloons would be falling all over me right now. I definitely predicted the outcome of the episode...not in the horrific manner that it happened, but in the overall result. With that in mind, I predicted something that I thought was one of the worst things that could happen. So...yeah. I do have to say that it was beautifully written and horrifically poetic, but horrific nonetheless. I can only expect that Season 5 will be a miserypalooza that showcases Michael C. Hall's ability to be the most lovably serial killer out there.
Now, Dexter has sucked its viewers into a deep, shocked depression. A lot of these viewers, myself included, are most likely LOST viewers. What is wrong with us? The sixth and final season of LOST will be starting soon, and no one is expecting a "happily ever after" kind of finale. I mean, how can it when the tag line is, "The Beginning of the End". It doesn't exactly scream rainbows and kittens. I fully expect to be staring at a wall for a good week and a half after the series comes to a Twin Peaksian conclusion. Thanks so much, Damon Lindelof, for using that as an inspiration. Don't get me wrong, I love Twin Peaks, but we all know that ending gave everyone a painfully cold feeling of empty.
So why am I ranting about my beloved shows? Because, they are fascinating, and beyond well-written. They just tend to require antidepressants as a post-viewing snack. That may not be what it takes to be amazing, but a television show that has the ability to crush a soul is definitely more impressive than a Golden Globe. Yes, that was a cheap shot, but I stand by it.
