Monday, November 19, 2012

I loves that scary shit

What turned a good weekend into a great one? We started watching Season 1 of American Horror Story. I'm trying to remember the last time I was so frightened and riveted for such a sustained period of time. My boyfriend had to mute the intro because he found it so creepy. Extra points for scary awesomeness.

With a cover like this, you know that shit is gonna be f*cked up.

I'd heard the show was great but really had no idea what it was about. Six Feet Under actually sold me on this show since Frances Conroy (a.k.a. Ruth Fisher) is in American Horror Story. Since SFU is probably my all-time favorite show ever, I figured if Frances was in this new show, it had to be good.

Jessica Lange also headlines in AHS and rocks that shit like nobody's business. She still looks amazing too, and naturally so, I might add. She looks like a woman who's aged incredibly well, not like some circus freak trying to turn back the hands of time but like someone who takes care of herself and has embraced the aging process. In other words, she's still hot.

What I like about the whole concept of this show is that it feels like a prolonged horror film. Over 12 episodes, there's time to develop a complicated plot and multi-faceted characters, as well as scare the shit out of you over and over using various plot twists and shooting techniques.

The cast is superb, the writing solid. I'm more and more convinced that television is rendering movies obsolete with its sheer excellence. Shows like Dexter, Californication, American Horror Story, Breaking Bad, just to name a few, are eclipsing film as a story-telling medium since they have the luxury of multiple episodes, story arcs and seasons. But most importantly, they make me feel less bad about my TV addiction, and that's what really matters - contributing in a positive way to my rationalizations of questionable behaviour.

Speaking of questionable behaviour, I got nearly homicidal over a squeaky bike brake this past weekend. My boyfriend and I headed up to a provincial park near our place on a beautiful, sunny November afternoon for a ride in the woods. What should have been a mildly challenging, Zen-inducing ride in nature turned out to be a constant inner struggle against my growing rage.

You see, I got brand-new fancy brakes put on my mountain bike and this was only the second time I was using them. I had just figured out what was causing another rattle on my bike and fixed it, and for a brief 10-15 minutes was enjoying the quiet and beauty of the woods when, lo and behold, another incredibly annoying sound started emanating from my front wheel brake. And it didn't stop. It was my own version of American Horror Story. Stuck in the woods on a squeaky bike, the sound magnified tenfold by the sheer silence of nature.

When I pay what I paid for new brakes, they had better work and be whisper quiet. Those mo fos at the bike shop f*cked my shit up and I was pissed. I tried to be all like: "Well, there's nothing I can do now, so I should just surrender to the situation, and try and enjoy the ride despite this loud, irritating noise." That did not work.

So I went with this instead: "I should just surrender to my anger and resentment over this noise that has effectively ruined what might have been akin to a religious experience." Yeah, that felt right. Just be bitter. Don't try to fight it. It's not like it was the last ride of the season. Oh, except it WAS the last ride of the season and I'll carry that with me until next spring when the bike shop will have fixed the problem and I will erase the memory of this debacle with a wonderful ride on my quiet mountain bike.

I have issues. I am aware.

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