About an hour ago I ended ‘My Watch’ of all four seasons and all episodes of “Game of Thrones”—Took me all of three days to get through it, soup to nuts, but I really had nothing better to do anyhow.
Certainly there are quite a lot of rabid fans out there belonging to “Game of Thrones” and this I do not deny, and I may even count myself among their numbers now, but…
And my intent here is certainly not to rain upon anyone’s parade. However I must admit that a few years ago I was curious to understand “Why all the hype?”, so I went to my Amazon dot com and purchased the first Season.
And I Tried, Ever So Hard, to get “Into” it.
Got bored pretty much instantly with the show.
I am no prude (and anyone who has read even ten percent of my blog posts should know this), but what turned me off almost immediately was all the HBO gratuitous sex and violence. I don’t need to see people fucking every ten minutes to understand the dynamics of ‘intimate’ relationships.
And even though all the fight scenes were Oh So most ‘tastefully’ done, and pretty much well-choreographed, every once in a while, I would rather just hear the severed head hit the ground, rather than have to see it.
“Trust me HBO”: These kinds of graphics do not interest me, even though upon occasion we, as audience, might need to see them… but for the most part we do not. (Actually, I am speaking only for myself. You do you.)
My opinions are generally not worth a cup of warm spit.
If I want pornography and / or snuff films, I can certainly find them outside the realm of ‘Serious Drama.’ In other words, when I want porn, I want porn; when I want good literature or drama, I want good lit or drama. Not to say that the two are mutually exclusive, but a preponderance of one over the other is a waste of time. Just a waste of time (and film).
If you would like to explore a decent contemporary, well-done balance, take a look at Polanski’s “Macbeth” for a start,
Then perhaps, even Zeffirelli’s “Hamlet”
(if you want to get into all that Oedipus and violence stuff).
Branagh’s “Henry V”
The thing that never rang true for me in “Game of Thrones” was the silly justification that “For One Thousand Years, The Men of “Lannis-Sister” Always Had Sex with Their sisters.”
In short, I have just now finished, as I did preamble, the Entire Series up-to-date. And, I would be less than honest if I said I could have easily stopped watching.
There are some intriguing characters to be certain, and some plot twists, or at least some of those, “Oh my fucking God! I did not see that one coming!” moments.
After watching all four seasons however, there are only two characters I take away and hold dearest to my heart and interest. And even truly care about.
It will probably be extremely easy for y’all to tell me which ones they are…
That is, if y’all know me at all.
(Or, at least, if I follow that typical male, raised-on-video-games cliché)
Now That, That above is a joke. I hope you know that.
Here is a ‘clue’ for one of them. Hahaha!
Let me know what you think / thought of “Game of Thrones.” I would be very interested to hear. (And Yes. I know: I am so very late to the party)
Story of my life…
P.S. And if you can guess my two most favorite characters, I will send you two Dinars, Silver.
And a “Mickey Mouse pencil sharpener.”
(Stolen line from the film, “About Last Night.”)
And, if you are a fan of the series, I would be most interested to hear which two characters you favor above the others…
Ya’ll gotta watch the video “or it all just falls apart” Just saying… (Yes! I feign Texan; it is my wont.)
After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.
Within moments, I slipped into that nether sleep, that sleep between sleeps, that semi-conscious state of affairs. Sleep, but Not Sleep.
Then I began to dream things that should have been true. But were not true, yet so true.
Wonderful words words words! Words to sate my unnourished prose.
Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:
““Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”
— “Will Shakespeare in Love”
I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on. Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there! Right there In My Mind. I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish” Mouse.
My finger was frozen.
It would not move.
How hard I did try!
It would not comply!
I lay there in my nether sleep, commanding.
The hand, the one digit, just the finger! Demanding!
We all have our ‘About’ Pages. Who really ever reads them?(I do)
Here is mine, in case you may have missed it.
(And No! This is not some vain fantasy; just a clarification)
By Way of Introduction (UPDATED 11 July) Bugs Bunny
Hail Yes and Merrily Met!
My name is Lance Marcom and These Pages will be my Home for the foreseeable future. All are welcome here–welcome to compliment, deride, disparage, commiserate, cajole, rant, rave, fawn, frown–In short, all comments will be appreciated.
This VirginDe-flowered Slut Blog O’ Mine will contain Tall Tales, Short Tales, Middlin’ Tales, Major Tales, Minor Tales…
Tales of Amusement, Tales of Adventure, Tales of Larceny, Tales of Woes, Tales of Foes, Tales of Loves Won & Lost, Tales of Fortunes Achieved & Squandered, and much more as becomes my wont…
Tales From Texas, The Middle East, The Far East, The Near East, The Southeast, The South Coast, The South Pacific,The Left Coast, The Old World, and Perhaps Even Oklahoma…
But most importantly, I wish this to be a place for my guests to enjoy, for:
“No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en.”
(That’s Shakespeare, Y’all.)
Just For Fun Y’all, I am going to throw a new video (or quote, or some other surprise nonsense) up here everyday. Why? You may ask.
Because I think an ‘About Page’ should be ever-changing and dynamic, just as the Person it is purported to be “About” is ever-changing and dynamic.
Therefore, I upload some of my favorite stuff here. Daily (usually)
So… here goes for 11 July: Albuquerque (I had the opportunity to live there, once.) For, you see, my mom took a wrong turn at Moriarty… hence: young lives changed. For some forever.
Hope you enjoy.
And please do not forget to listen to what was my mantra while cooling my heels in Amman Jordan in late ’07
The Best of the Hitchslap
Bullshit Legal Stuff:
I Suppose it is Time (alas):
All This Shit Is Copyrighted. Please Respect that, for:
“Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed.” –Shakespeare
Someone once posited the idea that good posts always challenge the reader with a question (“This invites discourse”)
I cannot disagree, but by the time I finish my posts. I am all ‘discoursed out’.
That said, ’tis good advice. So, here is my million-dollar question:
“How many of y’all ever go to the ‘about’ page ‘ere you ‘follow’? I know I do. And for just one important reason: Sometimes we are misled and by being misled, we tend to ‘say’ things that are offensive to the blogger. Therefore, I like to get a ‘feel’ if you will, of the person’s blog I am about to comment all over. I do not aim for controversy, but I seem to land there more often than not.
Point is… know your audience and never purposely offend.
“I promise! I’ll be good!” (Starting first thing tomorrow)
Now… I am not vain enough to even think for an instant that I am the only one who gets great spam. However, I just feel compelled to show off my own ‘Private Idaho’ favorite one (a recurring one, alas).
But this is wonderful, mighty writing, and I beg you to read it, for the more I read it, the more I laugh and marvel at how great it is. Truly! (And for some sake of brevity, I did not even post the entire bit).
So abstract. So poetic. I just fucking love this guy/gal. I wanna make a poster and post it in Real Life, on my wall, My “I love me wall”: just for negative inspiration.
I do sincerely wish I could write this way, and with such piercing eloquence:And hey!~ Y’all! Y’all really need to go there, jes sayin’
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Kinda takes your breath away, don’t it?
I do sincerely hope you have enjoyed this.
Whenever I am feeling blue, I read this and say to myself,
“Lance, someday, someday, you will end up like this”
Then I pour myself a scotch, and open a Can-O’-Spam, forcing Life to digress… for just One-More-Day.
‘Tis a happy prospect, eh?
And here is the video version:
Now! That was a bit of a joke, but Y’all know I am always looking for any opportunity to slip in my favorite videos.
(And, Yes! I am infatuated with Felicia Pearson. There are worse to be had. Trust me on this one, yo! And if you have never seen “The Wire” well, Y’all need to check it out, unless of course it may not be Y’all’s cup O’ tea, just sayin’)
And those who frequent these pages… should surely know this.
As for the rest of you,
Well, I merrily suggest you dive delve? into The Archives.
This is an ancient post, one that most probably have not seen.
I am a mite lazy today and trying to find some inspiration somewhere to post something new…but for now: Please Stay Tuned.
When I was a young teen, freshly discovering the Joys of Puberty, I had an Ant Farm.
(Early Puberty does strange things to Not quite still Boys, but not quite Yet Men.)
Not one of those green and clear plastic toy ant farms. Oh, Hell No. This was hand-crafted and from fine pine two-by-fours. Two panes of 3/8” plate glass measuring thirty by twenty-four inches seated in the painstakingly mitered channels of the wood sandwiched the heavy Plaster of Paris block inside, in which I had meticulously carved all the ant-sized tunnels and oval shaped ‘ante-rooms’ for the ants to place the larvae and store the rations for a winter that would never come.
For these were domesticated ants—house ants, if you will—I had willed them such. These tunnels and carved out spaces were painstakingly coated with clean sand using a strong, but non-toxic well-cured epoxy.
It seems I had always been fascinated by ‘every creeping thing… and whatsoever creepeth upon the earth, after their kinds…’ And ants were always at the top of my ‘Creepeth Hit Parade.’ Once I had my initial stock, I spent many a happy hour studying their daily perambulations. I loved them dearly.
“Yes Elizabeth, ‘tis a strange one, this boy…”
The problem was my ants were too much mortal, and always died off too soon. Woefully I would watch as the living carried the fallen up to the surface and piled them in one corner of the farm, taking the time to respectfully, it seemed to me, place them just so, re-stacking the funeral pyre if through my neglect I did not remove the excess bodies in a timely fashion, causing an ant-sized dry deluge of the departed.
After some research, I discovered that the worker ants died after a shorter predetermined length of time than I had previously believed. I had managed during my ant-excavations to capture nubile winged Princesses and the large-headed and virile winged Princes. Problem was, they could not fly high enough in my little ant utopia to consummate their nuptials.
What to do?
Discover and enslave a Queen. And of course I knew all along it must sooner or later come to this. I had hoped for later, but alas. I could not in good conscience, keep restocking my sterile ego of a closed system with workers who in reality had no firm purpose and no real meaningful existence, other than to daily heed the call to “Bring out yer dead! Bring out yer dead!” I was forcing them to live a Sisyphean Sorrow, and I did harbor remorse for that.
I spent the better part of two summers searching for a queen for my ant farm. (Surely there must be some manner of metaphor or even allegory to be found therein.)
I would scout out the biggest, meanest ant mounds and methodically excavate them with a hoe, carving, peeling, madman like, layer by layer, like an onion so as to not overlook Her Majesty: Desperately hoping to find My Queen. I got stung, bitten, ravished, and generally harried and harassed by the noble and fearless workers. (Which are all female, by the way; Now run tell that!) I scraped down…down…down… All in a vain searching attempt to find the queen who would make my farm whole and self-sustaining.
I never found her. She was too deep, too elusive, too protected, too well hidden from me. Perhaps she did not really exist at all? And never did. Who knows? I have never in all my anting days, seen Ant Matriarchal Royalty. Perhaps the eggs are exuded from some ant fungus in the summer-warmed earth? Perhaps from some mutually beneficial agreement signed eons ago, betwixt Bacteria and ‘Antdom’ provided the means for both species to survive?
These are the ponderous questions that eventually came to plague my dreams like so many Harpies. And so I gave up Mythical Queens shortly thereafter and put my mind and my bodily efforts toward the pursuit of the real-life warm, touchable, see-able, lovable flesh and Heart-Felt fulfillment to be had from the interactions with Cheerleaders and Majorettes.
The ants had expedited my metamorphosis from a some-time boy into a full-time young man.
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
And p.s. gentile (pun) reader: Please do not mistake my quoting of King James Version, as testament of Christianity, ‘fore I can quote Edith Hamilton just as easily.