Concerning Heroes, Part Two

I'm sure you've all heard the news: Heroes, the once-successful NBC series, has been cancelled. It appears that the network, after attempting to rehabilitate the crippled horse by injecting it with a sparkly new plot and a dirty old gypsy man, has finally put it to sleep, a move which was met with a collective sigh of relief from the millions of people who cried themselves to sleep after watching Claire be herself. Like that one dog (Old Yeller, or perhaps Balto), the series had run its due course; it was simply time to put it out of its misery. With a musket.

Like a great empire, this series at one time dominated the ratings, and its influence could be felt far and wide. Fans were breathless as they watched each new episode with great rapture and delight. But, as with Rome, cracks and fissures began to imperceptibly open in the inner workings of the system, slowly deepening and widening until the ruined superstructure, covered with vegetation was all that remained.

I for one appreciated the franchise in its inchoate stages: never mind that it was fairly refreshing to see a soap opera in prime-time, or that the producers brainstormed characters directly after finishing the X-Men trilogy; the show presented a beautiful kaleidoscope of narrative development and intrigue. It was a break from the status quo.

But, like any series nowadays (Lost), it spun out of control. It's all right, though, because NBC has replaced this fallen show with a brand-new one: The Cape.

That's right, punks.

The series, starting this year, features a cop. This cop was set up. Now he wants revenge (uncannily similar to Life, a series which held so much promise). And he'll get it, with the help of his FRIGGIN' SPIDER-SILK CAPE.

Shake in your boots, you vile and uncouth instruments of Babylon!

See for yourself:

Enough said. I have high expectations. I hope you can taste the sarcasm enclosed in that statement. No? Okay. Let me help you: when I said "I have high expectations," I was being sarcastic. Sometimes verbal irony in writing can be a little tricky.

I will bite the bullet and not entertain you all with a scathing philippic on the ridiculous resurrecting nature of Sylar and all the bloody irritation his character causes me; it would be alienating.

Today, I saw a man, whose ancient white beard was obviously his pride and joy, wearing a green T-shirt and riding a bicycle. It was the dearest thing I've seen.

So long, and thanks for reading.


On the Past Couple Weeks

As summer dawns, freedom returns to the young people who attend high school and university. It is a reprieve from the harsh confinement of academia. It also means I have more time to blog, which is exciting.

This leads me to my excuse for not posting anything in the previous two weeks; I've been busy finishing up the semester. You know how that is. But now, I look towards the future. The path before me is clear and bright, and I will tread upon it with firm confidence and conviction.

I have no idea what that meant.

Allow me to get you caught up on what's been happening these past couple weeks by preparing an exquisite monologue that will be as gentle as a soft brook but purposeful as a flowing river.


In the midst of mindless preparations, I erroneously took time to see Iron Man 2 on opening night. Don't get me wrong; I loved the movie. It was nice to see Robert Downey, Jr.'s eclectic acting nature shine through in a role different from the egocentric characters he's been portraying as of late.

As far as movies go, it turns out that Babies is not playing in Peoria, an utter tragedy to a certain Chelsea Fouts. As I cannot relate to any form of toddler (or baby, or child), I feel no empathy. I must admit, however, that I did hold a child the other day. It is the first and only one I recall holding. The child is around one year old and very agreeable as far as children go. Even though I was paralyzed with apprehension as a Cru leader placed his son on my lap, the child just sat there. I bounced the kid on my leg and began retelling the myth of Sisyphus to him. I don't think he cared much for it.

This occurred during an ad hoc jam session put together by the Campus Crusade leader. In preparation for this, a couple of my friends and I traveled to Guitar Center; they were looking to buy some guitars (birthday presents for themselves), and I'm hankering to buy a cajon soon. But, I'm always intimidated when I walk into Guitar Center. I play drums competently for being self-taught, but I have no knowledge of equipment. So if a salesperson asks me, "What kind of crash cymbal are you looking for?" I have to reply, "One that makes a 'pshhh' sound."

I've improved my rhythmic skills significantly. Having your own kit, even if it is a bit crap, really helps. I've also found a bunch of drum lessons on YouTube that have also been very instructive.

Speaking of YouTube, Caleb Davison and Aaron Boerckel, along with myself, are planning on making some comedy vids soon. We have some great ideas humming along, and we hope that, with summer rolling around, we can get the ball rolling. Keep an eye open.

Summer is indeed here. The year whizzed by quickly, didn't it? I'll be 20 soon, that magical year between teenage and adulthood. Yippee.

That's been the past couple weeks. Thanks for reading.