Yet mystery and manifestations
arise from the same source.
This source is called darkness.
The gateway to all understanding.
Tao te Ching
“Can we watch something normal tonight?”
I looked at Charlie, trying to decide if I should point out the narcissism of assuming that what I like to watch is not normal, and what he wants to watch is normal. But I quickly put away my bitch face and decided to play nice. After all, troubled times call for drastic measures.
“Normal?” I asked, gently, batting my eyelashes like the innocent, loving, compassionate bundle of female sweetness that I am.
“Yeah, like no gruesome deaths, etc.”
Well, shit. He has a point.
I do like gruesome. And scary. I am on a constant quest for actually scary things to watch. They’re thin on the ground. So I watch what I can to at least get a taste of scary. I tend to use horrifying entertainment as a way of processing my emotions. It’s much easier to be afraid of the demon-possessed mass murderer than it is to be scared of the one in the White House. I can get all my scares out without resorting to drugs.
(Although, when available, I do kinda prefer drugs. It’s one of the benefits of old age. They’re easier to get.)
I’m never sure, when watching these kinds of things, if I’m rooting for the screaming sorority girls or the masked, axe-wielding killer. For the little girl or the demon inside of her. For the lonely old lady or the ghost in her attic. Am I the last girl standing at the end? Or the mass murderer who will rise again for the next film in the franchise? I think it depends on my mood of the day. Either way, though, someone is going to get beheaded, disemboweled, and left in a closet to scare the next unsuspecting victim. And I like it that way. By the time the credits roll I almost feel like having a post-coital cigarette. I feel purged. The knot in my chest has loosened.
Charlie, on the other hand, likes simple things. He likes simple music. Simple TV shows. He likes straightforward, engaging little bits of entertainment. I think it’s his way of processing, too. He turns the world into an easily digestible concept and then swallows it down, one bite at a time. I could imagine that he is wise in focusing his mind into a nice, organized little package. I could also imagine he’s just simple-minded.
I suppose that, too, depends on my mood.
When I’m not watching bloody death and demonic attacks, I’ll at least settle for “weird.” I think things like Legion are sheer genius. I like to just fall into them as if they’re full-immersion language courses… not needing to really understand them so much as experience them. I also thought Happy was fabulous television and I still curse the bitches who canceled it in favor of whatever inane thing they replaced it with. And who couldn’t love Preacher? It’s a show about a killer-for-hire-turned-minister, a female assassin, and a vampire, all on a road trip trying to hunt down god for various reasons. It’s brilliant, I tell you. Charlie didn’t get it. “Who’s Ass Face and why is he hanging out in a dorm room talking to Hitler?” Yeah. He really didn’t get it. Sigh.
Charlie wants to watch old reruns of Kung Fu. It’s a wonder this marriage works. Fortunately, he has no idea how to use any of the remote controls. I win.
Maybe tonight I’ll find some episodes of Maybury RFD or something for him. I can pull up a Stephen King novel on my ipad just to calm my jangly nerves while all those nice white people act nice to each other on the TV. Shudder. But I’ll do it. For him.
After all, I’m all about facilitating his happy survival. I’m a giver. That’s how I roll.
After he goes to sleep I’ll binge on the Saw movies. Visual valium. And I’ll survive.
Up the Tao Staircase 