30 days grace

December 3, 2008

Americans have lost their way.

I am one such American.
I push, I shove, I consume wholeheartedly
with no less fervor than the rest,
sucking the earthly resources into my rapacious viscera
with all the elan of a Turk with a hookah.

I seek home. A home. The home.
Not sure what that home is. I feel guilty thinking about it. Don’t think I deserve such a home. I am profane.
Physical home. I’m lucky to have that. At least for now.
30 days grace.
What will befall me? Money always tight. Hope I can keep it. Rent due.
It gets paid from my dancing monkey performance at the five and dime law
firm downtown down by the courthouse, just a short walk away.
30 days grace,
sometimes 31 depending on the month.

What is home?

Spiritual home.
No clue what the spirit is.

I like style.
I lack style.
I only pretend, follow your style.
Lead the way oh trendmaster.
Tell me what to wear this year. I haven’t a clue.
Just don’t wanna be laughed at by the cool kids.
Not this year, please, no. Stop them.
Just a pig.
There is dirt.
Surrounded by dirt.
Dirt and Earth are not the same.
Hurry back to work.
Dance some more.

Rent due again.

Write the check again.

30 days grace.

Fallen from grace I never knew.

Push you away. You stand too close.

Come in. Close the door. Don’t come too close. Fort. Da. Come closer. No.
Get away. Lost myself. Where am I? Lost in you.
Why can’t I keep my own identity? Where is the compromise? Where is the zone?
Is there no me to lose. Selfless. Selfless? Selfless!
You need a self to have an ego. They say egolessness is the way to go.
Don’t you need a self in order to lose the ego?

Come back.
Don’t leave.
Don’t leave me again.
30 days grace.
I can work this out.
We can work this out.
Please listen.
Thank you.


La Philosophie de la Toilette

December 3, 2008

Philosophie de la Toilette

Philosophie de la Toilette

Pack Your Romantic Mind

April 16, 2007

It’s Time to Send Monogamy Packing in Favor of Laid-back Polygamy, Serial Monogamy, or Some Other Living Arrangement or Combination of Arrangements More In-tune with the Demands of Consumer Culture

If you are not one of the few, the proud, the Stereolab fans, perhaps I should explicate the origins of the title borrowed for this essay before dashing off into the swirling eye of my modestly apportioned idealistic haze. It was taken from one of the band’s songs from their wonderful early 90’s album Transient Random Noise Bursts with Announcements, a strangely dadaist and transcendent album title if there ever was one, not to mention the overall eerily exuberant French-dadaist-on-copious-handfuls-of-downers feel of the work. Yes, my darlings, there can be exuberance in chemical suppressants, vast exuberance. I am not one to advocate drug-use, being an ardent Puritan and all, but firsthand experience of the aforementioned phenomenon would prove me anything but an exaggerator.

If you’d like know what I’m talking about in regards to Stereolab, and not the chemicals- you are on your own there, see this url- http://play.rhapsody.com/stereolab/transientrandomnoiseburstswithannouncements/packyrromanticmind?didAutoplayBounce=true; or just buy the damn album or track somewhere.

But I did not come here to praise Francophonic electro club jazz saturated with DIY punk sensibility. I came here to talk about something altogether different, and perhaps bury a decrepit idea that many folks in our society just won’t let be pried from their cold dead ideological hands. I’m talking here about relationships, particularly monogamous marriage, and the sad state of affairs [yes, guffaw, guffaw- and indeed, people should have more of them] in which we have found ourselves.

The whole idea for this little rant and the above said title popped into my demented little head this evening when reading a passage in Riesman, et. al.’s The Lonely Crowd:

…Many people, both men and women, are troubled by the so-called disintegration of the family and look longingly back to the family structure of societies at any early point on the curve of the population. They usually fail to see that the current divorce rate is, in part, an index of the new demands made upon marriage for sociability and leisure by sensitive middle-class couples [Emphasis mine]; that these demands not only begin high, in the choice of a mate, but, as Margaret Mead has observed, include the expectation that each partner grow and develop at approximately the same rate. [See, The Lonely Crowd; Riesman, et. al.; 1961 Edition, pp. 280-281 and Mead, Margaret, Male and Female]

Yes, folks, in short, what Riesman and company are saying is that romance, and the notions of romance and “togetherness” that are endlessly flogged like an intransigent horse as the “be all, end all” of existence by the human and electronic megaphones of our obscenely wealthy consumer society, is not only weighing down marriage, but has managed to virtually crush it. And if any of you are like me, and I’m sure there’s no small number of you, you’ve experienced this first hand in a relationship if not in marriage itself. This is especially true for the guys.

You’re not putting forth any effort in this relationship!

You’re not evolving with me!

You’re not meeting my expectations!

And the whining litany goes on…

What? Excuse me? Did you say something that didn’t relate to you sexually pleasuring me? Huh?

Now let’s remember, Riesman’s passage was written more than 40 years ago. Our predicament has done nothing but accelerate since then. Marriage and sexual relationships have themselves become consumer products wrought with lofty expectations from all involved parties. As per the case of the Rosencheck children below, even the fruits of the marriage are expected to be bound by the new suffocating demands. It is as though partners are boxes of detergent pulled from the shelves of the marketplace then are expected to be a Porsche automobile or some sort of magical pixie dust able to solve all problems at the wave of a hand.

This whole notion of marriage and family as a consumerist notion owes no tiny thanks to television and other mass media who hold up a simultaneous window/mirror regarding how everyone should look and behave. We begin by looking into the window and all too often we imitate what we see through that window until it becomes a mirror.

The nuclear family, once a nice, neat authoritarian structure, has now disintegrated. People at one time were dedicated to the moral upbringing of their spawn. Being an old codger over the age of 40, I vaguely remember those days with just a wee tad of nostalgia and sentimentality. Now, however, the family is all about consumption and the personal satisfaction of the parents who view their children not as the future of our culture, but as extensions of themselves, a part of the overall bourgeois image they project into the world. It is the tendency of way too many parents, especially those of upper-middle class rungs and higher to view their kids not as independent human beings, but as two-legged status symbols donned in the latest Baby Gap fashions. One chilling case in point of this new consumerist attitude toward children is illustrated in today’s LA Times. The title and sub-slug pretty much sum-up the attitude I’m describing: The Kids are All Right– High chairs? Finger guards? Door stoppers? Forget it. Some parents refuse to compromise their style and shun child-proofing extremes that turn showcase homes into plastic playhouses. Heaven forbid that a fashionable home yield to the demands of the next generation.

The article begins as follows:

SHORTLY after learning “ma-ma” and “da-da,” Ginger and Ruby Rosenheck said “bye-bye” to their high chairs.

“They are the lamest, ugliest, most restraining things in the world and when you have twins, high chairs just take over the room,” says their mother Cindy Capobianco. “So at 14 months, we got them their own table and chairs.”

“It took a few days to teach them to sit — and eat — there,” says her husband Rob Rosenheck, who dines nearby with his wife in Ikea metal chairs at an 18th century colonial table. “But now they do and it’s so damned cute.”

It appears that Ms. Capobianco [I find it humorous and tellingly appropriate that this roughly translates into “Whitehead”- as in a zit on the face of a nation] and her spouse care more about how their children “look” than how they “are.” As long as the parents can gaze upon their children from the comfort of their trendy chairs and antique table in a perfectly feng shui room, what’s best for children be damned, “we look so chic!” All the better to be interviewed by the Times for just how trendy we are.

One can only hope that little Ginger and Ruby wake up to the shallow graves they have been shoved-into by their parents sooner rather than later, and that they find the first minivan out of the suffocating yuppie hellhole. May they have a hovel near an ocean cliff, a nice survivalist camp in Northern California, or equally rustic digs in their not-so-distant futures. At least in those scenarios they’d be able to breath.

Another nightmare example of parents not willing to cede themselves to the demands of their children is Austinite Neil Pollack’s rather controversial book, Alternadad, in which Mr. Pollack details his strategies for remaining “cool” despite being balled and chained by a squalling infant. It is the more down-scaled artist-chic side of the same coin on which the Rosencheck children’s self-absorbed uber-yuppie parents reside.

Now I know I’m being a little harsh on all the cool parents. I’ll admit that I don’t know the whole story with these folks, and honestly, I’m not anyone to deny any other god, allah, buddha or other entity-fearing American human being his or her national entitlement to pursue the insanely demanding dream of “self-fulfillment” and self-satisfaction. Hell, I’m guilty of pursuing the whole American dream myself with some gusto every once in a while for a few years before getting really grumpy and having to take a nap for a month or two before waking up and starting the whole crazy race over again.

There has been much scuttlebutt lately regarding how marriage is under attack from feminists, abortionists, and gay marriage advocates. This whole “marriage under attack” notion is ludicrous. Such crusades of braying televangelists and righteously indignant papists and other sectarian stripes leave me cold, if not completely without amusement. I have never seen anything particularly spiritual in marriage. Sexual conjugation itself can have such a quality, but as anyone knows, you don’t need a license and a big fat ring to experience such.

The odd conundrum about the whole “marriage under attack” ideology is that the family values and market values held so nearly and dearly by social conservatives seem to be canceling each other out. The wild and free market of rampant consumerism is antithetical to the settled communitarian milieu in which families are commonly believed to thrive. Neither gays, feminists, communists, child-haters, nor blood-thirsty trolls are attacking marriage from the outside. The disintegration of marriage is happening from within in no small part due to the internalization of market values which place a premium on consumption and image at the expense of emotional, psychological, and spiritual well-being. More consumption has come to equal more happiness in the twisted logic of our consumer society when, in fact, quite the opposite is true, and romance is nothing but a means of compelling consumption and an act of consumption in and of itself. For an excellent examination of the how market forces are eroding marriage and family, see The End of Marriage at savageminds.org.

Lately, I have been pondering the historical secular and cultural necessity of monogamous marriage. The nuclear family has served western culture quite well for some time – oh say 100 or so years per a very liberal estimate- functioning initially as a production unit before devolving into its present state as a loosely associated consumption unit dominated by state and corporate institutions. [See, “The Socialization of Reproduction and the Collapse of Authority,” Part VII of Christopher Lasch, The Culture of Narcissism for more on the replacement of patriarchal and familial authority by external institutions] Marriage was for a short time a means of perpetuating the culture through reproduction and acculturation back before insane wealth shocked society’s systems and men and women were actually dependent upon each other for economic as well as social reasons, and children themselves were considered assets [they could work the fields], and not liabilities and tax deductions. However, as Lasch and many others have noted, the nuclear family has pretty much disintegrated into so many unruly electrons thanks to the invidious nature of rampant free market consumerism.

But rather than mourn marriage, or try to save it, perhaps we should all accept the cold hard reality that the institution of marriage is no longer necessary, and is, quite simply outdated and incompatible with the wealth and leisure-seeking inclinations of our society. New paradigms of social relations need to be developed and normalized.

In regards to child-rearing, maybe, since external institutions are now basically raising the kids anyway, we should cut out the middle men and women and opt for the fertility and incubation facilities of Brave New World, which is basically what the nuclear family is doing now in a rather inefficient way. Now, I’m not suggesting farms of test tube babies as the best alternative, but as one. Maybe some smart people out there have some better ideas regarding how to perpetuate the race and the culture. I have had a crazy flash of the concept of the Nanny Farm where children are brought to be raised and inculcated into the culture after their cuteness wears off and their parents begin to find them boring or vice versa.

Since nuclear families don’t have much control over the culture or themselves any more, perhaps it is time that men and women free themselves from the prison of monogamy. If people are going to be so insistent upon having so many romantic and consumerist expectations met, it will have to be done in a new setting, or, more accurately several new settings.

It is far from fair, and even further from reasonable, to expect so many high expectations and needs to be met by one person. As Reisman, et. al. suggest, and Lasch echoes a decade later, such demands are put upon the achievement of fulfilling relationships that instead of being a haven from the the workaday world, they become jobs in themselves. Husband and wife tend to be co-employers/co-employees, and not just in the realm of making sure the kids are fed and the bills are paid, but in the maddening maintenance of a certain image and standard of living as a facade to present to their friends and the world in general. The economic and social demands are ridiculous, not to mention the psychological toll and stifling of creativity in an environment that demands conformity and complete control at every turn. I commend those who thrive in such an environment and would by no means wish to deprive them of their contentment. For me, and I am far from alone, such a living arrangement would be a living death.

So really, what’s wrong with changing the structure a little. Throwing traditional marriage out the window will really hurt no one but divorce lawyers. If there are those daring enough, they can give it a whirl. I’m not talking about outlawing it, just dropping its deification.

And really, when its all said and done, you don’t have to pack your romantic mind, just your notions of how your romantic wishes will be fulfilled.

Learned a New Word Today

April 12, 2007

Learned a New Word Today

Well, okay, it was yesterday that I learned the word. While catching up on the whole Don Imus imbroglio involving the comments that he made about the Rutgers Women’s basketball team, I stumbled across journalist Gwen Ifill’s [yes, that Gwen Ifill. The one from PBS. The one who has moderated Presidential Debates] op-ed essay in the New York Times  [registration and other soul-numbing routines are required in order to read any of the substantial news at site of the publication that prints everything that is fit to print. So, if you are not already registered at the NY Times site, as I suspect way too many folx already are- and I hope, if you are reading this you are a dedicated Times reader- be prepared to spend some time doing so. I think it’ll be worth your time if you only read this article and never go back again. Yup, it’s that good. That Gwen.]. For you rock dwellers unfamiliar with the Imus situation, last week, the morning after the Rutgers ladies lost to Tennessee in the Women’s College B-Ball final, Mr. Imus, on his nationally broadcast radio show, referred to the team as “nappy-headed hos,” a slang-addled phrase that for speakers of the Queen’s English roughly translates into “African-American women with naturally kinky hair who are also prostitutes of the lowest, street-walker sort.” As one could expectedly assume, this is not exactly, especially when offered in the vernacular, a compliment of highest regard.

As has been widely reported since this incident, Mr. Imus, some years back, dropped a racially-charged insult on Ms. Ifill, who is African-American, referring to her as “a cleaning woman.” The invective leveled at Ifill, who was covering the White House for the NY Times at the time, went something like this [and I’m paraphrasing]- “Oh, those wonderful, esteemed publishers at the NY Times, they let the cleaning lady cover the White House.”

So of course, Ms. Ifill, who has apparently been ignoring the slight for more than ten years, finally gets her last laugh – in a rather didactic way – on Imus in the pages of the Times, and she gets to hurl a new word at me. That word is carapace.  For those of you already familiar with the word, good for you, and for those who have one, even better for you. A carapace is basically, a protective shell. The context in which Ifill used the term is: “They [the Rutgers Bball team] are not old enough, or established enough, to have built up the sort of carapace many women I know — black women in particular — develop to guard themselves against casual insult.”

Women aren’t the only ones in need of a good carapace. It’s virtually impossible to exist in today’s world as a sentient being without one. I myself, a big ugly repressive white guy of the basest gentile variety, have been accused over the years of being a bit thin-skinned, and letting things get to me. It’s true. I was thrown in with sensitive lot at birth, and have made some efforts to don a carapace in my daily excursions through this sphere in order to get along and have a decent, somewhat fulfilling existence. Still, it’s easy to leave it at home sometimes. It is a bit of a cumbersome thing. Even more frustrating are the things that get inside the shell, and get stuck there, to be obsessed over- over and over again. Ouch! Everyone has those things that come back to haunt them over the years- the failed marriage, the job they wish they’d taken, the girlfriend they wish they had never met. Those things get stuck in the shell, and the only thing that can get them out is patience and the occasional psychic vacuuming. Here’s hoping for the Rutgers Women’s Bball Team that this whole Imus incident, and I have faith that for these outstanding young ladies, it will- just bounces off them, and onto the curb where it belongs. From all indications so far, they seem to be more bewildered by the whole thing, and anything but insulted. I think Ifill has underestimated them. I appears they do indeed possess, at least, a collective carapace, and it is doing just fine.

Crotchety Old Men and Drunken Babies

April 11, 2007

Greetings my demented denizens of the entertainment-industrial complex. I come to you wired, fired, and inspired. Geez. That was frightening. That is as close to rap as I’m ever gonna get, so ne’er fear, the pain you just experienced shall be but few and far between, or at least I should hope, lest I be whisked away in an over-sized SUV [redundant??], and forced to make rhymes to shoddily cribbed blues riffs while women with prodigious attributes gyrate and grind in the proximity of my person, and sing catchy little phrases like, “Hey Ho!” or “Say it ain’t so, Joe– Yo! Yo! Yo!.”

So what is this post about… hmmm.. Really??? Is it about the difference between tradition-directed, inner-directed, and outer-directed personality types as per that fabulous classic of the American psycho-sociological landscape, The Lonely Crowd, by Riesman, Glazer, and Denney??? If it is, I’m feeling strangely outer-directed at this juncture, despite the mad, insistent machinations of my inner-gyroscope. This sudden switch to the outer banks is odd, since I’m usually an inner-directed person, the kind that pisses-off people with his taciturn wiles and complete inability to read the inner workings of his fellow human-beings, though they are yelling in distinct body English not more than two feet in front of him. Forgive me for being old-fashioned, or Old Skool as the kidz today say, but I prefer my English spoken. Ya know. Verbal. Aural. You can even in write it down. I’ll read it. But body language???

Empathy???? I’m not sure what that is. Though I’m certain I possess it, there are lots of people who think– or at least lots of people have told me– that I don’t. Yes, self-absorbed ass, moi. Who did I piss off today. Oh, always thinking about me. Me Me Me.. What would Christopher Lasch do???

But who cares at this point about me. Let’s talk about you. That’s right YOU!!! And Christopher Hitchens’ curmudgeonly article on “YOU” as the new “ME.” Thought provoking? No. Asinine? Yes, definitely. Mr. Hitchens is always good for having his goat gotten in the most entertaining of ways. I’m not sure if this was written by one of the more outrageous political commentators of the last few decades, or was dictated by a ranting Andy Rooney onto a scratching cylindrical tube from the early part of the 20th century. If this article should offer anything other than the impression that Mr. H has pissed his vinegar, please let me know. Oh yes. I bow and genuflect before the great one. Oh. I”m not worthy oh great Hitchmeister. You are so wise, so wonderful, so huge. So enormous. You are blinding in your brilliance. Read the article at Slate.

If you haven’t heard the Black Angels, you have not heard rock ‘n’ roll, or at least rock ‘n’ roll in the form of one helluva a Black Sabbath redux. And forget that they are from Austin, Tejas, EEU. That label tends to suffocate bands. Luckily, these guys know what the hell they are doing in the form of dirty retro revival rock. Black Angels are too good to last. They are on tour at this moment, so I highly recommend you see them before they explode into a happy cloud of sparkling hell dust before some lucky audience’s eyes.

If you have not seen the genius cartoon vid for Peter, Bjorn and John’s Young Folks, here is where you can see it. Love the covert sexual vibe and the completely understated tone of the whole thing. That’s right. Covert; understated. Does anyone, especially the under-30 set – and many over 30’s– understand what subtlety is anymore?? Gosh.. I find being seduced so much more fun than the cerebral and literal rape of so much crap that passes for pop art today.. cum [no pun kids] that Pussycat Dolls garbage on CW. Woo.. Yeah.. Strutting around half-naked. That’s really empowering. I don’t care how attractive you are. You look really frackin’ stupid. T&A will only take you so far. The ol’ Morrissey ditty rings true – “on the day that your mentality catches up with your biology….” Whoa.. I’m having a C. Hitch moment, there. Slap me before I have too much fun with my own consternation! Anyway, the Peter, et. al. vid is an exquisite example of how far a little imagination and thought can go in making something truly wonderful. I love the whole retro feel – as I’ve read in more than one place– it is quite reminiscent of the old Jonny Quest cartoons. What?? Too damn young or unenlightened to know who the f— J Quest is??? Well. Educate your darn self. Also, the female character is just totally hot without boobs and butt bursting all over the place– hello P-Cats… hint. Hint. Hint. . It’s all in the demur smile. Do the kids today even know what demur is?? Do I have to move to Sweden to get more intelligent videos like this?? Oh Hitchens!! Leave me now oh demon!!!

While you’re at it, check out the acoustic version of the song.

Oh yeah, the FINAL FOUR– May Madness – of Vmars.. Gosh, I stumbled over this one in the last few posts, then wondered all over the www. looking for info on when the last eps would start. Gosh, wouldn’t ya know it, all I had to do to get that info was turn on my little ol’ television set to the CW and voila, there’s a big fat promo for the last arc of Vmars starting on May 1. Ouch!!! This may be the last four of V forever, so get your recording mechanisms at the ready.

Ggirls Fans.. Yes, I am but one. The final eps for this season kick off on 4/17/07. Yee ha.

Other cerebral flotsam and jetsam– a friends’ kids’ little league soccer team got trounced 7-0 last week. I told him before he went out for the game today, that if they lose that badly again, they should be lined up and shot. Yes, sounds harsh, but it was merely a reference to Dynamo Kiev back during WWII. Of course, DK were lined-up and shot for winning against the Nazis. Isn’t there a ceremonial beauty to the act of being “lined-up” and then “shot.” It’s much nicer than just being shot. Or being lined-up. The whole lined-up then shot thing, gives it a neat little formality that seems to be missing in so much of today’s hurried homicidal rages. Gosh, do murderers just not have the decency to line-up their victims anymore? Is there no pride in crime, punishment, and execution anymore?? It’s just shoot, shoot, shoot. Blood everywhere. No pride in craft. Hmmm..

And.. speaking of being shot, Austin Country Music legend Billy Joe Shaver certainly knows how to handle unruly fans. Don’t Mess with Texas Musicians, folx. http://www.statesman.com/news/content/news/stories/local/04/06/6kelso.html;

Unfortunately, I don’t think Shaver lined-up his victim, other than in the gun’s site. No style points.

Now. I shall shut up. I leave you with Family Guy‘s Stewie, drunk..

A a gay infant, a talking dog. Whoa!!!

A televisual slice of heaven if there ever was such. Yes!!! That’s right, Baby!!!

VMars- 4 More Eps! 4 More Eps!

April 10, 2007

Yes, I’m really, deep down inside, going “Four more seasons!” I’d love to see V equal Buffy’s number of seasons on the air, but really– is that possible, and do we really want what looks like an Alias rehash which is just a Buffy rehash without all the supernatural stuff. Good thing about V is that she does not keep secrets. Eewwwhh- I’m secretly the slayer, or Eeewwwhh, I’m secretly a secret agent. Nope, V is all– damn I’m a private eye, and I’m damn good at it. Oh shit! I’m hearing Hall and Oates in my head. It is Hall and Oates that did Private Eyes, right??? Who else could produce such dreck? Hmmm, after a little recherche de web, I’m correct. Great, now I’m gonna hear that crap in my head all damn day. I should never post in the morning. Damn modernism, why does the reader have to be privy to the process, and why does the writer feel so damned compelled to make the reader privy. It’s ’cause we’re all narcissists, that’s why, and voyeurs, and we’re constantly switching roles. That’s why telly is so great. We can get our big voyeur jones rocks off and live to tell about it, while seeing ourselves at the same time. It’s a window and mirror all in one. Crazy huh??? Television, an amazing tool- the great enabler of our rampant, insecure little consumer culture. Hell, I’m some old dude, and I wish I had half the confidence and feistiness of VMars. Anyhoo.. I digress.

Okay, from the last post, as you may have noticed, though it was not explicitly stated, but only implied, perhaps, I thought VMars was completely over, as in, poof!, no more eps. However, from reading one of the very articles that I linked in that post, there are four more ‘sodes that will air in May. Silly me. I’m now having a ‘sode. I just went through all the April TV listings, saw no new VMars and just assumed… and you know what they say about assuming. Yes. Je suis un ass!!!

Ergo, I’ll now anxiously await those final May eps and conjure up visions of one last decent mini-arc. I’d prefer one juicy arc per season with ventures off into various mini subplots, but hey, the VMars folx gotta do what the VMars folx gotta do. If they can’t keep it up for a whole season, that okay. Few writing teams are that studly.

Here’s the frackin’ hubbub over at the VMarslounge at the CW site.

Three and Out? Are VMars Adventures in Class Warfare Coming to an End??

April 10, 2007

After three seasons on the Neptune High, and Hearst College gumshoe trail, it appears that the adventures of the cutest noir detective in the history of the genre have come to an abrupt end. I am not exactly sure about what is happening, but I must venture to say that I am quite disappointed that Mr. Thomas and company — which apparently has no small coterie of Univ. of Texas film schoolies among its ranks judging from the cornucopia of inside Austin/Tejas/Longhorn jokes and references, and let’s not forget the music, baby, on the show– couldn’t keep the good times a’ comin’. However, the show’s cancellation, considering the less than stellar arcs that have been offered up this season, should not be of any harrowing surprise. Of course, after the first two seasons, perhaps expectations were a tad high. After all, even Mr. Whedon’s Buffyverse suffered a bit of a sag after the slayer and the scoobs waltzed across town to UC Sunnydale [and yes, the VMars/Buffy parallels are quite copious]. Perhaps Mr. Thomas should get one more season to see if he can rebound the show.

Still, rumors abound. Some say that it’s all over for our fair V, whilst others are under the impression that the series is going to embark upon some serious time traveling if indeed it should renewed for another circle around the sun. In my humble prognosticating opinion, let’s kiss Veronica goodnight and hope she has pleasant dreams, and we can all buy our DVDs, sit about, and wonder, “What if…..”