Graham and I don’t get to hang out together very often, what with his work schedule and my need to be asleep sometime before 2am. Because of this, we try to make the most of the time we do have together, although sometimes things like yardwork or family obligations come up. Or heavy metal, because Graham went to a Ghoul/Municipal Waste/GWAR triple bill show last night in Joliet, Illinois. We’re not anywhere near Joliet, by the way, but he and Craig were willing to make the drive there and back on the same night, which meant that I didn’t have to cook dinner and could continue trying to enjoy Supernatural as much as some of the fangirls I know from the Internet.
It doesn’t bother me that he went. Really. I mean, it’s nice to spend some time together, but I have to be at work at 7am on Mondays while he doesn’t have to be in until 4pm, and as Angela Chase says, “there’s something about Sunday night that really makes you wanna kill yourself.” What else are we supposed to do other than sit around and dread the next day until I have to go to sleep? I do find it funny that Graham asks me what I think about him going to certain places, like he’s asking permission. Or maybe not permission, exactly, but he’s asking in order to gauge my cooperativeness in his opting out of the Sunday night routine. I’ve never made him ask for permission. Number one, we’re not married, but even if we were, number two, he’s an adult and so am I and the best part about being an adult is getting to do whatever the fuck you want. You want to get your face melted by music that makes me want to shit myself and die? Be my guest. Just don’t get arrested or ask me to come along.
I’ve never understood the way some people require permission. I can’t imagine denying Graham permission to do something he wants to do (short of hiring hookers and/or smoking PCP, of course), because it seems like the alternative would be him sulking around and resenting me. Rightfully, by the way. If Graham told me I couldn’t do something I wanted to do (short of hiring hookers and/or smoking PCP, of course), I’d pout all day long. The time spent together would feel more like punishment for me because I was told no, and for him because obviously I would make him regret it.
But the point of this was supposed to be Supernatural.
Internet, what the fuck are you thinking? I’m not saying it’s not good at all. It is…sometimes. Rarely. Kind of. There are a few okay jokes and I admit that anything with a wendigo freaks me the fuck out (Scary Stories to Tell In the Dark will continue to traumatize me well into old age), but mostly it’s a couple of good-looking guys, some disposable actresses, and poor special effects. Clearly I’m in no position to judge someone’s preferences – I was once an avid fan of SeaQuest DSV and since re-watching it on Netflix, I can assure you that the writing and production had nothing to do with this – but I worry about this generation that seems to like mostly crap, and I don’t think that I’m being a grumpy old person about it at all.
Haven’t you kids watched The X-Files? Yeah, some of it was cheesy but it was leagues smarter and weirder than Supernatural, and the tension between Mulder and Scully was far more nuanced and interesting that whatever insane slash fic any of you are writing about the brothers on Supernatural. They’re brothers, you know. Some slash is fine. Top Gun slash, for instance, because obviously. But there’s a limit. Sometimes buttfucking doesn’t make sense, okay? Deal with it. Quit writing homoerotic relationships for every male co-stars, ever, please. Whatever you’re attracted to is fine, but can’t you kids leave anything alone? Or at the very least, can’t you steal some porn and learn about sex the old fashioned way, through terrible guesses and conversations about blowjobs where you ask your older, more experienced friend “so what you’re telling me is that blowing has nothing to do with it?”. What kills me is that hardly any of you have any idea about sex, and you know what, this is fine, stay a virgin for as long as you’re comfortable and be as educated as possible before you do it. That’s great, no joke. But with every single kind of pornography ever produced at your fingertips and a life experience catalog that has never not included the Internet, how are any of you still clueless about anything? I truly do not understand how this works.
Same with music. How is it that you have access to worlds of music that no one my age could ever have known about without bi-coastal pen pals who made mixtapes, and you choose dubstep? Are you fucking kidding me? I suppose this is what happens when you grow up in a world post-dot matrix printers and dial-up Internet, but jesus christ, that shit is worse than GWAR.
Ingest something good for a change. Enjoy something weird, challenging, or made by ugly people. Try to avoid the Japanese stuff for now, because they really do make the world’s most fucked up shit and until you are prepared for the Germans, you are not at all prepared for the Japanese. Sometimes, let your characters share a meaningful look without the exchange of bodily fluids. Trust me. This is adult advice.