GOT Recap, S8 E4: WTF


Look, we have to talk and I have to process, so I apologize in advance for what will surely be a ten-thousand word, one-part rambling/two-part rage post about the latest Game of Thrones episode — called The Last of The Starks — which I’ve aptly retitled: So What The Fuck Was That??

So like, what the fuck was that? As I’ve grown with this series — a good ten years of my life — there have been times that I’ve said to other women, “No, I get it, girl. I get it. Rape scenes: bad. Incest: everywhere. Problematic everything plus a Byzantine cast and plot that could be overwhelming in the wrong hands. BUT HERE’S WHY YOU SHOULD KEEP GOING….” and I became one of Those People, pleading my case in a court of Starbucks, explaining why they should keep watching something so triggering and imbalanced and sometimes devastating. The writing. The cinematography. Jon Snow. Dragons. That George R. R. Martin rule of “Kill whoever!” Arya motherfucking Stark. Continue reading

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Life Dysmorphia

Pictured: Not my kidneys.

A friend sent me a love letter recently; the platonic, supportive kind. It was filled with sweet things like “You’re an inspiration to me” and “You’re one of the strongest people I know” and “I’m in awe of the things you are doing.” When I received it, I had been in the same pajamas for 72 hours, I smelled like an old, tired foot, and I’d been crying for an hour over a terrible Netflix rom-com that I’d watched instead of working. I was sleep deprived, received two pitch rejections that morning, and had stale cookies for breakfast. Just inspiring people with awe over here. None of what she wrote felt like me in the slightest.

When I see myself in a window or in photos other people take of me, it’s never what I think I look like. “Who is that lumpy old lady? Am I wearing Hammerpants?” Everything feels distorted. When I hear myself speak in video or on a mic, I sound like a weird, dispassionate stranger; if I try for a lighter, more animated pitch, I sound fake as hell. But I don’t really know what I thought I would sound like, only that it’s somehow me while also not me at all.

I write something and think it’s total shit but someone else thinks it’s genius; then sometimes the opposite of that. I make a new connection and potential friend but they totally ghost me. My health tanks just when I’m starting to feel better. Is life dysmorphia a thing? Because I clearly don’t know myself or apparently how things work. I’m constantly being surprised by how wrong I am, about pretty much everything.

My kidneys are relapsing again, though this time I think we figured it out early. Beyoncengue Fever (also known as Minimal Change Disease) strikes again. Crossing my fingers there’s no hospital time because the two weeks I did last fall at Swedish were fucking grueling. On the flip side, those two weeks were also amazing in many ways. Filled with love and support, friends and family coming by, books read, a secret donut here and there. The 11th floor nephrology unit was hands-down the best team of medical professionals I’ve ever worked with — great at their jobs but also really lovely people. I got a ton of writing done and actually worked a bunch from my bed. I laughed a lot. I cried a lot, too — from despair and pain and frustration and fear. I was only allowed outside twice in that time and that was with a nurse chaperone. The hospital isn’t fun for an extroverted control freak. Or anyone, really.

I’m writing this to remind myself that I’m not supposed to have shit figured out, and anytime I think I do, it’s going to be temporary. It’s just a constant process, being a biological meatbag who doesn’t know what her own voice sounds like sometimes. It’s remembering that good stuff and bad stuff always happen together, because life is not baseball; nothing is turn-based, and if it was, I’d still be fucked because sports. One of the things I’m perpetually learning is that stuff comes at you from all sides, and you just gotta roll with it. Even when I don’t know how — especially then. Deal with the challenges and appreciate the good. Both/and, always.

In conclusion: Life is hard, baseball is a bad metaphor, and trying on new pants is terrible. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

GoT Recap, S8 Ep3: G’Night, King




You know how we do when it comes to battle episodes: To emoji battle at Winterfell!

There were about 14 minutes and exactly 45 English words spoken in the time before the White Walkers finally got on-screen. In those 14 minutes, we saw our favorite eyes get bigger and bigger with the anticipation of certain death — or did we? I couldn’t see a goddamn thing thanks to winter (it came! like a thick wool blanket dropped over our tv) and the moodiest of mood lighting.

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GOT Recap, S8 Ep2: Fireside Chats


“Giant’s milk.”

With only four episodes left, we need to discuss something important: When a Game of Thrones moment lands. Throughout the series, the joke in our living room has been “Oh no, that was a really nice moment between him/her/them. DEATH IMMINENT.” But now we’re actually in Moment = Perish territory, and the moments happening — everywhere at Winterfell, between everyone — cannot be ignored. Every sweet word, meaningful look, frank conversation, bear hug — I wonder if George Arr! Arr! is setting me up and they’re destined for the Night King’s army aka Obliterating My Spirit Until Time Dies…which I guess is Bran now? It makes all these lovely moments feel like emotional traps and I don’t know how many panic attacks I can take in the next four weeks.

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GoT Recap, S8 Ep1: Dragons



“I can show you the world…”

Roughly 595 days ago, I posted the Game of Thrones Season 7 finale recap, thinking we would never see the end of this series due to a Trump-related nuclear fallout, a George R. R. Martin-type setback, or simply death by anticipation — but we made it, friend-ohs. Seems like we should be rewarded for our never-ending patience with a brand new opening sequence. Reward granted!

Thoughts on the new opening sequence: ALL THE YESES. I love the upgrade, how they’re going deep into the interior of things (I think the Winterfell crypt is important this season), and that they’re tracking the undead army by turning white tiles into blue ones. Genius. Read more about what the production studio has in store for the credits here.

This first episode was one of reunions and revelations. The pace wasn’t as lightning fast as last season was — at least it didn’t feel like we were sprinting, merely trotting along with purpose — but I’ll be happier once the episodes go feature length, starting in Episode 3.

The first scenes, we saw the Unsullied, Dothraki, and two fully-grown dragons plus all the human throne hopefuls marching into Winterfell. Within 30 minutes, there was a Jon-Bran reunion, Jon-Arya, Tyrion-Sansa, Euron-Cersei, Bronn-Qyburn, and Yara-Theon. Shocking no one, Dany and Sansa are high school frenemies now. Bran is still pretty Bran, though more talkative than usual (from three words per episode to like…seven). Sansa and her ex-husband, the Imp, have an outdoor tete-a-tete. Qyburn tasks Bronn with revenge-murdering Tyrion for Cersei. Yara clocks Theon after he rescues her but they make up, Iron Islands-style. What is dead may never die.

Euron and Cersei predictably get it on because he’s the most arrogant man in the world and some women like that kind of thing. Especially when their other partner is a tender-hearted sibling who abandoned them to fight the undead. Also totally normal: Saying “I wanted those elephants” post-coitus while drinking red wine in a terrible wig.

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