The Cutprice Guignol

You know, the final season of Game of Thrones is coming out next month and I feel like it’s the end of an era: not a good one, of course, because I despise Game of Thrones and always have. Yes, it’s a well-made show and I admire the artistic blah blah fan appeasement blah, but it’s just not for me. Never has been, never will be. And yet, this is the most virulent pandemic of a pop culture disease that has existed in my lifetime – bigger than Breaking Bad, bigger than Doctor Who, Game of Thrones has been following my unwilling ass around like Jamie Dornan getting into character for his latest role. I’ve watched almost all of the show, just trying to get to that point where it clicks and I go “ah, yes, this is what I’ve been missing!”. It still hasn’t happened.

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You know when you’re deep in a dream, and everything seems to make sense? Like, you’re watching something on TV, and then you’re in the show, and then you’re dating one of the actors, and then you’re back watching that story unfold? How the logic bends and folds and falls in a way that just doesn’t make sense, and then you wake up, try to explain it, and can’t?

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