I've been away for a long while. I'd like to
say that it's because I've been doing wonderful things, my house is
clean, and I just haven't had time to write. Mostly I'd like to say
that because it sounds a lot better than “I've been struggling to
keep up with my own life . . . and, I've been watching a bit of
Doctor Who on the side . . .” Because, ladies and gentlemen, I HAVE
been watching a bit of Doctor Who. This is proof of my frailty as a
mortal being.
You may not know this, but I am an
ornery little cuss. Heart-warming videos with “Get the tissues,
you're going to cry!” or “Look at all these laughing babies. Bet
you can't watch the whole video without cracking a smile!!!!!” in
the description become a personal challenge for me. “Oh? You think
you're going to make
me feel something? Doubtful.” I am so contrary that I have avoided
books, movies, and etc. that have come highly recommended (“You will love
this!”) because my pride can't handle the only two outcomes that
ever occur: 1. They're right, I do love
it; there goes my independence. Or, 2. HA! They were wrong!
What a waste of my time. (This
makes for a hollow victory, because really, I prefer being right
while enjoying my media intake.)
This need to be right and in control of my emotions has led me to two
things I always swore I would never do. (BTW, this seems an
appropriate time to tell you that sometimes, I intentionally use the
word "never"—just to
stick it to Justin Bieber. “Never say never”? Psh. I do what I
want.) Anyway, those two things? That I would never watch Doctor Who, and that
I would never mourn the loss of a famous individual. You already know
that the first never has been rescinded, so it's time I tell you
about the second.
I have
lived my life harshly scorning the hyped-up media coverage
surrounding the deaths of celebrities. Insensitively, I rolled my
eyes when fervent fans flooded the internet with expressions of
sadness: “She (or he) touched my life. I am so sad,” “Watching
all of their films in remembrance!” and of course, many eloquently
stated “OMG. CaN't even beleeve this”-es, or something to that
effect.
And I
asked myself why they were all carrying on as though they had lost a
dear friend or family member. I coldly accused the masses of having
deluded themselves into thinking they had a relationship with this
individual, made the base assessment that these people were—in
effect—mourning the loss of an imaginary friend, and carried on
with my own self-absorbed endeavors. But that was before today.
Today
marks the passing of Leonard Nimoy. And while I'm not going to tell
you that I've cried or that my life has changed dramatically due to
his creative genius, I will tell you that I feel his departure with a
sort of pensive melancholy that was previously unknown to me in this
context. Also, it is entirely possible that Alex and I will be
watching a bit of TOS this evening in remembrance of our favorite
science officer. While we may not be full-out mourning, I can admit
that Mr. Nimoy will be missed. How appropriate that he would be the
one forcing my admittance of my own humanity.
So,
whether you were a close friend, family member, or a distant admirer
of the man, the Vulcan, and the actor, I am sorry for your loss. Your
choice in feelings seems quite logical.
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