'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

House; aborted talk on talk and games

Tonight I caught up on "House." Though I wasn't feeling particularly emotional as the episodes unfolded, suddenly during that last one I was sobbing. They sproinged it on me. A genius idea of a dramatic situation---both a terror to imagine, and a fantasized wish, at the same time, in the same thing. I had two brief spells of near blubbering eruption. Was scaring the cat a little, which might have inhibited my surrendering to it even more.

I don't mind being manipulated by art like that. Quite the opposite. Cuz it's not just any art that can get at stuff in me that way, I'm such a hard-ass---it has to not muck it up with any of many many dealbreaker mucker-upperings. Except with music, which can have a direct path. Music bypasses something; storytelling goes right through it. And it touches stuff as it bores in. And you can usually tell what it touched, if you want to.

- - -

Earlier tonight, after playing at trash talk around the putt-putt rematch (I remain undefeated, at 2-0), I got to thinking on trash talk, and bravado, and "the jedi" (as my dominoes sensei called it)---the kind of jovial giving-each-other-sh*t that the boys used to do when I hung with the boys, such as I hung with the boys. There's something compelling in that subject for me, as there is in the whole business of sports and games, and how it can be to be engaged in them, when none of the mucker-uppers of that world are upping and mucking it up.

I had a few incoherent paragraphs going here, mostly about that stuff, but they sucked. I'll blame sleepy brain & maybe muse on that non-business another time.

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