I will be the first to admit that I’m a crybaby. I will cry at almost any reasonably worthwhile event: hand made pillows, father-daughter commercials in June, babies, puppies & kittens, marshmallows over campfires, thoughtfulness of any kind….
But this show – the feelings that arise within me from its brilliant script are simply ineffable and almost always leave me with a few rolling sobs. This amazing show! Tonight – my good Lord in Heaven and in the name of all other otherwise-not-capitalized-pronouns should be made aware that I was sobbing like a freshly-dumped girlfriend tucked away in a back alley over forty cool ounces of malt liquor. This was the episode that hung my heart into the wayward depths of devotion. I am now a complete and total devotee of Alan Ball. Praise him. Praise every brilliant writer and director of each loving episode. And (yes, I dare say) praise HBO and the technology that allowed my non-cable-buying ass to see such brilliant film making at my personal convenience: Praise DVDs!
While the image above might be taken as funny – I admit – it is not at all a joke. That’s exactly how I looked after several minutes of severe boo-hooing… I could give Tammy Fae Baker a run for her money if she weren’t already at the big Macy*s Mac Counter in the sky.
0 replies on “Season 3: Six Feet Under”
omg, i haven’t watched six feet under in forever, but loved in when i did. i can relate though, i get that way with west wing despite the fact i’ve watched it a million times.