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Maybe this makes me a twat, but no, I'm not going to "chill" on my criticism of TPTB, and I really don't care if that abbreviation irks Kristine on TalkCSI. I like Top; she's usually a nice, even-handed mod, and I've no desire to hurt her feelings or engage in shit-stirring, which is why I'm not posting this anywhere but here, but her abjuration to "chill" in our criticism of TPTB reads like so much hand-wringing, Pollyanna bullshit. As far as I've seen, it hasn't gotten personal, and as fandom so often bleats in its more self-righteous moments, anything put up for public consumption is fair game for critique. So the writers and producers created interesting characters and an engaging universe. Great. Fabulous. I'm grateful, but in fandom, gratitude has an alarmingly short shelf life.
If you want the fandom to play nice because you're afraid Mama CBS will withhold the spoiler teat or limit access to the talent, man up and admit it. Don't dress it up in the Cult of Nice that permeates the Internet like a fungus. But don't expect me to kiss some very chapped asses to soothe wounded egos. They're not the frumpy, acne-riddled fat girl who's spent her entire life being mocked and ridiculed and is in desperate need of reassurance and hand-holding. They're well-paid professionals who understood exactly what they were getting into when they were contracted for the job. I don't feel sorry for them, and I don't owe them anything. Why not, you ask? Because they'll tell anyone who'll listen that they don't owe the viewers a damn thing, either. Marg Helgenberger illustrated that very succinctly in a recent interview when she said, "Who gives a shit what they think?" when asked if she read fan forums.
Fair enough. I can respect that. It's honest. But if that's the way TPTB feel, then why should I censor myself to protect their precious snowflake sensibilities? Because I owe them for the characters they create or portray? The hell I do. The studio owes them a salary. I owe them only what I choose to give, and I'm not going to slurp some preening writers, lest they take their ball and go home because those meanies didn't grin and spread every time they uncapped their pens and thank them for the trip to nirvana when it was over.
So, TPTB have given us great characters and great episodes. Well, they've given us far fewer great episodes over the last two seasons, and I'm not going to overlook the decline because it hurts to see it. Season three had its moments. Season four was a muddled mess with flashes of brilliance. Season five, with the exception of three episodes, has been an abortion. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to blindly coo over the baby and ignore the maggot-infested shit oozing from its diaper in a bid to be polite. I'm going to point and scream and demand that something be done, and then I'm going to steam myself in the shower until I look like albino beef jerky. It's what normal people do. If people feel the tone of the board has grown too grim, then that's their bout with the archangel Michael at the foot of the mountain. Make a fluffy cloud kumbaya corner where everyone can burn incense that smells like singed eyebrows and talk about how groovy it is that CSI:NY has a good episode twice a season. This isn't preschool, and I don't have to list ten things that make the CSI:NY writers, actors and producers awesome. Especially when I know that two-thirds of the people so enthusiastically kissing ass will still be just as critical in the stinky privacy of the Internet bathroom. I'd rather be an honest asshole than a disingenuous pod person.
In happier news, I bought a Yoshi mini action figure at the mall today as well as Dan Simmons' The Terror and Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. I almost bought Terry Goodkind's The Wizard's First Rule, too, because I wanted to see if The Legend of the Seeker's source material was any good. However, I dimly remembered various Netizens opining that the hero inevitably morphs into an insufferable jackass Stu who takes credit for every cultural and technological advance in human civilization, much like Ayla from The Clan of the Cave Bear series, and I decided to forebear for the time being. Am I depriving myself of a treat, or have I dodged a fulsome, overweening bullet?
If you want the fandom to play nice because you're afraid Mama CBS will withhold the spoiler teat or limit access to the talent, man up and admit it. Don't dress it up in the Cult of Nice that permeates the Internet like a fungus. But don't expect me to kiss some very chapped asses to soothe wounded egos. They're not the frumpy, acne-riddled fat girl who's spent her entire life being mocked and ridiculed and is in desperate need of reassurance and hand-holding. They're well-paid professionals who understood exactly what they were getting into when they were contracted for the job. I don't feel sorry for them, and I don't owe them anything. Why not, you ask? Because they'll tell anyone who'll listen that they don't owe the viewers a damn thing, either. Marg Helgenberger illustrated that very succinctly in a recent interview when she said, "Who gives a shit what they think?" when asked if she read fan forums.
Fair enough. I can respect that. It's honest. But if that's the way TPTB feel, then why should I censor myself to protect their precious snowflake sensibilities? Because I owe them for the characters they create or portray? The hell I do. The studio owes them a salary. I owe them only what I choose to give, and I'm not going to slurp some preening writers, lest they take their ball and go home because those meanies didn't grin and spread every time they uncapped their pens and thank them for the trip to nirvana when it was over.
So, TPTB have given us great characters and great episodes. Well, they've given us far fewer great episodes over the last two seasons, and I'm not going to overlook the decline because it hurts to see it. Season three had its moments. Season four was a muddled mess with flashes of brilliance. Season five, with the exception of three episodes, has been an abortion. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to blindly coo over the baby and ignore the maggot-infested shit oozing from its diaper in a bid to be polite. I'm going to point and scream and demand that something be done, and then I'm going to steam myself in the shower until I look like albino beef jerky. It's what normal people do. If people feel the tone of the board has grown too grim, then that's their bout with the archangel Michael at the foot of the mountain. Make a fluffy cloud kumbaya corner where everyone can burn incense that smells like singed eyebrows and talk about how groovy it is that CSI:NY has a good episode twice a season. This isn't preschool, and I don't have to list ten things that make the CSI:NY writers, actors and producers awesome. Especially when I know that two-thirds of the people so enthusiastically kissing ass will still be just as critical in the stinky privacy of the Internet bathroom. I'd rather be an honest asshole than a disingenuous pod person.
In happier news, I bought a Yoshi mini action figure at the mall today as well as Dan Simmons' The Terror and Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. I almost bought Terry Goodkind's The Wizard's First Rule, too, because I wanted to see if The Legend of the Seeker's source material was any good. However, I dimly remembered various Netizens opining that the hero inevitably morphs into an insufferable jackass Stu who takes credit for every cultural and technological advance in human civilization, much like Ayla from The Clan of the Cave Bear series, and I decided to forebear for the time being. Am I depriving myself of a treat, or have I dodged a fulsome, overweening bullet?
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