On the DEWLine 2.0: Dwight Williams

I used to follow the Connecting Comic Book Writers and Artists group on Facebook.

Tonight, I pulled the plug on that. I don't need that self-inflicted pain anymore. It was just one more thing.

There's going to be more "just one more thing" stuff.

Not ready for any snowfall tomorrow. Any more than I was ready to finally listen to the last Vinyl Cafe Christmas Concert this afternoon. I made it through the show, though, right up to the closing salutations from Mr. McLean.

I cried. No regrets, no apologies. I cried.

I said before: Stuart McLean was among our most ruthless storytellers. Others are as ruthless. None are moreso.

This will never be a complaint on my part.

As Bugs and Daffy - more recently, Tweety - used to say: This is it.

Fear and hope in my heart at the same time.

There are reasons for that.

Some are more disturbing than others.

The Infrastructurist is calling it quits.

More on this later, probably with some recommendations of my own on what else to actively keep an eye on...and a request for recommendations from the audience to go with it, most likely.

For the last hour I've been sitting here in this tea house, sipping, web crawling, and writing.

For 3-4 years, my little writing workshop would meet here at this little tea house in Gloucester Centre Mall, to read what we'd written each week for as much or as little critiquing as each of us could stand to hear. Novels were worked out here, articles for weblogs, short stories, poems...everything but scripts for actors, I think, and we might've tried to hash one of those out too.

Today is the last day of the life of the NiHao Tea House.

I thought I'd drop in for one last visit, one last taste of their Jasmine Green Tea, before the screen door was pulled shut for the last time.

If you happen to visit the Gloucester Centre before 9 PM tonight in your travels through Ottawa, please spare them a thought and a few minutes of your time.

So...the two very different moments we've been expecting for quite some time for very different reasons have finally begun playing out. Plus the election plotline, of course. Seems to be working so far...and maybe that's what's got me in such a state as this. That, plus the fact that the End of the Series is Nigh.

As I've said elsewhere, this has not been a great year for me and TV drama. I've lost about half my favourites, and so far, no sign of anything worth making TV-watching appointments for to take their place. And three of the series I lost have revival campaigns quixotically marching onwards...to what end, I don't know. I'm not sure what I can do yet to help move any of those from "quixotic" to "standing more than a snowball's chance in a fusion reactor", either.

Not The West Wing, though.

I expected it to end in seven, although I would've bet cash money that the death that ended it would be Bartlet's. And that it would have been scripted. Sorkin would've done the fatal episode his own self. And that would be that. A properly Shakespearean ending.

Good thing I didn't place any bets, isn't it?