My Facebook friends know I've had a cold the last few days. That means my posts have been typed in the 20 minute respite when the medicine actually works and I can stare at the screen through one squinted eye with Kleenex stuffed up both nostrils.
My colds happen in my eyes. Any light sends me into sneezing fits, so I draw the curtains, keep a cold compress on my eyes and wish for death.
This cold I've been able to listen to the first season of Fringe. You know a show is well-written when you can listen to it instead of watch it.
I should say up front, I don't agree with the Fringe worldview. It's humanistic and cynical and, well, often gross (the pilot episode had melting people in it -eew!). But, I must admit, this is my kind of gross.
I knew I loved this show the moment I met Walter Bishop, the happy mad scientist. He's so excited about dead bodies, and fruit cocktail, and illegal drug use. He eats Twizzlers while performing autopsies. He blows up papayas with micro waves. He talks to dead people, as long as they haven't been dead more than 6 hours. And I love him for it.
I wish I had created Walter. I've invented some wonderful people, but I wish I had created Walter. I suspect I love him so much because he loves food so much. It's the one thing we have in common.
I love Peter and Olivia, too, don't get me wrong. Even darling, dainty Astrid with her unkempt fro has found a place in my heart. She's so quiet and capable. Walter's lab would be hip-deep in exploded fruit if not for her.
Once again, J.J. Abrams has done something wonderful for geeks everywhere. For those of us who've missed The X Files (you know, when it was good, before it turned all alien conspiracy and Scully-loves-Mulder), Fringe is a new take on the old world of weird. And I love it.