A return to the past prompts the realization that I never left. And maybe I never will. Happy Faye Valentine’s Day.

About a week ago, I went to pay Piggy a visit in Astoria, with two goals in mind. Keep in mind that, these days, I try to keep my goals as easily attainable as possible. First, I was to sample the cuisine of a “Japanese” restaurant based on the criteria that the statue out front proved sufficiently eye-catching to Piggy. Now, I won’t say outright that I poop better Japanese food than this place, but that’s only because it’s a can of worms I don’t want to open right now. Wow, that got gross really fast. It’s almost like you never left, Meg. Anyway, the second goal was to fulfill a long-standing promise to watch some Cowboy Bebop. Unlike ethnic cuisine of questionable origin, watching Bebop never disappoints. I knew this already, but I wasn’t sure how my perspective might change this time around, with a newfound emotional connection to the central story. Piggy and I ended up talking about more important things instead of really watching the show after a couple episodes, but I’ve spent most of tonight revisiting the series’ ending.

Now, I’ve said for quite a while that Cowboy Bebop and Evangelion have always been neck-and-neck for my favorite works of all time. I know, you thought I was going to say “anime” or maybe even “TV shows” or “excuses for excessive merchandising” and now I’m coming off a little hyperbolic with the all-encompassing and frustratingly vague “works.” But hey, I likes me some moving drawings. Anyway, even with dark horse Suzumiya coming up quick with every additional viewing, I’ve decided the race is over. Bebop outshines even Blade Runner in its blending of science fiction and noir. The seamlessness of its transitions between intense beauty and brutal violence remind me of Hard Boiled, but better. Its balance of absurdity, grim reality and style is beyond the otherwise incomparable Pulp Fiction. I can say that on this, the fourteenth of February, in the year two thousand and seven, Bebop is, in the realm of all things created artificially or naturally, the king (not to be confused with Elvis, who I never really liked and now revile for personal, superficial reasons, nor the Burger King mascot, whose mere visage injects me with fear, repulsion and the most unrelenting of hatreds). Where was I? Oh, right. It’s a good show.

The first time I watched it, I shared the experience in its entirety with Meg. I was incredibly lucky. Even though I got the sense that Meg found the plots to be fairly standard, pulling freely from common themes in several genres, we agreed that there could be no denying the intensity of its style. Following each episode, we debated and discussed every aspect of the show, from the music to the personal philosophies and pitfalls therein of each character. Incidentally, Meg, I think your new favorite character should be Cowboy Andy. I had a conversation with Regan a few months ago where she spoke of enjoying a moment of breathtaking beauty in solitude and being unable to communicate and share that beauty with anyone after the fact, and the difficulty of recreating that initial experience. I agreed that being alone isn’t a good reason to stop seeking such moments, and so I’ve continued to pursue my love of art in earnest for the past year, yielding discoveries such as the aforementioned Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu, and the upcoming Keroro Gunsou. But when I wax melodramatic and complain ceaselessly that these discoveries are muted and somehow insufficient, I’m just saying that it’s not like it was when I watched Cowboy Bebop that first time. My luck ran out.

About four and a half years ago at my fake wedding, my friends Kate and Berit declared that, despite a little bit of initial skepticism on their part, I’d actually managed to find that superhero girl with whom I could spend my life. I like to pretend. I know it’s childish. But I like it because it makes me feel just a little bit more important and special than I might otherwise. These days, I try to pretend that I’m a cold, ghostly husk of a man, no longer able to connect to those around me following a seemingly irreversible loss. I imagine epic betrayals that force my dearest love to abandon me, and intricate machinations behind deceptions that reveal a former friend to be my new arch nemesis. I fantasize about elaborate revenge. I exaggerate my circumstances because I want to add weight to these feelings that feel so important to me and dominate so much of my waking life, despite their insignificance out there, where everyone else has their own problems. But try as I might, I fall short. I’m not a cool and detached badass. What I’ve become instead is closer to the weary, damaged sidekick who lacks the energy or faith to begin anew. And she’s not the ass-kicking superhero femme fatale struggling to make things right. She’s just a startlingly smart little girl who could recognize the limitations of her company and her circumstances and had to seek out a brighter future.

This entry was posted by eugene on Wednesday, February 14th, 2007 at 9:17 am and is filed under animation, japanese, tv. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.