This morning began, as Fridays have for the past few weeks, by streaming The Mandalorian. It was the final episode of season 2 today and the show went out with a bang. I will post no spoilers except to say (a) I enjoyed it but (b) wonder where the writers will take it from here.
I also had fun looking at Twitter reactions. They are overwhelmingly, but not unanimously, positive, with lots of fanboys (all boys as far as I can tell) making cracks about the most recent sequel trilogy. I’ve written previously that:
I’ve seen this a lot over the last few years, at any rate since Ben Aaronovitch commented on a review of his Peter Grant novels. It was the fall out from that contretemps that brought both the ‘death of the author’ trope and a sense of the depth of ‘fandom’ entitlement to my awareness. It was also when I started to think that fans are great but fandom is fertile ground for toxicity.
The ossification of entitled opinion into objective fact is too engrained in ‘fandom’ now, but it still gets under my skin.
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I retreated to the shed after lunch and tried to write. I began with a 1970 music post to get warmed up, then shifted my focus to fiction. I’m having fun with a vampire who’s experiencing programme management difficulties. Only another three hundred or so words came out though. I have my fingers crossed that I’ll manage a couple of hundred more after I’ve posted this. I won’t be taking a walk this evening as that cold persists and, much as I like the night air, it makes sense not to go out in it.
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Something, something Brexit omnishambles, Ministers who know Foucault-all, etc. etc.
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Music: not quite a random selection from the shelf, although it could be as I have the LP. Here’s another of my Christmas favourites. I’ll give you fair warning I might post a Christmas favourite on each evening of the coming week.
National Lampoon : Kung Fu Christmas.
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