Imaginary Dinosaur

A couple of weeks ago I had my 15 year anniversary of being a diabetic. Was fixing my pump up today when I thought I’d do some figures (keep in mind – these are approximates)…

- 60% of my life.
- 60 specialist doctor appointments.
- 2,500 hypoglycaemic episodes.
- 20 hypoglycaemic episodes where I needed someone else’s help.
- 1 hospitalisation.
- 2 pumps.
- 780 new pump cannulas.
- 13 glucometers.
- 24,000 injections (not including pump inserts)
- 355,875 units of insulin (adding up to about 3.6L – which doesn’t seem a lot until you consider that it comes in 3mL vials)
- 32,850 finger pricks.

Not bad…especially considering I’ve got a few years left in me yet.

This is a modified version of something I wrote about 5 years ago. I found it on my computer while browsing files, and figured that sadly, it’s still relevant.

There are several species of people in particular that I cannot abide.

• The Poser: I cannot stand posers. Teenage posers in particular. I want to invent a mirror that displays exactly what a persons insides look like and prop it up in a club so that the next time they’re shaving large chunks of hair from their head, or stitching their super-tight jeans on, they get a look at their own reflection and realise that it doesn’t matter who they are, or what they do, their insides will always be ugly. Spending time with teenage posers is hell.

  Of course, there’s another breed of human that would probably disagree with me, at least so far as the ’hell’ metaphor goes. This species shall be referred to simply as ’the born-again’.

• The Born-Again: You have to know the kind, the people who have ’accepted Jesus Christ as their personal savior’ and refused to be deterred from getting you to do the same. They’re the kind of people that befriend you, and they seem pretty normal, but minutes after you think you have them sussed, they’re asking you which church you go to. “Oh, you don’t? So you think you don’t need god, is that it?” “Oh! So what about the Woodpecker then? What about the Woodpecker? Did you know that it’s tongue slips back into a cavity in front of its brain? How could ”NATURE” create something like that on it’s own? How!? Because GOD made it like that! Now come to church with me on Sunday! What do you MEAN, No?!”

  The born again is worse than any other kind of believer because they’ve only recently been convinced, and they’re pretty damn sure that if they could be persuaded, you can be too. Can I just say that, for the record – this is not the case. I am glad that you’ve found your place in the world and are experiencing all the warm fuzzy feelings that one gets when one allows a greater power into their heart, but occasionally, we can talk about something else.

  When it comes to faith, there is only one thing worse than a born-again, and that is the child of a born again. One of the most defining experiences that I’ve ever had (and I only say this because I remember it so vividly) was in Sunday school as a 5 or 6 year old, listening to a fellow student tell his weekly news. Said student arose with some serious pride, and said ”I have some big news. The greatest news I have ever had”. I was excited, the week before he’d gotten a puppy, so this must’ve been huge. Massive.

  A fellow five-year-old me sat in suspense, until he gave his news ”This weekend, I let Jesus into my heart”. There was applause, the teachers were thrilled. John was getting pats on the back and congratulations…we had cake! And all I could do was sit there and think ”What is going on? To me, some kid had just made some story up about an imaginary friend taking up residence inside his chest, and we were all supposed to be ecstatic? Even as a kid in their first year of school, it made zero sense to me.

  One of the few varieties of human that irritates me more than surprisingly common hipster/poser or born-again, is the mid-life-crisis-mum.

• The Mid-Life Crisis Mum - The mid-life-crisis-mum (MLCM) is slightly rarer, but is often much more noticeable on approach than the previously mentioned species’. First identifcation is often able to be made when you realise that the 40-something female is wearing the clothes of her 12 year-old daughter. The jeans are too tight, the t-shirt is too short, and you don’t want to look much closer, but you’re pretty sure that’s a g-string poking out the back of the muffin-pants.

  The second, and most obvious sign is the conversation. If you dare attempt conversation with the creature, you’ll notice very quickly their poor attempts at what should for all intents and purposes be a dead language. They try to use net-speak. Integrating into what is already an abomination of the English language, the occasional component of the ’cool word list’ that they’ve picked up from the local primary school is inserted.

  This list is generally composed of the following:
  1. A derogatory slur ’spastic, retarded, n–ger, gay’.
  2. A few instances of ’l33t’ ’roxor, rofl, g2g’
  3. Something they’ve heard on an American sitcom ’that’s phat, yo’, ’fully sick bro’, ’mad skillz’
  4. Some bad grammar for measure ’I done that yesterday’, ’your not opposed to do that’. It all makes me shudder.

  I’m pretty sure that the MLCM ranks among the top 10 people who deserve some form of punishment after death. They’re right up there among people who borrow your stuff without asking, those who underline and dog-ear books, and those who ring up love-song-request lines.

It occurs to me, after writing this post, that one of the worst things that could happen to me would be the following:

I’m walking down to the shop (probably because petrol has skyrocketed again and I can’t justify starting the car to pick up a movie) and on the way, I’m caught in a sudden earthquake or whatever, and swallowed up by the buckling pavement and subsequently trapped in a crawlspace for day with two hipster/posers, my old high school career’s advisor (who, aside from his disgusting general nature is also a born-again) and a MLCM for whom ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ occupies a role similar to the one that Catholicism occupies for the Pope.

The MLCM, who up until this point had been so pre-occupied with impressing the poser/hipsters that her surroundings have only just come to her attention, would shake her wrists in the air ”I have candy bracelets, and we can pass the time by writing poetry! Even though yours will probably be gay! ROFLMAO!”

Of course, I’d stop her, and ask the rest of them not to talk, stressing the limited oxygen supply. “But Jesus has blessed us with an unlimited supply of oxygen”, the born-again would say, pointing out a small but adequate airshaft leading to the world above.

A small flicker of hope would cross my mind as I took a few milliseconds to weigh up our situation.

I would have to plug it with something.

It’s hard to pick my very favourite episode of ‘Scrubs’. I can pick my least favourite in a second (’My Night to Remember, ep 6.11), but favourite is harder to come by. Gun to my head though, after much consideration, I think I’d have to go with these five. ‘Scrubs’ was always a master of a genre that I simply term ‘frownsmile’. It’s a category of television that is rare, but rarely disappointing. Frownsmile is the ability to make you feel incredibly depressed, and incredibly happy at the same time. Frownsmile television (and for that matter, film) has the ability to change the mood from humour to pure sadness in an instant.

My Screw-Up (ep 3.14)
“Where do you think we are?” -J.D.

My Screw-Up is frownsmile at its best. This episode, which pays homage to the film ‘The Sixth Sense’, is incredibly well written and directed. It begins with the re-introduction of Ben (Brendan Fraser) as Cox’s best friend and brother-in-law, who has avoided all contact with doctors since the remission of his leukemia. Unbeknownst to viewers, Ben succumbs to his disease very early on in the episode, and it is they who carry Cox’s personal denial of the loss of his best friend. The direction is superb, with dozens of subtle hints leading viewers along one path, and only crushing them at the episodes tear-jerking conclusion in one of the finest scenes of the series, beautifully accompanied by Josh Radin’s ‘Winter’.

It gives you the laughs that you expect from ‘Scrubs’, combined with the drama and deep moments that made the series one of the best shows on television. This episode shows Dr. Cox’s sensitive side, and shows his vulnerability, simultaneously strengthening the relationship between J.D. and Dr. Cox. For me, it’s not even about the big moments, the final reveal and the devastation on Cox’s face as those who love him begin to fill the surrounding seats at the funeral. It’s the small things (like J.D.’s putting his hand on Cox’s shoulder, and him accepting it) that carry the episode for me, and make the ending all that more real.

My Super Ego (ep 1.07)
“That kid is eventually gonna die. Whether it’s today, or tomorrow, or a month from now. There’s nothing I can do; nothing works. Now his parents want to talk to me, what am I supposed to tell them — “Peter lived a good, long seven years”? Seven years, man! It’s not fair. I hate this place. I hate this job— I can’t do it anymore. I–I’m done…I’m done…I’m done.”

It was difficult for me to decide between this episode and ‘My Old Lady’ (ep 1.04), because both are really what made me lose my heart to the series. Ultimately though, I chose this episode, largely on account of the phenomenal performance as Dr Nick Murdoch by ‘Will and Grace’’s Sean Hayes.

J.D is finally rising to the top and becoming noticed as a great intern when Nick breaks onto the scene, and he completely steals the show. Nick is incredibly likable, to both the characters, and us as viewers. His energy and passion seems second to none, and that is exactly why we become so heart-broken when the pressures of being a doctor prove too much for Nick when he has to tell a child’s parents that he will not be getting better. Elliot and JD find Nick in a stairwell crying, and he admits that the pressure is overwhelming to him. He quits.

I love this episode, not only for the comedic moments in it, but for the realness it brings. The story is about the fact that we all need to deal with things in different ways, and that ultimately, even the best of us fail. The most devastating part of the episode, for me at least, is the fact that when Nick finally lays his heart bare, destroyed, Elliot and J.D. are helpless to find the right words to help him.

My Life in Four Cameras (ep 4.17)
“Unfortunately, around here things don’t always end as neat and tidy as they do in sitcoms. Relationships aren’t always magically fixed in thirty minutes — you have to work on them. Problems don’t always have easy solutions, and around here, nice people don’t always get better…and at times like that, it’s comforting to know there’s always one thing that can pick your spirits up.”

In another display of epic frownsmile, ‘My Life in Four Cameras’ scrapes in to my top five. Looking at reviews online, it surprises me that, as a rule, interpretations seem to be incredibly superficial. Ultimately, this episode is about J.D. dealing with the unpleasantness of death, through fantasy. It portrays two parallel worlds, that of what we consider to be the general ‘Scrubs’ ‘reality’, and that which ‘Scrubs’ would be more likely to be if it had been a four camera live sitcom (one that is obviously implausible). The episode brings new meaning to J.D’s fixation with fantasy, not simply for his amusement, but as his coping device. In reality, JD knows that the story is a tragedy, and not a comedy, but he remains optimistic, even when indulged with circumstances where success seems to be too good to be true. It is amazing how this episode shows the actuality of life. How “sitcoms” are ultimately bastardised reality, cut and pressed until they are fit for painless human consumption. How things that can be solved in half an hour clear are actually infinitely more complicated than they are portrayed. Ultimately, this episode ,”My Life in Four Cameras” is in fact an amazing exemplification of real life. Our actions and perceptions do not always follow a nice, linear pattern of narrative, and that’s why we, like J.D., need fantasy to exist, as a form of escapism, a form of closure, and a form of happiness inducing entertainment.

My Lunch (ep 5.20)
J.D.: Remember what you told me? The second you start blaming yourself for peoples’ deaths there’s no coming back.
Dr. Cox: Yeah, you’re right.

‘My Lunch’ contains what is possibly John C. McGuinley’s (Dr Cox) best performance of the series, as well as what has become an incredibly overused piece of music ‘How to Save a Life’ by ‘The Fray’. Despite the latter, the episode is still a defining moment in television, beautifully shot and powerfully performed. The episode follows Cox’s desperate attempts to track down organs for three patients, and his support for J.D. after he feels ultimately responsible for a patient’s death. The tables turn when the organs acquired for the patients carry a disease that leads to their deaths, and Cox is the one in need of support. It’s incredible to me that such powerful emotion is crammed into 21 minutes of screen time, and the writing and quality of acting that this episode holds is nothing short of amazing, and seeing the strongest character in the series walk out the door of the hospital brought me to tears. The episode’s only misfortune is The Todd’s B-story, which is entirely misplaced amongst the misery.

His Story III (ep 5.19)
“I’m not kidding myself. I know I don’t have the most important job in the world, but I work in a place that helps people, and I always thought that I was part of that… Who cares?”

It’s probably not difficult to notice that my two favourite characters in ‘Scrubs’ are Dr Cox and The Janitor. As the series progressed, I found that my interest focused even moreso on those two. Maybe it’s an odd ‘repressed emotion’ thing, or a ‘root for the underdog’ thing, but it occurred to me on several occasions that I’d be entirely happy to watch a series called ‘Dr Cox and Janitor’. Imagine my delight when J.D. is locked in a water tower, and thus passes his narration on to the Janitor.

One of only eight episodes not narrated by Braff (J.D.), it stands out regardless of quality. The Janitor’s plan in this episode is to prove that he contributes to the world, and that he can make a difference. When he inadvertently overhears several doctors discussing the fact that he makes no impact upon the world, and then proceed to pity him, he sets about to fix the computer of a quadriplegic patient (Mr McNair) suffering from ‘locked in’ syndrome. Ultimately, he’s not much of a handyman, and the computer is destroyed.

What makes this episode great is that we finally get to see the workings of the Janitor’s mind. We realise how much pride he does take in working at the hospital, and learn that he wants to make an impact, and not just be seen as the guy with the mop. The episode ends with JD being released from the tank and taking over narration. Mr. McNair gets his computer back and thanks the Janitor for being there, the first real show of the appreciation he’s seen in a while. No one dies, the episode doesn’t end in tragedy, but the emotion in such a simple ‘thank you’ is some of the most powerful on television.

So that’s my list. It’s far from perfect. Those are my favourites this week, and yeah – they’re all tear-jerkers. Honorable mentions have to go to ‘My Way Home’, ‘My Bed Banter and Beyond’, ‘My Catalyst’ and ‘My Occurrence’. Ultimately I could sit here typing all night, but no one would read it.

“Endings are never easy. I always build them up so much in my head, they can’t possibly live up to my expectations, and I just end up disappointed. I’m not even sure why it matters to me so much ow things end here. I guess it’s because that we all want to believe that what we do is very important: that people hang on to our every word, that people care what we think. The truth is, you should consider yourself lucky if you even occasionally get to make someone, anyone, feel a little better. After that, it’s all about the people you let into your life.” -J.D.

I found myself saddened rather significantly by the ending of Scrubs, and by this excerpt in particular.  It could be that I found that this quote echoed my own feelings over the past week.  I found myself involved in drama and disaster that unfolded at work on Friday with one of my favourite students suffering a hypoglycaemic seizure and being taken away in an ambulance, and since then, I’ve been stuck on the thought of what might have happened if I hadn’t been there.  In my head, I was significant – though it’s entirely possible that I was not.  We all want to think that we make a difference in the world, and if we found out we didn’t…maybe we’d fall apart?

Autobiographic emotions aside, the reality to my sadness over the ending of one of my all-time favourite sitcoms probably has more to do with the fact that I’ve been watching it for eight years.  In fact, I started watching the series while I was still a high school student, and that’s kind of a long time.  Eight years is a third of my life.

Because of its significance, it’s hard to find the right words to send it off.  I realise that this blog is read by a total of about four people, but it’s still important to me that it’s done right.

The final episode, “My Finale” made me incredibly happy, and it made me incredibly sad. The way I figure it, that’s about right for the ending of a show that so often expertly balanced comedy and tragedy, making me laugh whole-heartedly, and weep with sadness in the space of twenty-one minutes.

“My Finale” nicely provided both a definitive ending for J.D. (and for Kelso) and just another day in the life for Cox, Turk, Carla and all the others are staying behind. While the show will continue with a reconfigured cast (reportedly being to ‘Scrubs’ what ‘Frasier‘ was to ‘Cheers‘), I like endings that acknowledge that the characters’ lives continue, even though we won’t get to see any of it.  There was a bit of ‘Six Feet Under‘ about it’s finality, and, as always, the action was beautifully accompanied by music, on this occasion, Peter Gabriel’s ‘Book of Love‘.  And while it was acknowledged by J.D to be simply ‘a fantasy’, as he added, ‘who’s to say [his] fantasy won’t come true, just this once’.

Written and directed, as it should have been, by series creator Bill Lawrence, “My Finale” did occasionally border on schmaltzy, but, as a finale, that was expected.  It flashed back to J.D. in the pilot, to show how much he’s grown, and in doing so – demonstrated how much the other characters (often my favourites) have changed with him.  It reminded us of some “Scrubs” Greatest Hits, whether it was Cox reciting the final lines of his greatest rant ever, or Turk giving J.D. his biggest and best “EEEEEAGLE!” , and it finally brought an end to the debate about whether J.D. did indeed put a penny in the door on his first day, forever changing the J.D./Janitor rivalry (especially if, like me, you were always pro-Janitor).  We also were given what was probably the series’ greatest revelation – the Janitor’s real name (Glenn Matthews), before immediately having it thrown back in our faces when someone else walked by and called him “Tony.” (And in so doing, giving fans everywhere license to keep calling the guy whatever they want. He could really be Glenn, or Tony, or Jan I. Tor, or Neil Flynn, or Lord Smoozibar for all I care. It’s all up to you to decide.)

Lawrence managed to get his ‘aw’ on too.  A sweet “Bambi” moment between Carla and J.D.  One Turk and J.D. hug after another.  A hark back to the fact that J.D. and Jordan slept together once upon a time, and it gave us that wonderful line-up of guest stars and minor characters from over the years, including, but not limited to: J.D.’s brother Dan, The Todd, Tasty Coma Wife, crazy Jill, Laverne, Rex, Ted’s band, Dr. Wen, Colin Hay (who did appear on camera a few times), Lady, Keith Dudemeister, Dr. Mickhead, both the character Randall Winston (the little person custodian) and the producer Randall Winston (as the hook-handed security guard), the studly gynecologist, Colonel Doctor, Snoop Dogg Attending, the lovely, and heart-breaking Mrs. Tanner (repeating the advice she gave J.D. at the end of episode four of the first season – “My Old Lady”),  and Hooch (now in a straightjacket, because Hooch is crazy!).

It was everything I wanted, short of the appearance of Ben (Brendan Fraser) and the resurrection of J.D.’s father (the late John Ritter).

It’s impossible to finish without mentioning the final words of my favourite character, Dr Cox.  JD did indeed get that hug he’d always wanted, as well as a heart-felt speech (albeit one that he personally set up the conditions for) detailing the fact that he was not only an exceptional doctor, but an exceptional person.  He wasn’t the only one who found himself filled to the brim with love.  Considering the series had really lost it’s spark for me this year, I was pleased that it ended the way it did.  I find it rare that a finale leaves you satisfied, and ‘Scrubs’ definitely did.

I’ll follow this post (at some time this week) with a list of favourite moments, but for now…well done Scrubs-that-was, you will be missed.

‘Rosencrantz and Guildernstern are Dead’ aside, as an English teacher (and thus a lit. geek) I am a fan of words.  Big words, small words, and obscure words that you’re sure no one on the planet would ever need to use.  A couple of the latter include:

defenestrate: a verb describing the act of throwing someone, or something out of a window. I discovered it in a Calvin and Hobbes comic when I was in high school, and fell in love.  Traditionally, it refers to political dissent, apparently, back in the 1400s it was quite popular to push the chief out the window.  I guess the fact that we’ve got most windows filled with glass these days means it’s less common.

discombobulate: a verb describing the act of throwing someone or something into confusion.  I discovered this one in John Marsden’s spectacular novel ‘Checkers‘ at the age of 13.  I love the way it sounds when you say it.

Those two words aside, I have a lot of other, less obscure favourites.  ‘Obscure’ itself being one of them.  I also have a lot of words I despise.  I hate the way they look, the way they sound, and the way they make me feel when I read or hear them.

Below is a very brief, off-the-top-of-my-head list of words that I hate, and words that I love.  I reserve the right to add more as they come to mind.

Lastly, I’ll mention the word ‘rhyme‘.  While it may not be on my list of dislike, it’s definitely on my list of ‘huh’.  ‘Rhyme’ confuses me because every time I look at it, I am convinced that it is not a real word.  I mean – come on ‘rhyme’, two consonants and you can’t even manage a vowel?  Are you really going to go with a semi-vowel?  If you were a three letter word, you could probably get away with it.  I have no gripe with ‘fly’ or ’shy’.  Sort yourself out ‘rhyme’.  No wonder people always spell you incorrectly.

I’m going to begin with the phrase that I’m sure bloggers across the world have commenced their ‘Star Trek’ reviews with: I am not a Trekkie.  Yes, my sci-fi loving father provided me with an appropriately geeky upbringing, consisting of equal parts ‘Star Trek’ and ‘Lost in Space’, and yes, like all people with a soul, I worship Mr William Shatner, but I am not a Trekkie.

That’s probably why it’s taken me almost a week and a half to getting around to see J.J Abrahams reboot of the classic series.  It’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to it, or even that I didn’t have the time…it’s just that it didn’t occur to me to bother until tonight.

That single statement, ‘I am not a Trekkie,’ very possibly forms my entire opinion of tonight’s theatre experience.  Largely on account of I completely loved it, and I can’t work out whether it’s because I didn’t know enough of the original series to be critical at the errors, OR that I knew just enough to enjoy every inside joke.  My mediocrity for once has paid dividends, because I belly-laughed my way through the entire film, and not because it was laughable.

The stars were wonderfully characterised, and the story, while it seemed occasionally contrived and stereotypical (but let’s face it, this is Star Trek we’re talking about) was solid.  Yes, there were laser beams and fireballs and space ships and sword fights (YES – Sword fights!), and they were freaking awesome, but it’s all neatly balanced by actual plot!  All of the main crew get a nice picture of who they are. Not only do the actors totally nail their original counterparts, but they’re much more interestingly written now.  I love this Kirk.  I love his unhappy background, and the fact that he gets beat up, a lot.  Maybe it’s the Firefly geek in me, but who doesn’t love a Captain who isn’t always in control.

I’m not saying there aren’t issues.  Spock’s mid-film epiphany seems a little rushed to me, Chekov is cute, but far from a plot-necessity, and some of the make up on the aliens is ‘meh’, but that’s beside the point.  This movie just feels so much more fun than anything Trek has previously produced. There are more laughs, more thrills, and much, much more energy… to the ‘true’ Trekkies, feel free to disagree, but in my opinion, you’re “out of your Vulcan mind”.

“Some people wish they could be like Moses
And get their information from burning bushes
Well I tried but the neighbors complained
I set their lawns aflame.”
-Josh Joplin, ‘Trampoline’.

I’m the kind of person who goes through phases with music.  I’ll listen to the one artist or album incessantly until I can’t anymore, and then I’ll move on.  Sometimes it’ll just be a brief phase, a sudden urge to listen to the ‘Assassins‘ Broadway Cast Recording for instance.  The kind of phase that lasts a day, and then you’re over it.  Sometimes it’s a much, much longer phase, like my occasional foray into Radiohead, who I will listen to non-stop until they make me very dissatisfied with the universe (in the manner of ‘High Fidelity‘ -”Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”)

My current resurgence is Josh Joplin Group’s ‘Useful Music‘, an album released in 2001, just previous to the events of September 11.  I became hooked on Mr Joplin after hearing the only single of theirs that ever made airplay in Australia, ‘Camera One’.  The song, kind of ironically, became a bit of an anthem at the time, with what seems a fairly uplifting chorus at the time our society seemed to need it most:

“It’s funny how life turns out
The odds of faith in the face of doubt.”

I was only seventeen at the time, and I thought that the song itself is superb, though it wasn’t until years later, while listening to it on the long train journey home from uni, that I realised that it was in fact a deeply unhappy song about suicide.  The revelation, while surprising, didn’t do anything to dampen my attitude towards the song.  I love it.

That one song led me to a long love affair with Josh Joplin.  In my opinion, lyrically he is unsurpassed by any other artist I listen to.  Useful Music is one of the best and most consistent records I own.  One of very few where argument could be made for just about every song as being the best on the album.

Joplin’s songs, on ‘Useful Music’ and across his back-catalogue , are full of interesting and distinctive melodies that make all of his songs memorable. The music is simple and elegant and accomplishes a great deal without resorting to the overproduced hype that is prevalent in so many others.  His lyrics are poignant and important.  They’re not songs of love or hate, of anger or happiness.  They’re songs about life.  They’re deep and complex and sometimes I feel like I need to dig out my old Oxford dictionary to work out what he’s saying, but that’s what I like about them.  They present you with the fact that life is hard, that it’s rarely perfect, and that it’s occasionally miserable, but ultimately, they still manage to leave you with a buzzing positivity about the future.  It’s music that makes you feel, and the way I figure it, good music is meant to move you..sometimes in your head, sometimes in your heart, and sometimes in your feet.  Josh Joplin accomplishes all three.  That’s some pretty useful music.

Two tracks for download, and I figure I can get away with it legally, because I’m technically just linking things already freely available on his website (which you should definitely visit):

A Hard Year (acoustic) – Josh Joplin
Haven’t We Changed – Josh Joplin

I’m a long time fan of Bill Lawrence’s television sitcom ‘Scrubs’.  The series has just finished its eighth and final season in the US, (its second last episode aired tonight in Australia) and I thought I’d take the time to process some thoughts regarding saying goodbye to one of my favourite television shows.

While looking for an image or two to accompany such a post however, I stumbled across the cover art for the release of the season eight DVDs, and was immediately distracted by the absolute amateurishness that faced me.  I have time to appreciate the show next week, when it’s done forever.  Right now however, I need to unleash my complete and utter distaste for the pathetic excuse for DVD art that has made the ‘Scrubs’ DVDs the ugliest I own.

Season One:It started only four years ago, in 2005, when the long awaited discs for season one were released.  I experienced great anticipation for the box that held one of my favourite shows, and will admit that I was at first horrified to see the cover.
What the hell is in that spoon?  Is it the same thing that’s in the giant needle that Dr Cox is holding?  If you can swallow it, why would you need to inject it?  What is the point of the pyramid structure?  JD looks hideous, so it’s clearly not intended to draw our attention to him, and Turk is tiny, so it’s got nothing to do with him.  What the hell is with the giant hand?  Why is Dr Kelso sideways?  Did they get a professional to produce this?  Or did they just let a 2 year old go to town with pictures of the cast and a stick of glue?

So many questions need answering, and unfortunately, it doesn’t get any better.

Season Two:Ok, I lied, it got a little better.  The key here is ‘a little’ and not ‘a lot’.  The plain white background works, and the fanning of the show’s stars (while so clearly photoshopped) kind of works.  John C. McGinley (Dr Cox) looks hideous, as he does on every single cover, and the Janitor makes his first appearance, despite being in the show from the very first episode.

The gloves are concerning, but I’ll live.

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Season Three: This one almost made it past me.  It is the closest that the graphic designers came to ‘possibly acceptable’.  The gurney is manageable, JD and Carla actually look like the might both be touching it, but everyone else is so clearly added in after the fact.  Do the cast really hate each other so much that they cannot stomach being in the same room for a cast photo?  Turk doesn’t even look like he’s headed in the same direction as the others, and Dr Cox looks like he’s 20 years old.  HOW is making a DVD cover that doesn’t look as though it were knocked together by the work experience kid so challenging?  It’s not as if it’s an independent release -  they’re selling millions of these.

Season Four: Can we just pause for a moment to consider what the hell is going on with Zach Braff’s arm.  I mean honestly, it looks like his left arm, but his right hand is attached to it.  The yellow is actually passable, but the blatant cut and paste of his co-stars means that this falls well below acceptable levels.  For one, Elliot should not be completely isolated from the others, even if she does look particaulrly hot, and Turk should not be so close to the centre – especially with such a shiny skull.  Fail.

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Season Five: No idea what’s going on here, but I’m fairly sure Dr Kelso is holding a spatula.

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Season Six: You know you’ve started at the bottom when ‘better’ is still ‘godawful’.  The Janitor is cleaning (something completely out of character), JD appears to be very confused, Turk’s face is being cut off, and all that exists of Elliot is a head.

Also – orange makes me think aggressive thoughts.  It’s ok in this instance though, because Season Six was pretty much made of suck.

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Season Seven: Almost ok.  Almost.  They’re all there for the shoot, none of the actors are photoshopped in.  The white’s a nice contrast to the blue – it was all working, until some idiot with a graphics design degree made of toilet paper decided to ‘fix’ it.  The bib on Turk, the keys on Carla, the trophy with the giant pacifier on it?  Why?  As for the photoshopped Rowdy and the dismal attempt at a skeleton…ugh.

Good day to you, cover artist…I said good day.

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Season Eight: At last we’ve reached the end…appropriately of course, inside what appears to be a urine sample container (because that’s what this is – me being pissy).  The stickers do nothing but make me want to cause violence, and I find it peculiar that JD’s face resembles mine as I examine it.  Never before have such pretty people looked so hideous.  The hands are badly positioned in regards to the rest of the body, and the awkward neck-tilt is disconcerting, and as for Dr Cox…I don’t understand why he continues to be displayed as such a hideous man.  He either has a terrible agent, or employs a stand-in for photo shoots that looks kind of like him, except he’s got an IQ of twelve and used to be a woman.  I just do not understand it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end.  I loved this show for a long time, and even now as it winds to a close, I find myself getting teary.  As far as DVD design goes…it deserved better.  I could do better.  Any kid with a laptop could do better.  And yet – there are people out there getting paid good money to produce crap on a daily basis. Gah.

Kid One: *sniffle* I’m sick. Maybe I have swine flu?
Kid Two: Well that’s what you get for sleeping with pigs.

Kid One has a bit of a reputation, Kid Two is shy and awkward and always silent…hence my excessive giggle.

I’ll admit before I start this review that my comic book knowledge is limited.  I’m picky about what I read, and as a rule, I’m all about Marvel, and completely disinterested in DC (Watchmen, of course, is exempt from that ruling).  Despite the fact that I am ‘yay Marvel’, I’m still no expert.  I’m fairly aware of certain storylines, and the basic backstories, but I’m not as fully immersed in the mythology as I am in, for example, Philip Pullman’s ‘His Dark Materials‘ mythology (whinging Wolverine fans – if you want to know what it feels like to have Hollywood destroy something you love – watch ‘The Golden Compass‘).  Perhaps that’s why I really enjoyed the latest movie from the X-men franchise.

Wolverine has a long, and complex backstory, one that can’t be covered in a single two-hour hit.  I mean, let’s face it, the franchise has had so many authors, and so many interpretations, and so many alternate realities since it’s inception, that one could suggest a lack of continuity amongst the original mode itself.  As far as I’m concerned, Wolverine did a damn good job.  It does what it’s title implies, it tells the story of one of Marvel’s most popular creations.  It’s filled with action and violence and romance and comedy, and even though at times it takes a wander down the path of cliches, it pretty much takes you where you wanted to go.

Jackman (Wolverine/Logan), as expected, was wonderful.  Four movies and counting, he’s perfected this part, and as a viewer, at no time do you remember that he has ever played any other role.  His pain is your pain, his anger is your anger, and when he steps in to stop his half-brother from being the abusive bastard that he is, you stop and catch your breath.  On top of that, (and I can get away with this, because I’m a 24 year old single female) he spends much of the film in various stages of undress, and is so incredibly physically attractive and masculine that he will ruin all men for you.  I am convinced that every male in the theatre, regardless of age, and hours at the gym, went home feeling balding and impotent.

Massive praise also needs to go to Schreiber (Sabertooth/Victor) who is fantastic in his role.  It’s through his character that we learn about Logan. Victor has a rage inside his body that never lets him feel remorseful about killing innocent people, and it’s the decisions that he makes, compared to those that Logan makes that allow us to see why they take the sides that they do. Jackman and Schreiber ultimately carry the story and hold their own by leading us through the sometimes cringe-worthy and cliched dialogue. The two play well off each other, and we’re witness to some nice fight scenes between them, and let’s face it – that’s why people are going to see this movie.

Most reviewers seem to be giving this movie a downward pointed thumb, and I can understand some of their complaints.  Yes – as with the previous three X-Men films, Hollywood seems insistent that as many X-men get cameos as possible, and yes, on more than one occasion, I found myself deeply disappointed by the film’s inconsistent special effects, but this is not a film intended to be a genre-breaker.  It’s a story about a guy on his way to becoming a superhero.  It’s not meant to be real, and it’s not meant to make you re-consider your philosophy on life.  It’s not meant to change the face of film forever.  It’s meant to make you contemplate what kind of mutant powers you want.  It’s meant to make your eyes grow wide when you see how amazingly toned Logan is.  It’s meant to make you go “Phwoar!” and “Gaaahhhhh!” and “Snikt!” and all those other fantastically enjoyable onomatopoeic sounds.    Who cares if Wolverine can bend his wrists or not when his claws have been deployed? Or what the exact properties of adamantium are?

I was satisfied, wholeheartedly.  I walked out of the film with a smile on my face, and the conviction that if they released another Wolverine Origins tomorrow, and it was just about the adventures of Logan and Victor in the American Civil War…I’d be there.  You’re probably thinking I’m biased, or blinded by Jackman’s good looks, or that I’m just not a proper comic book fan or whatever.  I don’t care.  I just like superhero movies, is all, and for that I am unapologetic.