Warning: Spoilers ahead.
Disclaimer: I love The Flash. It's a great show and a wonderful foil to Arrow. That doesn't mean it doesn't have gaps in the writing.
Ok, Flash writers, so let's think about this for a moment. You have a Meta Human Task Force. Most people don't know who the Flash is. You have half of Team Flash working for or related to the police department. And you have the core members standing in the middle of a busy precinct office floor, throwing around Barry and the Flash's names in conjunction with each other. Don't you think one of the other observant officers will overhear their normal-volume conversation and realize who the Flash is? I don't care that he's about to get a key to the city. Keep that secret on lockdown. You made them careless, and an officer, mad scientist, and a journalist cannot be careless. The fact that there were no consequences to that tiny conversation shows no follow-through on your part. It's the little things, people, that help us to maintain our suspension of disbelief.
And speaking of that secret, why isn't he keeping his face and voice hidden anymore? With facial recognition software, he can't be seen around officials. Does he not care anymore, is that what you're trying to say?
Also, Ronnie and Dr. Stein. There was a great to-do about how they're connected and can sense one another. You split them in the first ten minutes of the episode and treat it like Ronnie died. And yet, you have a connection to him right there who can confirm whether he's still around, somewhere. You don't explain whether that singularity would separate that connection. And yet, if one dies, the other dies, and clearly Dr. Stein is still alive. So why are they grieving?
This is easy stuff to fix.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Dear Pap-Pap
Grandma says we used to stand at the top of the steps and talk late into the night. I don't remember this... How many conversations am I missing?
I told her that they were probably such a daily occurence that they never registered in my long term memory. I've since tried to recreate those missing memories. I have maybe... an inkling that it happened once, but no idea what we talked about. And I could be imagining things anyway...
What I do remember is going upstairs and hearing your small TV on, because you'd come up to bed hours beforehand. And you'd still be awake, watching whatever, or snoring through the show. A couple times, I might've snuck in to turn the TV off because it was keeping me awake. Most times, though, I could rely on you eventually waking up, realizing it was still on, and turning it off. Not as if I was going to bed at an early time anyway...
And I can remember countless late nights talking with Grandma, instead. Sitting at the kitchen table or in the living room, talking about whatever topic or that day's events... They stopped, after a while... When I was working late nights at the library or coming home to eat and immediately go upstairs for homework. And now that she's moving back up north, I wonder how many of my "Friday" nights will become late night conversations with her again, in her new, but small, living room.
I don't know if this will be better for her. I'd like to think there would be more visiting and doing stuff together. But you had that with aunt Dauna anyway. In reality, it won't be much different. Except that Grandma will know the area better. I just hope this is the right thing. It feels right. And it feels like you'd agree.
I told her that they were probably such a daily occurence that they never registered in my long term memory. I've since tried to recreate those missing memories. I have maybe... an inkling that it happened once, but no idea what we talked about. And I could be imagining things anyway...
What I do remember is going upstairs and hearing your small TV on, because you'd come up to bed hours beforehand. And you'd still be awake, watching whatever, or snoring through the show. A couple times, I might've snuck in to turn the TV off because it was keeping me awake. Most times, though, I could rely on you eventually waking up, realizing it was still on, and turning it off. Not as if I was going to bed at an early time anyway...
And I can remember countless late nights talking with Grandma, instead. Sitting at the kitchen table or in the living room, talking about whatever topic or that day's events... They stopped, after a while... When I was working late nights at the library or coming home to eat and immediately go upstairs for homework. And now that she's moving back up north, I wonder how many of my "Friday" nights will become late night conversations with her again, in her new, but small, living room.
I don't know if this will be better for her. I'd like to think there would be more visiting and doing stuff together. But you had that with aunt Dauna anyway. In reality, it won't be much different. Except that Grandma will know the area better. I just hope this is the right thing. It feels right. And it feels like you'd agree.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Dear Pap-Pap
I held up better than expected today. I'd forgotten how easy it was to get to the church. Turns out, Evans City was holding its Zombie Weekend and was setting up when we went through the first time. It was really busy on the way out. Seems to be something to help the shops. Also turns out that Zelie had some sort of Fall Festival. It's basically Horse Trading Days. It looks exactly the same, but in the fall. It also seems to stretch further than that one intersection by the stone church, because there were more tents set up in a parking lot a couple blocks up Main Street.
I'd forgotten what Jennifer's voice sounded like. I think you would've liked to hear her. I tried to sing for you. You always liked my voice, too, but it seems it's not what it used to be. I just can't hit those high notes anymore. And, honestly, it was difficult to sing in certain sections. Especially in Precious Lord. That was hard... People kept telling me how well I did with your eulogy. Mom and Grandma helped pare it down, admittedly, the night before. I was fine until I got to the last paragraph... And Grandma said I made her cry twice.
Having Michael sitting behind me was a godsend. And having him to go home to, and turn to for comfort... And Kelly, Damon, and Laura arrived, too. I think you would have liked knowing the levels of support from friends and family, today.
The pastor, though I still don't like the man, made me cry a little, too. For some reason, something he said in the beginning--dressed in a white robe as he was--made me think of you standing there in a glowing white robe. Watching and grinning. And it's weird... not just knowing that you like that pastor and the church (the community is nice, I admit), but also seeing those images in my mind without believing them.
I'd like to think some of it's real. It's a nice thought. It's definitely comforting, and I see why the notion is so appealing to grieving people and those who fear what comes next. Still, it's odd to have such conflicting notions.
I dreamed about you the other night. Was it you? It halfway looked like you, and half didn't... in the way of dreams. But I knew it was you. And the first thing I said, after getting over my shock, was, "I love you." And I remember trying to decide what to ask. What is it like where you are? Are you doing well, where you are now? I can't remember what I eventually said, or your answer. Nothing like those questions, I think. Might've been trivial, might not have been. I don't know. I do know that we talked a little, but just can't remember what was said.
The luncheon was good. Tasty. Lots of commingling. You'd have liked it. Even the gathering at Mom's afterward was, albeit short, nice. I'd liked to see Kay and Rich more, but alas. It's amazing how people can be so close, in the next state, but it's still rare to visit them. Same with people just a few towns away...
It's also weird to think that, technically, both grandparents are under my roof.
And Taps still gets me, every time. There's something about a finality to that song... A coming to a close... And knowing that it was for you.
And the main thought that got me was that you're not here anymore...
I'd forgotten what Jennifer's voice sounded like. I think you would've liked to hear her. I tried to sing for you. You always liked my voice, too, but it seems it's not what it used to be. I just can't hit those high notes anymore. And, honestly, it was difficult to sing in certain sections. Especially in Precious Lord. That was hard... People kept telling me how well I did with your eulogy. Mom and Grandma helped pare it down, admittedly, the night before. I was fine until I got to the last paragraph... And Grandma said I made her cry twice.
Having Michael sitting behind me was a godsend. And having him to go home to, and turn to for comfort... And Kelly, Damon, and Laura arrived, too. I think you would have liked knowing the levels of support from friends and family, today.
The pastor, though I still don't like the man, made me cry a little, too. For some reason, something he said in the beginning--dressed in a white robe as he was--made me think of you standing there in a glowing white robe. Watching and grinning. And it's weird... not just knowing that you like that pastor and the church (the community is nice, I admit), but also seeing those images in my mind without believing them.
I'd like to think some of it's real. It's a nice thought. It's definitely comforting, and I see why the notion is so appealing to grieving people and those who fear what comes next. Still, it's odd to have such conflicting notions.
I dreamed about you the other night. Was it you? It halfway looked like you, and half didn't... in the way of dreams. But I knew it was you. And the first thing I said, after getting over my shock, was, "I love you." And I remember trying to decide what to ask. What is it like where you are? Are you doing well, where you are now? I can't remember what I eventually said, or your answer. Nothing like those questions, I think. Might've been trivial, might not have been. I don't know. I do know that we talked a little, but just can't remember what was said.
The luncheon was good. Tasty. Lots of commingling. You'd have liked it. Even the gathering at Mom's afterward was, albeit short, nice. I'd liked to see Kay and Rich more, but alas. It's amazing how people can be so close, in the next state, but it's still rare to visit them. Same with people just a few towns away...
It's also weird to think that, technically, both grandparents are under my roof.
And Taps still gets me, every time. There's something about a finality to that song... A coming to a close... And knowing that it was for you.
And the main thought that got me was that you're not here anymore...
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Dear Pap-Pap
Dear Pap-Pap,
I can do a nifty trick when dreaming. It's a variation of lucid dreaming, I suppose. When something goes wrong, when I should've done something or grabbed something before the current events of a dream, I go back in time. I change history by "remembering" doing what I should have done. And I will it to have been done. Surely, I grabbed that comb. I picked it up and put it in my bag. See, here it is, all is well. Or surely I gave an important message to someone, a statement I only figured out from current events and am using it as a warning. Surely I said that thing to this person or prepared for the "eventual" events. And there, it's fixed. All is well.
I became so adept at it that I find myself wanting to do it in waking life.
Where are those pictures I took of you? When you were sitting on the arm chair with Laddie on your lap? I remember taking them, but I can't find them anywhere. Maybe I should've put them with the rest of the pictures, saved copies in a backup file, printed them and kept them in a photo album... I did that, right? But they're not there. They're not anywhere but in fuzzy, half-sure memories.
And what about all the other pictures I should've taken? Or the videos? Why did we stop taking family videos? All I have are from when I was a baby, when you were almost 30 years younger. What a difference. I'd even brought Michael's camcorder with me during a visit a few years ago. I should've used that.
What about all those phone calls I should've made? I called you on various dates, right? I asked about your service time in Germany and got all those stories you didn't like to tell. Surely, when you started to remember mom as a child, you'd remember Germany better than you would have a year ago. I did the interview, I recorded your voice, I did all that, right? Surely...
As nice as that would be, the real world doesn't work that way.
I can do a nifty trick when dreaming. It's a variation of lucid dreaming, I suppose. When something goes wrong, when I should've done something or grabbed something before the current events of a dream, I go back in time. I change history by "remembering" doing what I should have done. And I will it to have been done. Surely, I grabbed that comb. I picked it up and put it in my bag. See, here it is, all is well. Or surely I gave an important message to someone, a statement I only figured out from current events and am using it as a warning. Surely I said that thing to this person or prepared for the "eventual" events. And there, it's fixed. All is well.
I became so adept at it that I find myself wanting to do it in waking life.
Where are those pictures I took of you? When you were sitting on the arm chair with Laddie on your lap? I remember taking them, but I can't find them anywhere. Maybe I should've put them with the rest of the pictures, saved copies in a backup file, printed them and kept them in a photo album... I did that, right? But they're not there. They're not anywhere but in fuzzy, half-sure memories.
And what about all the other pictures I should've taken? Or the videos? Why did we stop taking family videos? All I have are from when I was a baby, when you were almost 30 years younger. What a difference. I'd even brought Michael's camcorder with me during a visit a few years ago. I should've used that.
What about all those phone calls I should've made? I called you on various dates, right? I asked about your service time in Germany and got all those stories you didn't like to tell. Surely, when you started to remember mom as a child, you'd remember Germany better than you would have a year ago. I did the interview, I recorded your voice, I did all that, right? Surely...
As nice as that would be, the real world doesn't work that way.
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