Game of Thrones pilot

Despite a persuasive social situation and my inflated perception of its maturity, I was chilly toward this pilot almost eight years ago. Now, without the social influence (it's negative if anything), while identifying its trashy elements, I feel tempted.

I wasn't critical of it as television, eight years ago -- I was critical of television. I still am, but somehow I feel this pilot's tug. It's not as mature as I remember thinking, which reflects well on my development. I was technically a teenager at the time, so my evolving taste shouldn't be surprising, but it's refreshing to observe among all my other plateaus. I'm continuously peaking in some crucial ways, and riding decades-long plateaus in others. My artistic taste continuously matures, hence my subtler perception of the episode; yet I probably peaked in deliberate living during high school or college, hence my prior rebuff and my present quickening.

Eight years ago I thought the episode was good (I rated it 3/4) but I didn't even consider slipping into the series. I think this is remarkable, knowing my partner and the whole world around me wanted me involved. I remember it just felt like TV, and TV was never justified like movies were. TV always delivered less artistic value per hour invested. I was really interested in movies, and not interested in any digital entertainment that couldn't stand on its own after just a few hours. For that we have books. I thought Game of Thrones looked respectable, but sprawling, and addiction-driven like all TV.

Presently, this episode was really stimulating, and I want to know what happens next. It hooked me as it should. But there's no way I can let myself continue... right?

Yesterday I finished reading The Lord of the Rings

I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. (foreword to The Lord of the Rings)

So why do I devote so many hours to Tolkien's work? "Applicability" is indiscernible; I haven't studied its themes; I don't particularly identify with any characters; I loathe escapism; I cherish my time.

Tolkien is my measured dose of escapism. Humans have long suspended reason for beauty when their world feels empty, and I can't wholly condemn a practice so essential to my ancestral history. In fact, given my broad operational skepticism, I could probably use such an occasional supplement, to keep me up. I am in principle determined to find joy and wonder in my tangible experience, but in practice handicapped. Total commitment to the principle would mean total isolation from my social environment, though it'd be difficult even in a vacuum (well, it'd be different for several reasons in a vacuum).

So I permit, enjoy, and resent occasional escapism. Tolkien is principal. Why Tolkien? The escapism is thorough (applicability is indiscernible), it connects me to my past (college was profound), and it's intellectually rich. Mostly it wormed in deep enough to feel essential: it's sad to imagine life without Tolkien. I could survive so easily, possibly even more effectively, but I would feel like I'd lost a love. If it went away, I'd regret not cherishing it more. This seems to be the nature of love. So: I love it. It's closely associated to the time I discovered it -- memories I love and would regret not cherishing more if they went away. So, half-independently and half-attached to old times, Tolkien feels essential to me despite my better judgment.

Amassing small loves is a busy, inflexible life, but a full one I suppose. Still I deflect new attachments as long as possible. To me, attachment is not intrinsically rewarding, but it is intrinsically burdensome, and bitter if it severs. I have a drive to keep my attachments few and deep and sustainable. If I'm already sufficiently attached to Tolkien to guarantee the regrets I mentioned above, I may as well fortify the cord, and lean my life on this love.