Endeavour

I am the living legacy to the leader of the band-- Dan Fogelberg, sentimentalist

It is rather other worldly that I still mourn John Thaw in his nearly perfect cast as Inspector Morse. When I listen to Barrington Preloung's score for the series, it is a movement that seems to perfectly evoke poignancy, gently waltzing me back to a generosity of spirit, one that I could not replenish on my own through an actual reading of Colin Dexter's franchise novels. I skimmed through one of them in the library many years ago, and stopped skimming due to an inverse on originalism: the teleplay with Thaw had my loyalty and investment, not the text. To amend my sense of what the score captures, more than poignancy, it is the consolation of commiseration. Am I grieving for art? An imaginary love affair? I normally pride myself on lack of celebrity affectation in this manner, but herein lies the rare exception. I watch Inspector Lewis not out of equal appreciation of Whately so much as to hold on to my lenient affection for Thaw-- lenient in the sense that sometimes the motives of these crusty Oxford killers seem contrived.

You are wondering what this has to do with anything, but I am pushing it, and have to convince Kimmy the Tyrant to let adoption mommy sleep when adoption mommy leaves REM activity for a deeper lack of consciousness.

I discovered, happily, despite my psyche, that I am still a writer offline, however, and managed to achieve one scheduled goal on Friday. If any of you have the knack of garnishing a response from twitter whales, I wondered offhand whether Patrick Stewart knew Thaw, at least professionally. Why don't I pose the question? Ah.