Saturday, July 19, 2014

A fine line between genius and insanity

I don't know if any sane person reacts to stuff like I do or if anyone reading this can relate, but I'm pretty sure I have a problem. I have an array of interests, some erudite and some just stupid. I figure most people do. I also figure most people get a little verklempt about the things they dedicate they're time to knowing and following, and perhaps even get a bit hot under the collar when debates pop up. It can be anything, really. Sports, politics, music genres, movies, books, art; the list goes on with many subcategories and niche fan groups. This seems reasonable, even if in the midst of an argument over whether Ocean Group or Funimation had the best Dragon Ball Z dub it seems pretty damn unreasonable that anyone should even care (and besides the answer is actually TeamFourStar). But it's reasonable because just about everyone does it, at least on occasion, and anyway the subtitled Japanese version is the only one worth your time. Get on my level, guys.

But I'm not talking about that. That's normal caring-too-much-about-interests stuff. I'm talking about I-think-I-have-a-brain-disorder level of obsession. I watch movies, love them, and then I go on Youtube and watch all the trailers over again, and watch all the interviews with the actors, and the premiere footage, and their panel at ComiCon, and even sometimes some artfully spliced-together music videos if they aren't so saccharine I'll hate myself more than usual afterwards. That's stage one. Stage two is after the DVD/Blu-ray comes out. Then I watch the movie eight times. Then I go back and replay individual scenes I liked the best. Then I watch the entire move again but this time with cast/director commentary. Then I watch all the making-of's, blooper reels, cast bios, special effects tutorials, deleted scenes and alternate endings. Then I start all over again. Pretty sick, right? Pretty much I need a more engaging hobby and maybe a social life. Yeah, trust me I know. Because this isn't even the worst that it gets.

I've alluded in previous posts about how much I enjoy the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in particular Sherlock Holmes, and that even more particularly I am a fan of the BBC's modern adaptation of it with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.


The true face of friendship: a horrifying yellow smiley face riddled with bullets

I mean, who isn't? Just look at them! To be fair, though, "enjoy" is something of an understatement. I have issues with this show. Serious emotional and possibly mental issues. To date, I am incapable of ever watching an episode of Sherlock the first time through in the presence of another person. At first it wasn't intentional; I was the first person of any of my friends or family to hear about it and watch it, and I wanted to make sure it didn't suck before sharing it with my nearest and dearest. By the time Season 1's heart-stopping finale dug it's fingers into the craggy cliff-face and started swaying in the wind it had dawned on me that I had a very good reason for watching them alone. Because I freaked out every. Single. Episode. I am in no way exaggerating. Screaming, sobbing, laughing, squealing, occasionally ripping at my hair and cussing at my computer, which of course I had my headphones plugged into so it was just me kicking up a ruckus in an otherwise silent room; having an actual, legitimate fit. It's mortifying, but I can't stop it. There aren't words to convey what the episode "His Last Vow" did to me. I rolled into bed and tearfully vibrated for about five minutes, I was so maxed out from caring so damn much. The writers of this show are evil geniuses and they have my heart-strings wrapped around their knobbly, sadistic knuckles. I don't stand a chance.

And my preoccupation with this show goes beyond even my typical level of enthusiasm. It isn't just the show and the actors and the making-of's and interviews. The way my brain works, I make iron-clad associations with even tertiary details of the show, and if I ever encounter those same details in my everyday life outside the context of Sherlock I react like I'm having a stroke. I was out at a bar with some friends and recognized a song that had played during the Season 3 episode "The Sign of Three" and it felt like my brain was on fire, it got so revved up making that connection. This stupid show ruined a perfectly popular Four Seasons song for me, because now I can't hear it without thinking about John and Sherlock and Mary being lovely together. It's disgusting. It is in my brain like a disease and I am incapable of tempering my reaction to it or anything I even remotely associate with it.

And I'm pretty sure that is not normal. The way my friends look at me when I get an impromptu rant on, I assume even they don't think this is normal. Frankly, I'm surprised none of them have staged interventions for me. I have told them some worrying things in the euphoric high I get on when exposed to really clever/awesome shows, none of which will ever be repeated here for fear of legal action taken against me. I don't have money for a lawyer, guys, and one of my more dubious ramblings at one point involved a secret basement underneath the actual basement of a fairly well-known actor. I think my roommate seriously considered getting me a psych. eval the night I came up with this. So yes, I have problems. Clearly. But I don't think they make a medication to treat "loving Sherlock Holmes too much" and if they did, I probably wouldn't take it anyway. I guess I'm just doomed to twiddle my thumbs during the inevitable two year wait for new seasons and then make sure I get through the rending-of-garments phase in solitude.
In retrospect, it's probably a blessing that each season is only three episodes long because if they were any longer I'd probably snap and need to be institutionalized.

Oh, what's that you say Internet? Season 4 has been confirmed? How lovely! Oh wait, and you say it...you say it's going to have four episodes? I see. And it's a Christmas Special? Uh huh.....

.......anyone know of a good psych ward? Preferably one with internet access?