I’m back from Atlanta. Of course, most of you had no idea that I was in Atlanta. Well, I was, presenting papers on Bishop Berkeley’s “New Theory of Vision” and 18th-century interior decoration and the surprising rewards of reading lewd Restoration poetry with evangelical Christians, and now I’m back.
In just under two weeks, I leave for 10 days in New Zealand for yet another conference. I say that now in case you don’t hear from me for a couple of weeks as I try to finish my piece for New Zealand and polish my pieces from Atlanta for publication and grade a stack of papers and a stack of midterms and another stack of papers and write class lectures and enjoy the weather and find a better apartment to live in and then I pop in and say, “I’m back from New Zealand,” so I won’t have to follow up with a “I bet you had no idea I was in New Zealand,” because, of course, now you will have known.
It’s a great show. The anti-show. So much weirder than anything that has ever been on TV. It’s a mixture of Twin Peaks, the nightmare you had last night, and “Dallas.”
Read the whole thing. It’s a relief from the whole “Do the writers really have any idea what’s going on” debate that’s currently preoccupying fans—because, frankly, I don’t care if anyone’s in charge. I like that the plotlines remain narratively compelling while stubbornly refusing to Make Sense. That’s the nature of dream logic, the Logic That Is Not One.
And last week’s Locke episode, which I just watched on DVR last night, was freaking awesome.