I Wanted To Believe, But Not Anymore…

For months I looked forward to the X-Files revival. I was a huge fan of the show and the notion of bringing it back, even for a limited run, was intriguing – even downright exciting. I knew there would be some problems. There would be some retconning with characters and situations, and obviously there would be some changes to canon if they were going to reconcile this with the series finale and the movies. So, with great anticipation I set aside one Sunday and five Mondays to view this extravaganza. What you are about to read is my take on it – and bear in mind, I’m the guy who actually LIKED BOTH of the movies…

Chris Carter, I want my six hours back.

Yes, all six of them. I originally only wanted five since since episode three was actually pretty good, but last night’s finale was so ridiculously awful that it canceled out any of the good that came from episode three. So, all six. I want all six hours of my life back.

x-files-revival-2016-posterNow, truth be told, it’s my own fault that I continued watching after that herky-jerky, disjointed, everything we told you in the first nine seasons was bullshit premiere episode. I readily admit that. But, can you blame me? The original seasons of the X-Files were pretty amazing. Sure, they had their stumbles here and there like any TV series, but you could pretty much count on some consistent storytelling and decent acting. So, being excited about this six episode revival I began watching with great anticipation. At the end of episode one I was telling myself, “Give it a chance. It will get better. They’re just a bit rusty…”

By the end of episode two I was saying the same thing, but I was already having a sinking feeling of remorse – that weird feeling you get when you have mourned a loss, healed, and then had the wound ripped open by some faint memory and begin to mourn all over again.

Then came episode three. Elation swooped in. “Hey,” I said to myself. “They managed to get their legs under them. This is a resounding echo of what the show once was. There’s hope yet.”

Then came episodes four and five, both of which left me once again in a state of mourning, all while shaking my head and saying, “What the fuck, guys? Seriously?” I’d also like to ask if you or any of your writers have actually tripped on psilocybin, because what you depicted sure as hell wasn’t mushrooms. It was more like a really bad hit of acid. Trust me. I’m not saying that during my misspent youth I might have had some experience in this arena, but experience.

And don’t even get me started on Einstein and Miller. Really. Do NOT get me started.

And so, last night, with a great feeling of dread, I tuned in to the finale. I know I should have skipped it, but I couldn’t help myself. The whole season was sort of like a train wreck. I simply couldn’t look away. Anderson and Duchovny could have easily been replaced by cardboard cutouts of their younger selves. Both of them seemed to be phoning in their performances 80% of the time. Even in the wake of the news that Anderson had to fight for equal pay on this I can only figure that the network threw truckloads of cash at the two of them in order to get them on board, but as we all know, even cash can’t buy sincerity. Their performances are a testament to that – and to be fair to them, I’m sure said performances would have been more along the lines of stellar if the scripts had actually been something worth the paper they were printed on. Alas, they weren’t. Not by a long shot. I mourn for the trees that gave their lives for this mess.

And, seriously, don’t get me started on Einstein and Miller. Just don’t.

And now we come to the finale, and as I suspected it would be, it was a clusterfuck from the word go. Old Roger Corman B-movies had better plot lines and writing. And seriously guys, the Spartan Virus? Did you really have such a hard time coming up with ideas that you needed to recycle the plot from the season two finale of Millennium? (See Marburg Variant Virus – The Time is Now.)

AND, while we are on that subject, I have been a huge advocate of bringing back Millennium. I was even a regular guest on the Back To Frank Black Podcast for quite some time. However, seeing what you did to this X-Files revival makes me fear for Millennium in a cold sweat, abject terror sort of way. As in, leave it the fuck alone, please. You’ve already screwed the living shit out of X-Files. Even a “Bobby Ewing in the Shower” can’t recover the show from what these six godawful episodes have done to its memory, so do the fans a favor and leave Millennium alone.

Seriously. Just leave it alone. Just go fuck up the X-Files some more, because the damage is already done.


The above is strictly an opinion piece. Your mileage may vary.

A Refreshing Summertime Drink…

I had a friend leave today.

Just a couple of hours ago, in fact.

I say “leave” because he’s gone now. I don’t like to use the word lost, because even though he is gone our friendship remains. That’s just how it is with some friendships, and to be honest, ours was a bit weird. Not weird as in Scooby Doo and The Mystery Machine Gang, but weird in the sense that we were friends for a very short time before he went away.

bill I first met William “Bill” Bell at a festival I was headlining this past March. In fact, I met him on March 18, 2015, at about 4 in the afternoon, at a campsite in Lakeview, FL. We pulled in, I got out of the car, and before I had even been properly introduced, this bright-eyed, bearded, cigar smoking guy in a fishing hat hollers at me, “Ya ever had a Ginesca?”

My response: “I don’t think so. What the hell is a Ginesca?”

Bill grinned and said, “Gin and Fresca. It’s a refreshing summertime drink.”

The next thing I knew I had a Ginesca in one hand, a cigar in the other, and a camp chair under my ass. For the next five days, Bill and I killed bottles of Fresca and Gin, along with a box of cigars, and pretty much talked about everything that needed talking about when one has a refreshing summertime drink and a cigar in hand. We had many a “Fuckin’ A, Bubba” moment, told a lot of stories, and his extra flashlight dutifully saw me back and forth between my tent and the portolet. Suffice it to say – and I’m not afraid to say it – I fell in love with this guy. We struck up a friendship that was bound to last, and some in the camp even described it as our “Bromance.”


A couple of weeks after the event I got word that Bill had to go in for a quadruple bypass. I exchanged pleasantries with him on Facebook and told him I’d have a cold Ginesca waiting for him when he was up and around again. Unfortunately, sometimes life blindsides us at 4 PM on an idle Tuesday… There were complications, and Bill had remained in the hospital. Things grew progressively worse, and we all knew that the end was near. The reason for the 4 PM remark is that I received a phone call from a mutual friend at right about that time. They disconnected Bill from the life support today, and this afternoon, peacefully I’m told, he left.

Wherever he went, you can be sure there are Ginescas, Good Cigars, a Sailboat, and an ocean for him to sail.

And to that, all I have left to say is, Fuckin’ A, Bubba, but I wasn’t done hanging out with you yet…

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I was asked on a Facebook thread about the proportions of a Ginesca. For those of you seeking a refreshing summertime drink, here you go:

A proper Ginesca, as explained to me by Bill himself, starts with ice in either a Solo cup or preferably your favorite camping cup/drink receptacle from your camping gear. How hard you have to work for the ice then has a bearing on your proportions.

Place ice filled cup on camp table and pour gin over ice while counting to 1000… or 3… it really depends upon how much you like gin. (That’s sort of the beauty of the Ginesca.) Top off with Fresca – this can come from either a two-liter bottle or a can, doesn’t matter. Stir with your finger then allow it to sit for a moment while you light a cigar. Romeo y Julieta is a good choice, as is Arturo Fuente. Dutch Masters and shit like that, not so much. Deposit ass in camp chair, puff cigar, tell a story while enjoying your Ginesca. Five minutes later, get up and mix another one. The real secret to the Ginesca, however, is that it is a thousand times better when shared with friends, new and old…