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For once in my life I’m gunning for the default category, though who am I to fight it, it’s neither the extra bandana wrapped around the bottom half of my face nor the air quality from the fires to the north which remarkably dropped 40 points after I got back, Ser Davos was right, “Nothing fucks you harder than time.”

Sure, True Detective’s second season sucked, but Fargo’s more than made up for it, and with Game of Thrones arguably reaching its zenith, Mr. Robot thankfully returning in a month and the implausible takeover of a network by comical DC characters, it begs the question, why return to a relic that was itself put to pasture by the very Law and Order franchise which has been a season from retirement for the better part of a decade? Syndication, of course, and though there’s a lot less of it, my stubborn refusal to (re)join the Netflix generation but forgo further investment in hard copies has created an interesting delivery model that’s representative of most my preoccupations as of late.

I was in a waiting area for the Meereen Fighting Pits, volunteers all of us, and no one seemed much of a challenge, to my relief. Most looked like college-aged kids, and at least one was there to get the free sandwich, complete with choice of dressing on the side, then leave. I had four lacquered chopsticks at my disposal, but because better weapons might be tossed to us, thought I’d better be prepared to make a run at them.

At a table tennis exhibition a young Asian boy received unfair calls by the ref, then proceeded to make a lucky shot off the edge that had some in disbelief of his skills. So dismissive was I of this prodigy that I booted him off my perch, but he got back up with no reaction otherwise, like a robot. Underneath a black T-shirt that read “I’M ON IT” a compartment opened up, revealing itself as indeed an action figure-shaped mechanism, which emitted a piercing distorted message that only I could hear, informing me that it was from 20 years in the future.

A while back when this short season of television from my youth (and the months spent trying to swim like the titular character in the neighborhood pool) were remastered I almost plunked down another credit card charge to regain access to those cobwebbed sectors, but thanks to my peers at large, I can do so without the inevitable buyer’s remorse, or physical glut. I won’t, however, make the same mistake next time—Buck Rogers it is—and not confirm the source of the rips.

There’s talk that a new iteration of Aquaman is looming in the “Dawn of Justice”, and I’m not sure I want to see a Dothraki/Klingon/Spartan Atlantean, even if they think it’ll save his reputation. (I insist he was secretly hooking up with Jayna on the Super Friends.) If anything, it’s an opportunity to explore and expand upon a rich mythology that’s accompanied human civilization and left at least one ten-year-old boy hanging onto the unsolved mystery of Mark Harris’ origin.

An enterprising Reddit hacker hijacked the popular sub and spoiled much of the remaining season (had to double-check about Hot Pie, because if anything that was a squandered opportunity to bring up Lady Stoneheart instead), proving not only is it not what you know and others don’t, but what they don’t want to.

The TV execs up there have kindly scheduled the Walking Dead to wrap up the week before the Game of Thrones to resume, and despite having fast-forwarded through much of the last season, I think I’ve come to realize that this was the destined medium for the story, and the books were an unnecessary slog. Of course, that could be said about all the game—Joffrey’s douchebaggery, Arya’s badassery, every new character’s entry—none of it will really matter in the inevitable clash between elemental forces, now will it? Talk about bad pacing!

The day’s come and gone, and I’m writing this through the “Red Wedding” episode of A Game of Thrones, but I do remember this much: I returned to my last job, where I had been nurturing something of minor significance (in a jar, of all places, but then that’s just like me), but would reveal itself in its fully grown form to be an alien that resembled a green MCP or The Face of Boe.

Seriously, DCUO’s PVP has nothing on this. Beats me how my Game of Thrones-fan leaguemates can pass up re-enacting the Kings Landing siege for 5-minute 4-man instances, replay badge-after-replay badge.

As much as I enjoyed the HBO series, the books (I’ve Kindled the fifth, no less) have been a disappointment. I read them as spoilers more than anything, but if the following seasons are paced like this, author George R.R. Martin might have to take back what he said about Lost. Using the word “fuck” as an adverb is inexcusable for a Tolkien—and seeing Monty Python in so-called high fantasy is like Wayne’s World in myth—and only adds to my growing realization that the best of all things is behind us.