by Don Hall

You're on a plane flying across the country. The security check-in was a breeze. You were in the mid-section but as you board the attendant moves you up to the third row. The in-flight movie is one you've been dying to see and the flight is almost completely devoid of turbulence. It's a wonderful flight.

As you descend to land, however, the turbulence gets kind of insane. At one point, the oxygen masks pop out and upon hitting the ground, the front tire of the landing gear snaps off and you screech to a long, terrifying halt in the middle of the runway.

The flight is remembered as one of the worst, most traumatic experiences of your life.

I was severely late to the Game of Thrones party. Everyone in the free world (which is actually how Twitter feels until you realize how small a percentage of sentient humans use the app) was into it. Podcasts about it. Constant raving about it. I finally caved in and decided to binge the whole thing once the ending was in sight.

I loved it. Until the landing. The last five or so episodes were so rushed, so poorly thought out, and so sloppily put together (a Starbucks cup on the set of one of the most expensive and immersive televisions shows in modern history?) that the result seems to be a wholesale rejection of everything enjoyed breathlessly for years.

The very instant Twitter discovered the tepid ending, the uprise was evident. A huge flare-up followed by...silence. These days, if I ask someone I know was a whole hog GoT fan about Westeros, I receive a shrug and the quick response of bringing up a bad break-up from a disappointing ex.

My mom and dad loved Longmire. Effectively a crime procedural set in rural Wyoming and centered on a sheriff who reminded me of nothing less than my dad if he were a sheriff in Cheyenne country. Mom and I frequently (as so many do) recommend television and film that we think the other will dig, so I bit and jumped into the first episode.

Dana didn't care for it; I thought it had some merit if for no other reasons than I love Katee Sackhoff and Lou Diamond Phillips and firmly believe neither get enough screen time. I've spent my pandemic watching long form, episodic shows so the "Crime/Investigate/Solve the Crime" in one hour format was a step backwards but I liked Walt Longmire and I especially enjoyed the themes around white people co-existing with Native Americans. I can't recall too many shows that explore Life on the Rez in too much detail so this was new and interesting.

I binged some with breaks for six seasons. The first three were produced by AMC, the show was canceled then picked up by Netflix for three more. All in all, I spent a truly enjoyable 60 hours with Walt, Vic, Henry, the Ferg, Jacob Nighthorse, and Hector. 

It was apparent that the writers knew the series was ending with Season Six, so they started wrapping things up in fairly tidy fashion. It felt a bit rushed but I was willing to go along with a lot of it until the last three episodes and then it took a shit. Like the writers all got high and told the interns to finish it up.

Now, despite digging 57 hours of the show, the last three hours prevent me from recommending it to anyone.

You decide to take your wife for a high-end meal at one of the super-swank restaurants on the Las Vegas Strip. It's beautiful and sexy inside. You are seated at a table with a view of the Bellagio Fountain.

You order and each course is better than the last. The liquor is top-shelf. The food is fresh and expertly prepared, each bite melting inside you mouth like nutritious gold.

The dessert comes and, unknown to you, the chef has left a solid chunk of dog turd in the center of it. You bite down on dogshit and instantly vomit into your wife's lap.

The dinner is remembered as the worst in your life. Your wife declares that she will never eat out again and you subsist on nothing but Ramen and canned soup for the rest of your life.

It is a fundamental truth that no matter how solid the ride is, if you can't stick the fucking landing, the landing is the only thing anyone remembers (except your mom because she loves you and will lie to you to make you not want to eat a bullet). 

Endings are almost more important than the rest of the journey.

We all loved Lost until we didn't. We all reveled in Dexter until it blew chunks. Stephen King managed to create one of the scariest creations in fiction with Pennywise then made him a giant spider who is defeated by people taunting him.

Granted, one man's shit ending may be another man's perfect ending. I've read that the conclusion of War of the Worlds (the aliens are done in by germs) is somewhat like the ending of Signs (water kills them so why hop over to a planet covered in fucking water) but for some reason I love the first and despise the second. Maybe it's Mel Gibson?

Lots of folks hated the ending of The Sopranos but I loved it.

Whatever the case, a bad landing blows the entire ride.

You have ten years of a great marriage. Lots of love, lots of sex, lots of vacations. Compromises and laughter. Fights and reconciliations.

But the last year, she has an affair with a mutual friend that she’s cast in a bunch of shows with you and it ends badly.

No matter how good the good years were, you're see that marriage as a failure.

The ending is essential to the journey.