The Long, Dark Night of the Jedi

Generative AI used for image only; text is original.

Previously on Jedi/Superman . . . 

Last Son of the Republic

Growing Up Under Twin Suns

Chariot of the Gods

The Emperor's New Genocide

The Quality of Mercy

A Job for Supermen

The Green, Green Glow of Homicide

A Dream of Droids

A Vision of Future Past

The Dark Heart of Krypton

The Phantom Hope

Wrath and Recrimination

Jest of the Fates

Interlude: Shadows of Terra

An Exodus of Androids and Others

Detention Block 8A-9, Death Star

Luke Skywalker ignited Ben’s lightsabre and sliced a hole through the ceiling. He leaped through the gap, landing in a crouch as Princess Leia and See-Threepio followed, assisted up and through by the half-dozen Rebels they'd rescued since Clark and Ben had left. The rest of the Defiance's skeleton crew had to be on this floor. Unfortunately, every level of the detention block was guarded, and some of those guards were already on the move. 

Luke turned to face the squad of Stormtroopers racing down the corridor at them. He swept an open hand toward the troopers, using the Force to yank their blasters from their hands.   

The befuddled troopers stopped in their tracks as Luke guided their floating weapons into the hands of their former prisoners. The Rebels grinned. 

“Get on the floor, face down, hands behind your heads!” Leia barked, brandishing one of the captured weapons at the disarmed Imperials.

The Stormtroopers complied. Luke looked at Leia, surprised by her authoritative tone; she winked at him. Then she turned to face the other Rebels. “Tie them up with anything you can find. Leave them.” 

"Let's go," Leia ordered after the Stormtroopers were bound. She led the way toward the detention control room. Luke and the other Rebels rushed the two officers and three stormtroopers stationed there, quickly subduing them.  

Once inside the control room, Threepio made a beeline for a computer terminal.  "It's just like Artoo to be off flying around with Red Squadron when he should be here with us. He's much faster than me at working with security software. Ah! I have it! All the detention cells are opening now, Mistress Leia." 

It was true; down the three halls connecting to the control room, doors were sliding open and Rebel troopers were spilling out. They all felt and urge to celebrate, and there were smiles and back-slapping—but everyone knew they were far from free. 

"Threepio, find out where the Defiance is being stored," Leia said, resting a hand on the droid's gold-plated shoulder. 

After a moment, Threepio replied: "Bay 717, mooring 91. I've downloaded a route map to that location." 

"Great work, Threepio," Luke said. "Let's go, everyone. Those with weapons, protect those without; everyone keep your eyes peeled. There could be a lot of Stormtroopers between us and Bay 717." 

"Excuse me, Princess, but there's one more thing. The Millennium Falcon is also on board the Death Star, in Bay 609, mooring 2." 

"Oh, no," Leia said. "Han...Chewbacca. They came looking for us. And now Tarkin and Vader have them." 

"I'll find them," Luke volunteered. 

"You...against Vader? Luke..." Leia said. Her face was twisted with worry. 

"I'll be okay. You get everyone else to safety. I'm sure Ben and Clark are already on their way back."

Leia nodded grimly. "Be careful," she said, and suddenly wrapped her arms around Luke's shoulders and kissed him with more fervor than either of them had expected. 

They both blushed. The Rebel troopers pretended not to notice. "You guys all be careful," Luke said as he joined Threepio at the computer terminal. "Threepio, you're with me. I'll need some help finding our friends." 

"Oh, dear. I was afraid of that," Threepio muttered. 

Leia and the troops reluctantly left Luke and Threepio behind. One Rebel, a human trooper named Gullivan, noticed something strange as they made their way to Bay 717.

"Princess, when we arrived this station was crawling with droids of all kinds," he said. "But  since breaking out of our cells, I haven't seen a single one." 

The others looked startled, realizing Gullivan was right. 

"That's very strange," Leia answered. "But we don't have time to worry about it now. If anything, it could be something we can take advantage of. Keep watching for patrols and keep moving, everyone." 

Grand Moff Tarkin's Office, Death Star

“I'm sorry, sir.” 

The blue glow of the hologram winked out, leaving Grand Moff Tarken in the shadows. The image of his best spy faded into nothingness. 

Tarkin had suspected that Emperor Palpatine was dead for some time, so the news wasn't a surprise. Nor was it any great revelation that the Kryptonian madman, Zod, was responsible. 

The news was still troubling. And yet there was opportunity in it. 

Vader had to have known all along. And yet the Sith lord had said nothing, acting as if he was still in regular communication with his mentor. 

Tarkin's fingers drummed out a soft beat on his immaculate desktop. Betrayal was the way of the Sith. According to their bleak religion, Vader was destined to pit himself against Palpatine; the Emperor himself expected it of his protege. And yet Zod had beaten him to the punch, which must have enraged Vader.

That the Sith lord hadn't taken revenge against the Kryptonian meant only one thing: he was afraid. Fear. The Sith loved to wield it, but they were also vulnerable to it. A powerful thug is fearless only in the absence of someone with greater power—Zod. Vader was the most powerful Sith alive now, one with even greater potential than Palpatine. But his fear held him in check. 

Tarkin had hoped the two would distract each other. Both were too dangerous, too chaotic to rule the Empire. With the Emperor dead, Tarkin was, of course, the best choice to lead. But he was no match for a Kryptonian, not even with all the power of the Death Star and the Imperial Starfleet at his back. 

But there was another Kryptonian survivor. The young lad who'd joined the Rebels to wreak havoc on the Outer Rim. By all reports, he was an altruist. And altruists could be manipulated. 

His door chimed. 

“Come.” 

Tarkin's aide, Lieutenant Propyl, entered, followed by the infamous Han Solo and Chewbacca, both in manacles, blasters pointed at their backs by a pair of Stormtroopers. 

“Well, if it isn't Grand Mockery of Decency Tar Pool,” Solo sneered. 

“Shut up, Rebel,” said the trooper behind the smuggler, jabbing him in the lower back with the barrel of his laser rifle. Solo grimaced. 

“Troopers, you're dismissed,” Tarkin said. The troopers made themselves scarce, the office door sliding closed behind them. 

“Propyl, unbind them. I need to chat with these two gentlemen.” 

Propyl, a sandy-haired, rugged-looking Corellian in his late fifties, looked askance at his commander. 

“You're certain, sir?” He glanced up at the Wookie to emphasize his point. 

“Yes, and you can leave after you've freed them. Take the rest of your shift off, you've done yeoman's work today,” Tarkin said. 

Propyl rarely smiled, but his lips did twist a little at that. “Yessir,” he said with a salute. A second later, Tarkin was alone with the wookie and the smuggler. 

“Okay, tell me why my pal here shouldn't pull your limbs out of their sockets,” Solo said, putting a restraining hand against Chewbacca's chest, who indeed looked determined to dismember Tarkin. 

“The galaxy is in flux,” Tarkin said. “I'm aware of your friendship with the Kryptonian some people have taken to calling the super-man. His activities are short-sighted and counterproductive, like the Rebel cause itself. And yet, your super-man may be the only counter against an even greater threat to order—an agent of chaos who, I believe, plans to make Imperial rule look as gentle as that of a doting nanny in a creche.” 

Tarkin leaned forward, steepling his fingers, regarding Solo and Chewbacca with a gravity they could feel. 

“I'd like to propose...a temporary understanding.” 

Sherrie v Scary v SCarrie

 The other day I came up with an idea for a novel: What if another young woman developed telekinetic powers like Carrie White, but instead of being raised by an insane mother, like Carrie, she was raised by a doting, responsible father? I'd call the novel Sherrie, of course. But a second title, Scary, came to mind, too. Then I realized I should really change the spelling for the pun potential. But SCarrie would be a sequel, not a parallel story. 

Stephen King doesn't write sequels terribly often, but if he did, why not go back to the (almost) very beginning? 

Dada Comics #19

 

It Had to Be Done Eventually

Google Gemini. 
 

The Sinews Out of Space

Some months (years?) ago, Steve took of dread Cthulhu and me. Scott's paint job is astounding, and I looked on in dumbfounded amazement. I asked Gemini to create an appropriate background for the image. It did so, but it also gave me rippling muscles and a six-pack. Please note: I did not ask Gemini to transform me, just the background. I'm flattered, Gemini, but in truth my big round head looks wildly out of place on a he-man body like the one you created. Frankly, dread Cthulhu himself should be the one losing sanity points here. 
 

A Little Space and Time for the Science of Centring Yourself

It feels like forever since I enjoyed a few minutes outside, alone, on a nice day, at one of my favourite places. Even better, this occurred just after seeing some of my favourite people at what is now one of my favourite movies of 2026 (Project Hail Mary)--the first I've seen in theatres this year, and only the fourth I've seen in theatres since 2019, thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic.  

Feels good, must do more often. Get outside, disconnect, look to the stars, not to my screen. 
 

Bouchers Three

They're Bouchers Three
Oh me oh my
Two of them just swung right by
They came to say hello
We were sorry to see them go
And the strange thing is
It was Sean Woods' birthday
 
(sung to the tune of The Wizard of Oz cartoon opening theme)

4414 Farewell

Yesterday Sylvia and I drove to Mom and Dad's place one last time so that she could have a final look. The place felt empty, and so did I. Another reminder I didn't need--that all things pass. 

I'm sure we'll drive by someday, if only to see how the new owners change the yard. But it won't be the same--of course it won't be the same. Nothing ever is. 

I remain grateful for the memories, for our upbringing, for Mom and Dad's love and care. 
 

Yet No Reply

The call, it came
Sans question mark
And so I answered
On a lark

Yet no reply
Came back to me
I never left
They didn't see
 

Black Ink on a Yellowing Certificate

This certificate hung around Mom and Dad's house for decades, not much spoken about. It reveals that Dad's dad, William James Woods, was a member of the Imperial Grand Black Chapter of the British Commonwealth (or just the "Royal Black Institution"). I've always found the iconography and typeface upon the certificate somewhat unsettling, but I took a photo before disposing of it. (Apologies, Dad.) 

According to the Internet, the Royal Black Institution is just a fraternal order for Orangemen; Protestant Irish folks. It seems pretty Christian-y, so not really my sort of thing, but a cursory Internet search reveals nothing particularly nefarious. It's not that I normally go about investigating fraternal orders; again, it's just that this particular physical object always gave me bad vibes. Maybe it's just the frame or the faded paper, I don't know. 

On the other hand, Google's LLM claims that certificates like this are sometimes sought after by collectors interested in secret societies, with certificates like this one going for up to $100. (No sale.) Who do I trust--Google's prone-to-hallucinations LLM or the suspiciously superficial royalblack.org? 
 

How Much for Just the Painting?

In John M. Ford's How Much for Just the Planet?, one of my favourite media tie-in novels, Kirk and a Klingon get involved in a slapstick chase. At one point, Kirk escapes through a window in the bathroom, and the Klingon pursuing him attempts to follow. Unfortunately, the Klingon is too heavy for the toilet seat to support, so the lid shatters and the Klingon winds up getting his foot stuck in the toilet. Because I have the sense of humour of a two-year-old, I still find this scene uproariously funny. 

That's why, a few weeks ago, I tried to recreate the scene with Gemini. Alas, it appears my prompt was insufficient to the task. I should have commissioned Jeff to paint it for me. Maybe that can be a birthday present to myself someday. 
 

The Last Pickup

Today, Sean and I finished emptying out Mom and Dad's house. In a few days the new owners will take possession. 

It's a bittersweet day. For a long time, this was home, even after we moved out. I'm sure we'll drive by again someday, but it won't be the same. 

Thanks for everything, Mom and Dad, and thank you house, too. 
 

Yes, Lois!

Somewhere on one of the endless parallel Earths, Roy Lichtenstein painted Yes, Lois! He released the piece to great fanfare (and puzzlement) in 1964, a few months after reading Action Comics #296, in which Superman exposes himself to Red Kryptonite so that he can communicate with the space ants who kidnapped Lois Lane. Considering the effects of Red K on Kryptonians are generally unpredictable, Superman was taking quite a risk here, but it paid off. It turns out the space ants were just misunderstood. Once again, Superman uses brains and compassion instead of brute force to resolve conflict. Way to go, Man of Steel! Oh, and nice homage, Roy. 
 

Alberta's Referendumb

I've avoided writing about Alberta politics very much for the last few years. It's because everything Danielle Smith and her crew of UCP grifters do is engineered to hurt Albertans while enriching themselves and their circle of cronies. They've demonized the LGBTQ+ community, censored books, short-changed municipalities, failed to hold the oil and gas industry accountable for environmental cleanup coasts, and encouraged a separatists movement to divide Canada. And ever since she became Premier, Danielle Smith several of her MLAs have been openly cozying up to Donald Trump and his circle of criminals. 

All this infamy has come to a head with the announcement of Alberta Referendum 2026. If you can stand to explore the site, you'll discover the NINE (mis)leading questions Albertans will be asked to vote on this October. You'll find the carefully crafted findings of the Alberta Next Panel, an exercise in finding the answers they wanted to divisive questions. 

Speaking of the questions: five on immigration (controlled by the federal government) and four on the Canadian Constitution. 

All nine questions are specifically crafted to foster resentment of immigrants and the rest of Canada. Even if Albertans overwhelmingly voted YES on all nine questions, Alberta would be put through years of painful, harmful negotiations with the rest of the country. And we would deserve the scorn of our neighbours from coast to coast. 

The most obvious insult to our intelligence? Referenda aren't binding in Alberta. So even if Albertans vote NO on each of the nine questions, the Smith government can do whatever it wants, given they have a majority in the Alberta Legislature and a proven willingness to use the notwithstanding clause to overcome any court challenge. 

Indeed, the Smith government only just announced that Alberta will be switching to permanent daylight savings time--despite the recent referendum where Albertans rejected that very change. Wherever you stand on time zones, why would any Albertan believe the UCP would obey the outcome of any referendum now? 

This also shows that the Alberta government will clearly not enact the referendum question put forward by Forever Canadian, whose petition reached the required number of signatures even before the provincial government changed the rules to make a competing petition by separatists easier to succeed. In fact, Alberta separatists are still on the streets collecting signatures, even though today's announcement seems to make their efforts moot--in that the UCP government have done their work for them. 

Every Albertan with an ounce of sense must take this threat seriously. Please--vote NO on all nine questions on October 19. Even the ones that sound reasonable, like reforming the Senate, are engineered to increase division and, contrary to what Smith and the UCP claim, tear Alberta away from Canada and give future UCP governments more and more power to trample human rights, privatize pubic institutions, and enrich the one percent to the detriment of the rest of us. That's their endgame. 

And the gall--the absolute, unmitigated gall--to drape their separatist, hateful website with the maple leaf. And to claim it's about "a sovereign Alberta within a united Canada." Goebbels would be proud. 

Squish!

Approved by the Comics Code Authority and Gemini's guardrails, apparently. 
 

Decora-SEANs

Sean was kind enough to send me some photos of where he's placed some Mom and Dad heirlooms in his condo. I love Sean's decor, so I'm really happy to be able to present some of his space. 

The desk above is many decades old, but still in excellent shape. As you can see here, it fits perfectly under Sean's kitchen breakfast bar, with enough froom to store his cookbooks on top. And it goes with his floor! I'm so happy this has a good home in the family, because this desk has been win our lives as long as I can remember. 

Here's the working oil lamp Sean brought home; again, decades old and still very handsome. 

Here's Granddad's forge, which I now suspect may have been used to create at least some of Granddad's tools. 

Here's a close-up of the forge crank. 

I wish I had Sean's gift for this sort of thing. Sylvia's half of the house looks great, but my man cave is basically a garbage dump, aside from the theatre room. Ah well, I'm working on it . . . 

St. Elseworld

Someone set him up the bomb.

 "Family Feud" is the 15th episode of the fourth season of St. Elsewhere. It's also the episode that finally convinced me the writers are having fun with their audience and the television format, and that the famous twist at the series' end really doesn't come out of left field. 

The episode begins with Doctor Robert Caldwell (Mark Harmon) returning from vacation. He's met at St. Eligius by Doctor Elliot Axelrod (Stephen Furst), who briefs him about the goings-on at the hospital in Caldwell's absence:

• The gift shop was blown up--the second explosion on the show in two days, and Doctor Philip Chandler (Denzel Washington) was injured in both explosions
• Doctor Jack "Boomer" Morrison slipped on vomit and badly injured his knee
• The John Doe with amnesia regained his memory

And those are just some of the highlights. In the episode before this one, there's a cute exchange referencing Doctor Chandler's misfortune:

"Pretty rare for someone to be injured by two separate explosions in two days!"
"It's pretty rare for someone to be present at two separate explosions in two days." 

Later, the crutch-dependent Doctor Morrison meets his ex-girlfriend, Clancy Williams (Helen Hunt) at the hospital; she's been helping take care of Boomer's son while he recuperates from his injury. In a private moment, Doctor Morrison admits to Clancy, 

"I can't stop thinking about you...dreaming about being together..." 

Clancy rebuffs him. But later, Doctor Wayne Fiscus (Howie Mandel) uses the exact same language in an effort to get back together with his ex-fiance, Mona Polito (Leah Ayres). And then, a couple of scene later, Clancy says the same thing to Wayne! 

While all this is going on, Doctor Caldwell learns that he has AIDS, thanks to a blood test taken as a precursor to scar removal surgery. A few episodes prior, the handsome Doctor Caldwell was slashed in the face by a disturbed young woman he'd picked up on that selfsame vacation. It's not directly stated, but given Caldwell's comments..."Maybe I deserve this..." in reference to his habitual sleeping around, I feel like we, the audience, are meant to imagine that the knife used in the slashing was perhaps contaminated with infected blood, perhaps from the woman who assaulted him. Or maybe not, but it feels like a bit of dramatic irony the writers enjoy--the handsome plastic surgeon not only scarred by a scalpel, but doomed by it. 

Meanwhile, several members of an influential family, the Endicotts, clearly modelled after the Rockefellers or the Kennedys are at the hospital visiting their matriarch, the kindly grandmother undergoing open heart surgery to extend their life. The family is burdened with their fame and fortune and the responsibilities that come with it, three generations at odds with each other. 

Doctor Axelrod, not at all a part of these proceedings, is tending to a strange, angry patient who reacts violently to Axelrod's tests. At one point, the patient growls "You ever wonder why it's always you?" He delivers the line with eerie precision, looking straight into Axelrod's eyes, as if knowing that Axelrod is well-known for saying "Why me?" when he gets saddled with the worst cases. 

A few minutes later, Wayne's ex-fiancee Mona runs into Doctor Morrison in the hallway and confesses that she's long had a crush on him . . . and she says . . . 

"I can't stop thinking about you . . . dreaming about being together." 

At this point I thought I must have been hallucinating, but I went reviewed each scene, and yes, the phrase really is used four times by four different characters--each infatuated by the other's ex-partner. It's farcical, the kind of thing that could only happen in an invented world. 

It all comes to a head during the temporal intersection of three events: Doctor Craig is performing the heart operation on the Endicott patriarch, the Endicott father and son/grandson are praying together for their mother/grandmother's health while discussing their political destinies, and off-duty doctors are celebrating Doctor Morrison's birthday.

The operation ends not with tragedy, but a near-miss; the matriarch almost dies, but she pulls through. Wayne and Boomer mutually agree to pursue their exes with no hard feelings. But the women suddenly find that they're once again attracted to the men they broke up with. 

And in the chapel, the deranged man that was being treated by the luckless Doctor Axelrod walks in and assassinates the matriarch's son, the man who had been destined as the next major presidential candidate. A harrowing action sequence follows, and of course poor traumatized Axelrod and recently-bombed Chandler are the doctors who try and fail to save him. 

"Family Feud" is the best example yet of the show's creators winking at the audience that this is more than a straight hospital drama; it's an exploration of the soap opera genre, seeing to what heights of absurdity they can reach while still retaining the facade of a reasonably grounded work of art. 

Naturally, this is my favourite episode so far. It makes me feel like the world of St. Elsewhere is a close neighbour to the world of Twin Peaks. 

Memory Tools

Here are some of Granddad's old tools. Mom and Dad mounted these on a board from one of the Etsell sheds some years ago. These tools could date back to the 1930s. I'll find a spot to hang this; Sean has a similar tool board. I should ask him to take a photo. 

EDIT: He took a photo! I was mistaken. Sean took a barn board, but it didn't have tools on it. Instead, he mounted it on his wall, added hooks, and now he hangs his stuff on it. 

Memory Beacon

Sean and I each brought home one of these Beacon oil lanterns, originally used on the Etsell farm in Virden, Manitoba, and residing at Mom and Dad's place as long as I can remember...maybe since 1982, when Grandma died. General Steel Works started making these in 1911, but I don't think this one is that old, though I suppose it could be. I suspect it dates back at least to the 1940s. I'd say it might become handy when the apocalypse comes, but first I'd need to find oil and a wick to make it useful. 

EDIT: Sean reminded me that we actually gave the other oil lantern to Aunt Jean and Uncle John when they came by for Mom's celebration of life last year. 
 

The Memory Pool

As Sean and I continue to manage Mom's estate, we inevitably come upon connections to our family's past. I took this framed certificate down from the rec room wall today, and I don't know what to do with it. As a senior member of Manitoba Pool, Mom's dad would have been involved in governing the cooperative. I wonder what issues he might have voted on or advocated for. I don't remember Mom ever mentioning it. And unfortunately, I barely remember Granddad; he died not longer after this certificate was issued, and because we lived in northern Manitoba and Mom's parents in southern Manitoba, I probably only interacted with the man five or six times over the course of my life. 

I don't want to recycle it. But on the other hand, I have no heirs, so when I'm gone, whatever poor soul has to dispense with my estate will have to deal with it (along with all my other stuff). So keeping this only delays the inevitable. And creates more work for someone in the future. 

Sean and I have had to make some hard choices when it comes to Mom and Dad's stuff. We're trying to find good homes for anything useful. But for things like this, that only had meaning for Mom or Dad or maybe tangentially to Sean or me . . . I feel such guilt. On the other hand, I like to think that somehow our ancestors understand, and that they've moved beyond concerns like this. 




 

The Westphall

I was playing with Gemini tonight and asked it to turn a collection of images of a prop from an old 1970s kid show into a futuristic ambulance registered to St. Eligius. Then I remembered that technically, thanks to Tommy Westphall, St. Eligius exists in the same universe as the United Federation of Planets. So I turned my attention to the air tram seen in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. 

Voila, a Federation-style hospital shuttle, the Westphall, assigned to St. Eligius in Boston. 

In an eerie coincidence, just as I opened up blogger for this post, an amnesiac patient on the episode of St. Elsewhere I'm currently watching was flipping through television channels. We hear Captain Kirk say "Space, the final frontier," and the amnesiac's channel surfing ends on the famous MTM production cat animation--a cute in-joke. 

Of course, this means either that, in the expanded St. Elsewhere television universe, Star Trek exists as a television series that somehow foretells over 80 future events (counting the episodes and movies). Alternatively, the universe of St. Elsewhere has a show that duplicates our version of Star Trek's opening title sequence. 

I feel like the universe has been trying to tell me something important for years. 

Cheers to St. Elsewhere

During St. Elsewhere's season three finale, Doctors Donald Westphall, Mark Craig, and Daniel Auschlander head to Cheers for beer. 

Television crossovers are an old phenomenon, still seen today, but they're reasonably rare and thus still feel special, suggesting fictional worlds larger than the restrictions of any one drama or comedy. When I first read that the Cheers/St. Elsewhere crossover existed, I wondered how the creators of the episode would balance the very different tones of the two shows. 

As it turns out, and as I suppose should have been obvious, the crossover was a St. Elsewhere episode, not a Cheers episode, so drama won out. The three doctors have a pretty serious discussion at the bar, and the laughs aren't terribly uproarious. Carla Tortelli (Rhea Perlman) is as sharp-mouthed as ever as she waits on the doctors' table, calling St. Eligius a dump and crossing swords with the equally sharp-tongued Doctor Craig. Norm (George Wendt) recognizes Doctor Auschlander when he walks into the bar, and there's a brief exchange about taxes; Norm, it turns out, is the good doctor's accountant. And finally. Cliff (John Ratzenberger) drifts by the table to share some of his overblown erudition. 

It all works, because the crossover feels organic. The scene is given just as much weight as it would have had there been no crossover at all; that is, if they'd gone to some other bar filled with nameless extras. If it was intended as a way to boost ratings for St. Elsewhere, the crossover was certainly handled more artistically than one might have expected. 

It's a-Me, Earlio!

And Sean-io. 
 

Invitation to Consider Invitation to Love

During the first season of Twin Peaks, we see several characters watching Invitation to Love, a soap opera that seems as crazed and histrionic as Twin Peaks itself can be. This gave me a thought today: If the characters in Twin Peaks watch Invitation to Love, do the characters in Invitation to Love watch Twin Peaks? 

In real life, Mark Frost took the helm for the Invitation to Love sequences, all shot over the course of one day for later insertion into Twin Peaks. Reportedly, co-creator David Lynch didn't like Frost's overt parody of the soap opera genre, so the device was allowed to fade out. It's too bad; it's a nicely Shakespearean conceit, and I would have loved to see it return in, well, The Return. 

Back to the meta question: The answer, for me, is yes, Jade and Montana and the others are just as enthralled with the drama of Twin Peaks as the people of Twin Peaks (the town) are with the world of Invitation to Love. The symmetry is just too perfect to ignore. 

What brought this question to mind today? I stumbled across Nestflix, a website dedicated to shows-within-shows. According to Nestflix, Invitation to Love ran for 10 seasons! 

Some Feelings on Fiscus

 

Howie Mandel as Doctor Wayne Fiscus

I've never been a fan of Howie Mandel.

That's a me problem, not a Mandel problem. His particular comic persona just isn't to my taste, accomplished as he may be. 

But I must say that I really enjoy Mandel as Doctor Wayne Fiscus, St. Eligius' emergency room resident. Fiscus likes to goof around a bit, but he's affectionate, cares about patients and staff alike, and does the right thing even when it's hard. Also, he's a casual dresser, and complains righteously when he's forced to wear a suit and tie while on duty. I loathe suits and ties, so naturally I'm sympathetic to the character's plight. 

I look forward to seeing where Mandel takes this character. In the almost-three seasons I've watched so far, he's already grown significantly. I hope that continues to the end of the series.