(The title of this post is an inside joke that I share with Peter. At least, I think it is...)
In August 2001, I had a relationship end suddenly. Luckily, the cable provider for my apartment complex was running a free trial of a movie network (read: low-budget HBO equivalent), so I didn't have to find all of my comfort in ice cream and anonymous sex. That's when I started watching Six Feet Under.
From the outset, I was hooked. The show took me away to Los Angeles, and I got swept up in the lives of the Fisher family. Eventually, the series was picked up on the Showcase channel in Canada, but it was always very far behind HBO's broadcast. I was content to wait--the show was worth it.
So that's why I'm just now watching the final season. I've resisted the urge to go on a renting spree at the video store, limiting myself to any episodes I missed from Showcase.
Even after five seasons, and even if I'm watching the show on tape or DVD, I still watch the stunningly beautiful opening credits. The music, the font... I just love it.
So, please excuse me for my absence the last few days. There has been a death in my television family.
Only two episodes left...