the end of an era

Oh, HBO, when will we meet again? You have given me so much - so much - that I feel at a loss without you. And now, as all our love children fade away, I realise that we will always have good memories, but I wish I could be certain we will have more.

Deadwood was a shy foray. It took a long time to digest this offering, a dish that I rarely enjoyed, with its cowboys and expectoration. At first, I fought the urge to detest the show on principle; however, presented as it was with such a lovely side dish, I couldn't help myself. I will be the first to admit that I had put off finishing this for too long - but now that it's done, I will also admit to a certain... emptiness. It does not seem that the residents of Deadwood are any different from when we started this journey. This last bit was tough to swallow. But I'm happy to have sampled of it, if for no other reason than to say "I tried."

Then there was the glamour of Rome. When you take a girl out, you sure do show her a good time. All that flash and flesh! You turned my head, yes sir. With production values to match any blockbuster, acting to rival Stratford and a plot that kept me enthralled, you bewitched me... Italian-style. It was brief affair, I know, but every moment was dripping in a sensuousness that has yet to be rivalled. I pity those who haven't pleasured in this particular partaking.

But, the pièce de résistance was in the final act: you wooed me completely with The Wire. Your gifts of realism and drama, of Omar and Snoop, of tight scripts and rewarding foreshadowing... they overwhelmed me. We had our moments of weakness (Season 2 wasn't pretty), but you never failed to surprise me, hook me and keep me begging for me. You never tried to sugar coat it - you said here's the real city, take it or leave it. But you knew - you always knew - that once I had gotten a taste, I would never be able to leave. Saying goodbye on Sunday was one of the most painful things I've done in TV-land. Even as I sat there, hunched over, devouring every moment, I hoped in futility that it would never end. What a bittersweet taste it left.

But end, it has. With the last box set boxed, the final CD placed in its case... it's time that you retreat. I don't know where you go, but I await with bated breath and pensive heart for your next visit. Do not say you will abandon me thus, forever! I shall take comfort in rewatching Omar and Mouzone smoke Stringer, in Vorenus and Titus Pullo braving many a great odd stacked against them, in Bullock's jaw-grinding passion and Swidgen's moral ambiguity.

Until we meet again, my love.