is nostalgia useful?

Gabe Saporta (of Midtown and Cobra Starship fame) once wrote a long post on his now purged tumblr entitled ‘nostalgia is the failure of true emotion‘. The post, which I will have to paraphrase from memory, wasn’t dissimilar in intention to the truism that “remember when?” is the lowest form of conversation. It’s not a real or immediate feeling, it’s a memory of a one. It’s a failure to live in and experience the current moment, and as such, it’s not mindful and it’s not authentic.

I’m not certain I agree with this, but I am a person who has lived the majority of her life drowning in nostalgia. I’m not sure what it is about me that makes me so achingly backwards-looking, but I only need a distance of about six months to romanticise a past that was, at the time, unbearable. In this way, nostalgia has been a curse since my early teens – I have never truly been able to appreciate the time in which I’m living because I’m always certain that other times were infinitely better.

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sometimes you see yourself

Have you ever read something and sort of wanted to burst into flames because you see yourself in it so clearly?

“Should you happen to be possessed of a certain verbal acuity coupled with a relentless, hair-trigger humor and surface cheer spackling over a chronic melancholia and loneliness – a grotesquely caricatured version of your deepest self, which you trot out at the slightest provocation to endearing and glib comic effect, thus rendering you the kind of fellow who is beloved by all yet loved by none, all of it to distract, however fleetingly, from the cold and dead-faced truth that with each passing year you face the unavoidable certainty of a solitary future in which you will perish one day while vainly attempting the Heimlich maneuver on yourself over the back of a kitchen chair” – David Rakoff

Sherlock: The Abominable Episode

After a two year break, Sherlock was back on TV on Friday night, for a one-off ‘period’ special. I want to state, before I get started, that I have been an enormous Sherlock fan in my day. I’m talking fanfiction-writing (eep), theory-making, london-visiting, Moffat-forgiving levels of fandom.

Sherlock was the first show I reviewed when I started my brief student job reviewing pop culture for CultBox, which has blossomed in my absence* into a really reputable, entertaining website.

I went in with high hopes. Like many, I’d felt a dip in quality in the third series, but I’d enjoyed Mary Watson as a character and John’s grudging acceptance that he’s fundamentally attracted to dangerous, dark people. I also found that it improved on the second watch.

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