Blogcritics

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Detective Robert Goren - "Have You No Shame? Don't You See Me?"

trinket — Wed, 12 Apr 2006 11:03:24 EDT

This series is a form of creative writing known as fan fiction. Detective Robert Goren is a regular character on the Dick Wolf television show Law & Order: Criminal Intent. What follows is one longtime viewer's breath of life into an already popular character.Did you ever allow someone to get to know you, the real you, only to realize that it was a colossal mistake? Did you ever start to piece together a friendship built completely on trust and honesty only to discover that it was a sham from the get go, unbeknownst to you? Have you ever trusted someone with absolutely everything only to find yourself betrayed to the core?So here I sit, wondering how this has happened. How could I have let anyone get close enough to hurt me this much? Especially when I thought I've been more guarded than ever before. I've been screwed with so much in the last year that I was sure, I knew that my instincts could not, would not fail me now. Don't you see? I'm supposed to be smarter now. I've been through so much crap, so many mind games that I'm supposed to see a game 10,000 feet away. No one could screw with my brain now -- or so I thought.Instead my mind has been messed with for months. This is by someone that I grew to trust while dealing with everyday life. Someone who encouraged me to let my emotions go. They "needed to come out". Eventually I knew, absolutely knew it was safe. Anything, any emotion was safe. I could be real and it was okay. I didn't need to keep the typical walls up. I could answer the phone and breathe a sigh of relief when I heard a particular voice because I didn't need to fake my way through another conversation. I could just be however I really was and it was okay. Not only was it okay, but I was always left feeling better, stronger and very fortunate to have such a good person listening. Such a kind, gracious person that I would have done absolutely anything for.What a gullible asshole I am. I'm sick thinking about it.Trust. Faith in anyone. Both of these are shot. I trust no one, nor do I care to. It has only led to my deep freeze of late. I used to put others first but obviously that has been a mistake. Just a week ago I told this person that I never questioned what they told me and that I always believed that they were honest with me. Always. "Trusted beyond compare" I think was my exact phrasing. Good God, I'm better off alone. I've been in avoid people mode most of my life and it really is turning out to be better that way. Maybe superficiality is underrated. Maybe it does have its high points.The worst thing is realizing, truly understanding just how unimportant and disposable I have been. Wouldn't you think after months of connecting and long conversations, don't you think that person would matter? Don't your friends matter to you? I know mine do. This particular person keeps lying, in order to save their own sorry ass. Poof. I no longer mattered in the least. The SUPPOSED emotional connection became invisible, as if it never existed. I spent months handing myself to someone that in one instant declared me nonexistent. Or worse yet, just a small detail, a wrinkle in their otherwise wonderful life. Certainly not the priority that I was made to feel I had become.My eyes give everything, every emotion that I have away. It has always been that way. I don't need to speak really. My eyes tell all. So how can someone look into my eyes and bold face lie? Lie and see me in return looking back with full implicit trust. How does anyone do that to someone that they care about? I know we all hurt each other but why do it intentionally? Why say something dishonest, especially something that really matters.I've always been a loner and so letting people closer, this was new to me. I've found comfort in the good feelings. Because in spite of all the garbage, I've still been able to see and appreciate the good. Now what? What do you do when you realize that a good chunk of the good was fake? A person that you saw as proof that good people still exist has turned out to be worse than you ever imagined possible.What do you do when you have to accept that someone that you knew would never speak badly of you has done just that while playing hot potato with your heart and soul?I don't let many people in. Not many get really close to me, the real me anyway. What I've learned this past week is that my protective walls need to be much higher because something really big got by me this time.

Trinket has worked as a journalist for the last 15 years covering sports, entertainment while dabbling in satire. She has taken multitasking to a crazed level juggling work, 3 little diva's and putting the finishing touches on an upcoming book.

Detective Robert Goren - Good Vs. Evil - Part Two

trinket — Thu, 23 Mar 2006 17:01:23 EST

Detective Robert Goren: The Lesser of The Evils

trinket — Tue, 21 Mar 2006 06:42:03 EST

This series is a form of creative writing known as fan fiction. Detective Robert Goren is a regular character on the Dick Wolf television show, Law & Order: Criminal Intent. What follows is one longtime viewer's breath of life into an already popular character. I'm waiting to hear back from my mother's doctor. After her recent break they've tried lowering her meds back down a bit. The thinking was to stabilize her and then try to get her back to the lower dosage. Last night she had a setback. The problem is nothing appeared to trigger it. She was alone in her room and basically just collapsed mentally all over again. She slept last night and woke this morning in the same fragile state. They opted to pump her full of those damn drugs again and she'll be down for the day. I'm not sure what the next step is. Keeping the meds elevated leaves her really lethargic at best. But does she need a higher dose. Is it better for her to be unaware of her inner demons? I just don't know what to even hope for. Whatever is in her best interest is best. Escaping her inner torture is a blessing I'm sure. I know that. But what quality of life is that? Not that a mental break every few weeks is better. It's beginning to feel like a lose/lose situation. She has been slipping away from me for most of my life. I've watched it, seen the gradual mental decomposition and it... Hurts, but she has always known me. An increase at this point means she won't always communicate or even realize I'm in the room. If she does realize I'm there she may not know who I am.The lesser of the evils... for her. How do I know what that even is? All the thinking, trying to figure out what is really best has made me really look at my mom's life overall. I could say upping meds so that she is lethargic if not catatonic is lousy, but is it better than her moment by moment reality when she is clear and alert? No one but her can really answer that. Clear-headed but haunted, or spacey and at peace? I think it's one of those situations where you think you know what you'd rather but when presented with the situation for real, your mind could change.When I think about her relationship with my father... I wonder if she just couldn't handle him. Did she start backslidding mentally because it was better, easier than staying in the present. Was it easier to get lost in her own psychosis than it was to really admit how lousy her life with her husband was? Even when I was a kid and they'd fight, I knew what he did was wrong. I blamed her for him leaving, but I also thought he treated her badly. He was always so self- important and self-absorbed. Every conversation was turned into something about himself. He had a way of doing that and it drove everyone nuts. You always felt like he was superior, not because he really was, but because he needed to believe he was. His own arrogance led him to believe that he could say whatever the hell he liked to anyone at all - but if they responded, well. How dare they? How dare anyone say anything negative about him?A fine example of a man who could dish it but couldn't handle getting back what he brought on himself.In many ways they were polar opposites. Mom wanted peace and calm while dad thrived on chaos and drama. Two radically different sets of needs trying to coexist in a merged world. I can to this day remember mom trying to talk to him and feeling... less than him. Or that's how she believed he saw her. One night not long before he left us I heard them fighting. I didn't understand it very much then. Now as a grown man it kills me. She was asking for the simplest of things. Emotional support. She felt doomed in his presence. He wanted particular things accomplished then slammed her when she tried to do them. The gist was if you can't be supportive then at the very least, stop dragging me down. "If you love me why do you take so much pleasure in insulting me just for kicks?"I can still hear her saying that. How did he respond to her request to back off and stop being so hurtful? By slinging more insults. Pushing more buttons. Belittling her for things undone and insulting anything accomplished. Hitting raw nerves one at a time until she finally snapped and punched him.I can still see the big, pompous, self-important man on the living room floor choking my mother while I watched from the next room. Mangling the body of the woman who was half his size. Sealing the deal, showing her exactly what type of dirt beneath his shoes he thought her to be. She was good enough to carry his children, cook his meals, cater to his insane extended family, but how dare she... How dare she ask that he treat her with the same respect that she instinctively tried to give him? The nerve of her to initiate a conversation where she simply asked to be treated with a little bit of kindness. A reminder that she needed to feel supported and held up by someone and as her husband, shouldn't he be the one to want to do that?My father left that night after finally letting mom go. He was gone for a few hours and I'm sure she prayed he would drive his sorry, drunken ass into a telephone pole. She was oblivious to me even being there. She was just lost in her own thoughts. I lost count of how many times I heard her tell herself out loud that she hated him."I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."It was almost like a chant.The next morning she was withdrawn from everything. Bruised and slow moving. She looked defeated physically but emotionally I think he did choke some of the life from her. That was a clear turning point in her sickness. If she stayed lost in her own head, if she withdrew into her own deluded world - well maybe those delusions were better than reality. Maybe in her delusions she fits in. Maybe the people who live in her head, maybe they treat her with kindness. Maybe she is treated like a human being there and maybe she believed that no one on the outside, no one in the real world, would ever treat her well for very long. So she retreats back into her own created safety zone.All she wanted was to have a husband that adored her and instead I think he truly broke her.

Detective Robert Goren - A Singular Touch of Grace

trinket — Mon, 20 Mar 2006 13:03:14 EST

Detective Robert Goren - That Sinking Feeling

trinket — Fri, 17 Mar 2006 09:05:06 EST

Detective Robert Goren - Rewind and Rethink

trinket — Thu, 16 Mar 2006 12:52:40 EST

Detective Robert Goren - TipToe Into Sadness

trinket — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 18:21:46 EST

This series is a form of creative writing known as fan fiction. Detective Robert Goren is a regular character on the Dick Wolf television show, Law & Order: Criminal Intent. What follows is one longtime viewer's breath of life into an already popular character.Last Sunday I woke a bit later than usual. Sleeping late always leaves me feeling out of sorts. It's as if my body realizes just how tired it really is and I end up feeling exhausted instead of refreshed. I was fumbling around trying to make coffee when bits and pieces of a nightmare started coming back to me. Something about a little boy found in the river. Somehow I knew that his father was responsible and had tossed him off the bridge alive because in the dream there was a struggle, a kid screaming and then a boy's body being pulled. That was pretty much the sequence or at least it was how I remembered it to be. It was vivid and I knew it was so real to me because well, it triggered me but I tried to let it go. Awhile later I went out to grab a paper and there on the front page I read:Boy Thrown From Bridge By Father Feared DeadI was off of work and apparently this had transpired late the night before. By morning they were still searching for the boy's body.This kind of thing has happened to me before, I don't know why. Maybe I've been doing this for so long that I instinctively know the patterns of crime waves and sense what hasn't happened in awhile. Maybe it's a fluke or maybe it's because my dreams are so frequently frightening and disturbing that sooner or later I have to get it right.I don't know but it really is my secondary thought.My first thought was knowing, absolutely knowing how frightened that boy was.I spoke with my mother last night - a normal occurrence. I always check in with her when I get home from work. This week she has been a bit clearer than I've seen her in awhile. I'm used to her illness kind of going in cycles. She has a rough patch and then slowly comes out of it and seems fine. Almost like she doesn't even belong in Carmel Ridge. Her lucid weeks are spent with her inhaling every bit of reading material that she can get her hands on. It's almost as if she makes up for the time she lost while being sedated or heavily medicated. No matter how much I bring her to read, the next week she'll have moved on to a pile of stuff that other patients or nurses have given to her.When I was a kid she'd get three newspapers every day. Two obviously based in NYC but one was from upstate "where the winters are white and streets are lined with flowers once the weather warms." When I say upstate I mean, way up in the Adirondacks where the seasons are at full throttle. Now I can see that it was her daily escape. She wished for that normal life on a tree-lined street with a good husband and nice kids. Somehow she equated the idea of leaving the city as a way to maybe change what she already had, but for the better. One week every summer we would go up to Lake George where my grandparents had a cottage. Mom was always so happy to get away and dad, well he hated having to leave the city. His drinking buddies. His other women. There was always a lot of resentment coming from my father. Even before I was old enough to grasp what it was, I remember feeling it. My brother though, he never cut him a break ever. When i was maybe five or six I knew that dad didn't seem to like us much but it never really occurred to me that it mattered because we had mom. Dad was always angry and loud so I just tried to stay out of his way. I don't even think I feared him at that age. I was just already self-programmed to cut out if he walked into the room and sat down.The week before my 6th birthday we were returning from the Lake after what was a really explosive week. Dad was fighting with everyone or no one, over everything and nothing. I couldn't wait to get home but the car ride back was just torture. It was dark by the time we were back in the city and my father had ranted most of the way home. As we hit the bridge my brother muttered, "Thank god." Two simple words of relief. The nightmare was almost over. We'd be out of that car soon. My father, sensing the relief in my brother's voice, asked what he meant by the comment. I mean, it was self-explanatory really and a sentiment my mother and I both shared. I don't think my brother even managed to get a word out before my father pulled over to the side and started screaming at him. Running down the list of imagined things wrong with his son as he so often liked to do. He got out of the car, pulling my brother who was seated directly behind him out as well, dragging him over to the edge of the bridge. He was yelling something about throwing him over and my mother jumped out of the car screaming. I couldn't even look. That was the first moment that I remember realizing what my father was capable of. I was sure he was going to throw my brother and our mother both in the river. I was crunched in a ball on the floor behind the passenger's seat hoping that he would simply forget about me. I was absolutely terrified for what seemed like hours. Eventually the door opened and my brother was literally thrown into the backseat but landed on top of me where he stayed the rest of the drive home. His face scared the hell out of me. Now I know that he went beyond terrified and probably had completely dissociated, luckily for him. But at the time I didn't understand. I also still believed that my mother was a safety net for us.When I spoke with her last night she mentioned different things that she had read and finally she started to talk about the little boy whose father tossed him off the bridge last weekend. The conversation that I have dreaded all week - that I've half prayed would never come about. She was really upset when speaking of the boy and I knew that this was where her lines were blurring just a bit. This horrible thing gave her the chance to speak about what had happened with my brother without having to be direct, even obvious. She projected a lot on to the little boy, things clearly she thought and felt for my brother but couldn't let herself say. If she showed fear to my father he reveled in it, so she always had to take a smart approach. He wanted to scare her, panic her, provoke her and very rarely did she let him see it. I know he got her often but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. At least not until her illness completely overtook her. She told me last night that she had resisted taking meds when we were younger because she was afraid that she wouldn't be "sharp or alert" enough to protect us.It was lose/lose though. It was him, not her. On her best days now at least she half believes that. He could have helped her and instead he tormented her and then terrified her children right in front of her.I got a call from my mother's doctor at 6am. She isn't doing well at all. They aren't sure why but she had some sort of "break" during the night. They sedated her and she'll be down for the day. I'm going to have to take a drive up after work. The doctor said that she has seemed more agitated in the last two days then they've seen her in months.I know what triggered it. The boy she read about the other day. I was so worried that this could happen. I know that she needs to get things out but I never know how much is too much. If I know she's struggling I'm careful about what I'll even bring her to read. I know she gets stuff from others so I can't keep every trigger away from her, but I try. This time, I knew... I knew there was a small chance but I just let it go. She has been okay and I thought she could handle it. I should have known better. I just should have.When she brought it up the other night I hoped that letting her talk and get it out would help, somehow prevent, something. Instead I handed her Pandora's Box and held the lid open for her. Now she's in a bed being pumped full of drugs.Completely my fault. I have two things in this world that I need to do, go to work and keep my mother as okay and balanced as possible. This week I'm failing at both.Her doctor made some comment about her coming out of this and he chased it with, "She's a lot like you." Could anything scare me more?

Detective Robert Goren: Nemesis or Perfect Match?

trinket — Tue, 14 Mar 2006 16:54:23 EST

Detective Robert Goren - Don't Be A Deadman Walking

trinket — Sun, 12 Mar 2006 11:58:22 EST

Detective Robert Goren Fading

trinket — Fri, 10 Mar 2006 17:40:34 EST