Shall I Compare Steven Moffat to a Bloody Diaper? - Part 3

The Angels Take Manhattan

Here we are at last. The Unforgivable Episode. The one that ruined the Doctor.

This was originally going to be its own standalone post, but I felt that I ultimately needed more background to explain why this episode was so maddening and so very, very disappointing. That's why there had to be two preceding segments, Part 1 and Part 2.

I've been re-watching a lot of these episodes to make sure that I have my facts straight and my ducks in a row. I cannot describe to you the sense of dread I experienced sitting down and pressing play on this episode. Hopefully by getting this out, it will begin to hurt less.

So, what was wrong with this episode? Well, not to sound too melodramatic, but everything. Every single premise on which the episode relies is false or flawed.

I'll go in the order of the notes I took while re-watching the episode:

The Weeping Angels are a vastly ancient, mysterious race of beings who bear the physical appearance of angels and involuntarily turn to stone whenever seen. In the episode we see a group of their young, who appear as cherubs. Adorable. That makes sense. However, we also see a mother and child statue that end up being "Angels" and in the beginning of the episode we see that the Statue of Liberty is in fact also an "Angel."

What? No! In no previous episode containing the Angels (all written by Moffat) were they able to infect statues to become animate. The Angels are not statues. They are living beings turned to stone. What I mean is that no one ever sculpted the Angels, they are a biological life form. They're ostensibly fleshy when no one's watching. This "infection" angle is brand new, out of left-field, and once again, as with the Dalek sleeper agents, no one talks about it. In previous episodes, it was always a big deal when we discovered a new ability of theirs, but not this time. None of it makes any sense.

Also, I cannot emphasize enough what a foolish notion it is that the Statue of Liberty is an "Angel." First of all, when is no one looking at it? Second, remember the huge footsteps that would occasionally pause and it turned out it was her all along? Well, the only reason that it would have occasionally paused like that is if someone were looking at it. Which means that people would occasionally notice Lady Liberty creeping through the city on her way to that hotel. And what, then they just looked away long enough for her to continue? A 15-story copper monster can apparently just mosey through 7 million people and no one notices. And remember that whole "That which bears the image of an Angel becomes and Angel" business? That means that all of the tourists through New York, students with textbooks, and maybe even some stamp collectors are all harboring the Angel of Liberty.

Next, the Doctor believes that River has to get a broken wrist because Amy read it in the book that River will write about this adventure, and not doing so would break causality. This is a deeply flawed presumption. Amy read out a couple of lines of dialog, that's it. The only thing that would actually have to happen is the saying of those words. As long River says "Why do you have to break mine?" and the Doctor says "Because Amy read it in a book and now I have no choice," then the prophecy is fulfilled. Nothing actually has to get broken. This whole thing also relies on the belief that the book was 100% accurate. What if River had gotten the line wrong when she wrote it?


So River breaks her wrist getting out and the Doctor uses his Paladin ability "Lay on Hands" in order to heal it... What?! This is not a thing. Why did this happen? The Doctor cannot heal with a touch. If he could, I'm pretty sure we would have seen this before. Well, maybe it only works on other Timelords. Well, if that were the case, I'm pretty sure he would have given it a try when his daughter got shot, or when the Master got shot. Okay, when I said that I wasn't going to bitch about Moffat ignoring anything that came before him, I meant like him not referencing previous characters and plot-lines, not tearing causality a new asshole.

. . .

So, Rory's trapped in a basement with a bunch of Weeping Cherubs. He's holding a match and one of them, in stone form, blows it out. Bullshit. It's never been implied that an Angel simply gets encased in a molecular thin layer of stone when being observed. They turn completely to stone. You can't blow out a match with stone lungs.

But they got him anyway and he gets teleported to the middle of a street somewhere. From there, instead of trying to phone his wife of just staying put until they come and get him, he wanders into the Angel Hotel for no reason whatsoever. Except that it was necessary for the plot to continue. And if the Angels wanted him in the hotel,
why not just teleport him directly inside?

Right, so the Angel Hotel. This is a brilliant idea. However, it's too bad that they got it completely wrong in every way. Here's how it should work: Let's say for sake of argument that the Angels send a person back 50 years whenever they touch them. Let's also say that they built the hotel in 1880. That means that their first victim will pop into existence in 1830, well before the hotel is build and live out their lives. From 1880 until 1930, their crop of first-round victims will be sent back to 1830 to 1880. Their first victim after their 50th anniversary in 1930 will get sent back to 1880 in the hotel, where they will feed on him again and send him back to 1830 with the first guy. So basically, the second that they open their doors in 1880, they're getting not only their first-round victims, but also their victims from 50, 100, 150 years in the future and so on. Interestingly enough, they'll have the most food they'll ever have in the very beginning and all of their victims ever end up in the 50 years before the hotel opens. It's a brilliant idea. The thing is, they get their food from displacing people back in time, so there's absolutely zero benefit from keeping them there and taking care of them until they die of old age. Speaking of which, who the fuck is taking care of them? Who is printing out those name cards? Who is making their food? Is there an Angel in a kitchen somewhere making stew for everyone? It's just ludicrous.

So in the end, an Angel gets Amy and Rory and they get sent back in time. The Doctor can't go back and rescue them because they already lived out their lives and died, which is confirmed by their gravestone. Undoing this outcome would cause another paradox and rip like, everything ever apart.

Except, that is complete foolishness. Like the book dialog, all that it written in stone is their names. There is absolutely nothing keeping the Doctor from going back, grabbing them, and placing a gravestone with their names in the cemetery. Causality would be ensured and Rory and Amy wouldn't have to live and die in old-timey New York. And it doesn't matter that the TARDIS can't go back to 1938 New York (if that's where they went), because even if he can't, there's no reason he can't go to 1938 New Jersey and take a cab. Besides, there shouldn't even be time distortions anymore now that the Angels never had their hotel. And whatever happened to the Angel that got them? What do you even do with a spare, rogue Angel?

The big emotional climax of the half-season arc was how tragic it was that after everything, at the last moment Amy and Rory were taken away in an unavoidable moment of destiny.

Except that, no. Just...

Shall I Compare Steven Moffat to a Bloody Diaper? - Part 2

This is the second of a three part segment in which I explain my negative feelings concerning Steven Moffat. If you missed part one, you can find it here. For the rest of us, let's continue...

Season seven finally rolled around and I was cautiously optimistic. I'm a bit of a fool that way. It was my hope that they had just had a couple of bad moments and that everyone had gotten used to working with each other and were ready to blow my mind.

Asylum of the Daleks

My excitement was increased when I watched an interview with Moffat in which he talked about the season premier. The Doctor would face off against the Daleks that even the Daleks thought were too mad. The possibilities were enthralling. 

What if they went down and found this compound filled with Dalek prison gangs all fighting for dominance? Since Daleks are a lot like Beholders in that any variation amongst them is seen as inferiority, this could lead to some truly intriguing power struggles. Can you imagine a 12-foot tall, mad, Dalek faction leader with a couple of side mounted missile launchers and symbols carved into its chassis like prison tats? It would be a remarkable opportunity to introduce named, possibly recurring villains and introduce some depth.

Except that instead, they all went down to the Junkyard of the Daleks. It was just a series of old, dusty garages filled with sleeping, rusty Daleks. None of these creatures were portrayed as unique or interesting in any way. The entire thing seemed like a clumsy vehicle to introduce Clara Oswin Oswald, a way-too-smart, pretty young girl that had managed to get herself turned into a Dalek.

What? What the fuck?! Look, I know I said that I wasn't going to refer back to anything that happened pre-Moffat, but I just can't let this go. Back in the season one finale, one of the big reveals was that the Dalek Emperor had rebuilt the his race by cultivating a few worthy cells from millions of kidnapped and processed humans. This dude went through an insane amount of effort to crate Daleks, while these guys can apparently just flip a switch somewhere get a one-to-one Human/Dalek ratio.

Fine, whatever, but the Daleks also have the ability to cover a planet in a nanite cloud that can convert all tissue, living or dead, into Daleks and make sleeper agents out of them and nobody talks about it?! Everybody just goes along like this is something that just happens now. There's nothing to stop the most vicious race of race of xenophobic psychopaths the universe has ever produced from stopping by a world, dropping in a nanite bomb, and leaving with a whole planet of extra soldiers and no one thinks about it? Not even the Daleks? I just... it hurts.

Then Clara decides to kill herself, because life is easier that way.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship

The Doctor, Rory, Amy, a big game hunter, and Queen Nefertiti try to wrest control of a giant spaceship from the janitor of Hogwarts before it crashes into Earth. The only thing stopping them are a couple of dimwitted killer robots voiced by the always delightful British comedians David Mitchell and Robert Webb. Also, there are dinosaurs. Through a series of trickery and quick thinking, the Doctor slides into victory, but not before allowing the robots to murder an outrageously adorable dog-like triceratops named Tricey.

We all love dinosaurs and spaceships, so it would seem pretty hard to fuck this one up.

Except that they find a way. I think fucking up is to Steven Moffat what life is to Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park: it finds a way.

The absolute only threat in this entire episode is those two robots. Two rusty, old, not-at-all made of wood robots. Also, the Doctor has a sonic screwdriver that is adept at disrupting all kinds of circuitry, especially, say... two rusty, old, not-at-all made of wood robots.

This wouldn't have been a difficult thing to get around. All it would have taken is five seconds of screen time in which he scans the robots and tells us all that they have some sort of "sonic shielding" or some such. I don't care what they call it, but give us some device to tell us that this wouldn't work. It's not even like this technique is unknown to them. They even use it in that very episode for something else. When they accidentally got teleported somewhere on the ship, they couldn't teleport back because some circuit or another had been fried. It didn't matter, it was just a device to get them to run from some pterodactyls and that was fine. Just have the decency to do the same thing in order to protect the central plot of the story.

A Town Called Mercy

The scene opens with a guy named Kahler-Mas getting gunned down in the American Southwest by a cyborg in a poncho and a cowboy hat.

The cyborg, Kahler-Tek is hunting down Kahler-Jex, the last of the war criminals responsible for turning him and many others into war machines against their will. However, in the interim, Jex had become a beloved town physician, leading to some conflicts of interest. In the end, the Doctor distracts the cyborg using the plot of "Amigos, Amigos, Amigos" enabling Jex takes a step toward redemption my ending his own life so that no one else has to die and Tek doesn't have to take another life. Touching.

Except... why was the alien space cyborg wearing a poncho and cowboy hat? This may seem like a tiny complaint, but it's just ridiculous. He clearly wasn't trying to blend in and there was no way that his metal scalp was getting sunburned. Why do this at all? Because someone wanted a cybernetic desperado and they didn't care how they got it. It's just one more example of how willing they are to sacrifice the integrity of their story in order to increase its flair.

Also, the name of the alien race is the Kahler. These three names are equivalent to everyone going around saying "Morning, Human-Bob." "Oh, good morning Human-Jim." It's a ludicrously inefficient naming convention, especially when you consider that on a planet of millions, you're bound to run out of one syllable names pretty quick.

Oh, and "Amigos, Amigos, Amigos" was an episode of The Three Amigos in which everyone in town dressed as an Amigo and overwhelmed the villains with distractions, leading to a town victory. You can also see this play out at the end of the movie about the Three Amigos called ¡Three Amigos!. The problem with this was that the cyborg threatened to kill everyone in town if they didn't deliver Jex, so it doesn't seem like a good idea to dress everyone in town like Jex. There's nothing to stop him from shooting everyone, just like he said he would. Except that's not how it happened in the script.

The Power of Three

I... I don't really have anything against this episode. It's only one of the season so far that I'm not going to tear up and it felt weird not to mention it.

The Snowmen

In the interest of avoiding an anticlimax, I'm going to skip ahead to the Christmas special.

One of the things that I despise most about Moffat's war of Style against Substance is that occasionally I find myself liking it. As much as I loath the degradation of the narrative, some of the style is just plain lovely. This episode is a prime example of it.

The Grumpy Old Doctor is living in the clouds above Christmastime London and has to be coaxed down by a peppy and clever Clara Oswin Oswald (who is inexplicably no longer dead, or a Dalek, or anything), along with a lizard lady, her human wife, and a potato-nurse. The episode was fun, humorous, and lovely. I really do like Clara and I sincerely hope that they do something worthwhile with her.

Except... look, I'm not saying that the Doctor can't live on a cloud above 1890s London, but why would he? This is nothing like anything we've seen him do before. Yes, I'm willing to entertain the notion that he's no kind of man that he's ever been before, but still. And if you want to be alone, why surround yourself with people? Why not go to an uninhabited planet or the depths of space? Sure, he had a subconscious desire to be pulled out of his funk, but why not at least allude to it? Why must I continue to tell the the story to myself?

Here's the thing that really gets my goat about this episode: 

Another smitten girl kisses the Doctor. 

First, can we stop having companions fall in love with the Doctor? Why is this such a thing since the restart? It was nice having that break with Donna Noble, but everyone else can't wait to get their hands on Timelord dong. Well, the ladies that is. Well, the ladies and Jack Harkness.

Second, sure he doesn't kiss her back, but neither does he mention the little fact that he's married. You'd think that kind of thing should come up pretty quickly in this kind of situation. I'm not comfortable with this combined with the instant and powerful emotional connection he's formed with this woman. Sadly, this has forced me to come up with a far-fetched and ridiculous theory in order to explain this away so I don't have to think about a philandering Doctor. I will share this now, though you'd be better off skipping it.

*Conspiracy Theory*

So they've never really dealt with the death of River Song. She's not really dead, you see. Her consciousness is fully intact in a giant computer planet along with a handful of others as seen in the end of "The Forest of the Dead." If only we had a way of getting a computerized copy of a person into a custom fit body. Oh wait, we can, as seen in the aforementioned "The Almost People." All that we have to do is connect those two systems and everyone in the library gets a shiny new body. You do River last, because that's the way she would have it. Then, her quasi-timelord genetics muck up the process. We know that the process worked on the Doctor, but it almost failed. If it did fail on River it could cause her to regenerate, because the process might re-imbue her with regeneration energy. Only something goes terribly wrong and not only does she regenerate, she then gets split up through time, one for each remaining regeneration. And all of them are an amnesia stricken Clara Oswin Oswald. This explains her super intelligence, instant draw to the Doctor, and why I don't have to feel weird about them kissing (or that Alex Kingston is 20 years older than Matt Smith).

*End Conspiracy Theory*

That's all we have for today. Join me next time as I wrap up this series on why 

Steven Moffat :: Doctor Who as The guy pooping on your best friend :: Your best friend

Shall I Compare Steven Moffat to a Bloody Diaper? - Part 1

People communicate on a very superficial level these days. Last night I posted a link on my Facebook page expressing my complete joy that head writer and executive producer of Doctor Who, Steven Moffat is beginning to consider leaving the show.

Not long after a friend of mine asked me why I was so happy about this. My response wasn't more put together than "because he sucks and I hate him." To which Friend responded, "yes, but why?"

I was a bit stunned. Not that I had never bothered putting to words why I hated Steven Moffat, but that someone bothered to dig deeper than surface Social Media bitching. Well, with points in the ether to be made and the show about to start back up again after its winter break, it seemed like a good opportunity to do some kvetching. make some valid points.

If Doctor Who isn't really your thing, you may be better off coming back in a few days once I've gotten this out of my system. We're about to get super Nerd-Ragey up in this bitch. So, here we go...

Why I'm Pleased that Steven Moffat Will Leave "Who"

-or-

Why Steven Moffat can Get Regularly Assaulted by a Diseased-Ridden Rape-Griffin and I'd be Okay with It

There are a few things I feel I need to get out of the way before we get started:

First - I'm coming from a place of love. I remember being a small child and hiding behind my couch from Daleks. When the show rebooted in 2005, I was skeptical. However, it didn't take me long to simply fall in love with the show all over again. The stories were complex, but never came across as contrived. The characters didn't always do what I expected them to, but they were always true to themselves. I didn't always know where the show was going, but they always rewarded my faith by pulling everything together by the end.

Second - I think it's ridiculous that Moffat refuses to interact with anything that came before him, but I'm not going to harp on it in this. I understand that it's nearly impossible to maintain 50 years of continuity, and it would actually take a small amount of effort to factor in what Davies did before him, but I will hold Moffat accountable for the reality he sets up himself.

Third - I want to be thorough enough to get my point across, but brief enough to fit into a post. If you would like to elaborate on anything, let me know and I'll try to find a way to fit it in... giggety.

And I loved me some River Song

When the previous executive producer, Russell T Davies decided to step down and Steven Moffat took his place, I was optimistic even then. Moffat had written a couple of my favorite episodes, including Blink, and Silence in the Library. I wasn't afraid of change, I was excited to see the new direction everything would take. He started the job with every advantage a man could have.

Then slowly, ever so slowly that I wasn't at first at all sure that it was happening, Moffat shat the bed. And he just. Won't. Stop. Shitting.

Season 5 came and went before I was even sure I smelled anything. I believe that the only fair way to do this is by listing particular offending episodes and why they contribute to the loathing.

A Christmas Carol

So the Doctor spends a solid week with this chick who sleeps in a stasis pod which has a number that ticks down every day and she asked about her doctors when they first met. The Doctor noticed the number on the stasis pod, but he can't be expected to remember everything.

Except that's exactly what he does. He puts those little clues together and saves people. Abigail asking if he was one of her doctors was very reminiscent of Amy asking if he was a policeman when they first met. There was every indication that the Doctor was onto the mystery, but then he just... forgot. Besides, there wouldn't be as much of an emotional punch if he had fixed her, right?

I would have been satisfied if he had found the illness, but there just wasn't a cure. The fact that he didn't even check seemed incompetent to the point of out of character. I freely admit that it is difficult to write a character who is smarter than you, but this was the first time that line got crossed for me.

The Curse of the Black Spot

This was the first episode that caused me to scream at the television as I was watching it. The moment when they realized that it was reflective surfaces, not just still water, that allowed the Siren to come through, the Doctor decided it would be best if they through all the treasure overboard, which led to the greedy captain dooming his son by accidentally dropping his purloined crown.

Except that they repeatedly proved that it doesn't just have to be reflective, it has to be actively reflecting. They could have thrown a tarp over the treasure and it would have been perfectly safe, but that wouldn't have caused the captain to lose his son over his own greed, so they glazed over it for storytelling purposes.

Then, for no great reason, the Doctor decides that suicide might end well and they all get sent to the phase-shifted spaceship on the other side of the veil. Sure, whatever. Only they got there just like everyone else, and they didn't get put were everyone else got put. Everyone else was laid down unconscious in life-support while the Doctor, Amy, and the captain got sent to an empty room for no damn reason at all.

Then the episode ends with the Doctor giving a bunch of murderous pirates a spaceship.

The Almost People

Cripes, what a downer. That's okay, sad can be good, but this wasn't.

A whole two-parter has gone by in which we learn all sorts of lessons about what it means to be alive, unique, and human. In the end, the Doctor clone and the foreman clone hold off the monster behind the door to buy time for everyone to get away. They then kill the monster, killing themselves in the process. Quite noble, proving that one's origins does not dictate one's morality.

Except that was the stupidest thing they could have done. There was a point where everyone was gathered around the door and the TARDIS was only 20 feet away. Any two people could have stayed behind to fire the clone-killing weapon, including any of the real versions of the ones who died. They even had time to sit around and talk about it. There was absolutely no reason that those two people had to explod-o-melt except that it made for a more emotional ending.

Let's Kill Hitler

So far we've been talking about the characters being drastically poor decision makers, which is okay in and of itself, except that here it's an example of writing out of character. This episode introduces an entirely new style of cheap writing.

Remember how Amy grew up ostracized and out of sorts because no one believed her stories about the Doctor? Did you catch that his willingness to believe/indulge her was one of the main reasons that Rory and Amy were able to bond?

Except that Moffat doesn't give a corn-filled turd about you or what you remember, so let's ret-con that shit!

Hey, remember how Amy and Rory grew up with this really ballsy black chick who totally believed in the Doctor, was totally with them all the time, only no one ever mentioned her even once until now? Well, it turns out that was River the whole time! What a twist! Aren't you surprised? I bet you didn't see that one coming!

Creating a brand new element that was supposedly there all the time is cheap. Making that the axis of a major plot point is terrible.

The God Complex

Let me first say that I don't actually dislike this episode, it's just that it's a prime example of a trend that I dislike in Who storytelling.

The thing about the Doctor is that he's just a clever guy. A clever guy with a time machine and a dozen more chances at life that the rest of us, sure... but he's still just a guy. He's not super strong or bullet proof. He doesn't know 50 martial arts, in fact, he's much, much better at running away than anything else. He spends most of his time thwarting villains with nefarious schemes and setting right what once went wrong... The bad guys were mean and scary, but they were usually just guys.

Except now he's psychic and defeats abstract concepts with the power of feels. In the God Complex,

there's a space-minotaur prison warden who feeds on the faith of his victims by trapping them in a 1980's Earth hotel with their greatest fears, and the Doctor defeats him by sending his companion into an existential crisis.

One episode later he saves a chubby house-husband from being forcibly turned into a robot by reminding him of how much he loves his kid. Man, it would have been nice if any of the millions of other victims of cyber-conversion had families to think about (they did - it didn't help).

They had spent 50 years establishing a setting and people got used to what sort of things were possible within the scope of this universe. We know what the TARDIS and sonic screwdriver can do. Psychic paper is all right by me. All these things have limitations. If the Doctor's trapped in a wooden box, we know the screwdriver isn't going to help (it doesn't do wood). But when you add feels to his list of weapons as a vague "I will this to work" tool, it cheapens the rest of it.

The Wedding of River Song

So the Doctor that died on the beach was the Doctor shrunken inside of a mechanical Doctor suit the whole time.

Fine. Whatever.

Except that if that's the case, then where did all of the regeneration energy come from after River shot the robot? By the way, River Shot the Robot would be a great album title. There was never any mention of the suit having any holographic capabilities, but that's all it would have taken to explain that away.

I like having a mystery to solve. I don't even care if I'm right in the end, I just need the story to make sure its got its facts straight, or else I'm going to feel like they just pulled it out of their ass. I'm looking at you, entirety of "Lost."

Sure, there's a lot of plot holes and questionable story telling going on around here, but does that warrant a man getting buggered by a syphilitic half-lion half-eagle Greek monster? No, of course not. This is just the beginning.

Goodbye Ms. Downey

Pictured here reveling in their superiority to
the commoners who walk beneath them

On August 24th, 2012, my dear friend Katie Downey put on a fancy dress and became Katie Mueller. 

There was also some guy in a tux, he seemed nice.

I love going to weddings because they are all about three people.  In order of importance it’s:

1. The Bride

2. The Groom

3. Adam Jones


Not many people know that, but it’s true.  Now, I never interfere with ceremonies, toasts, or pictures, but in those brief moments when it’s not about the bride and groom, it’s Adam Jones’ time to shine.  Buffets, open bars, and dance floors are my ancestral home and where I feel most at ease.

Then I get to win.

Pictured here bowing in appreciation of
the applause, ‘cause I’m a classy bitch.

See, the reason that I rank so high on the list during an event that ostensibly has nothing to do with me is that I understand the game.  Weddings are a contest that one can win, and I always win.  All I have to do is catch the garter belt.  The reason that I always win is that I’m not afraid to knock a bitch over to catch the prize in a Once-in-a-lifetime Championship Underwear event.  Any fear of trampling innocent partygoers in what some believe to be a harmless tradition is washed away by a half-dozen flutes of champagne. 

On this particular evening the groom decided to toy with us by aiming the garter to and fro, up and down before he released.  Normally I refused to be manipulated, but there is no room for shame in a garter toss; I circled the crowd as his aim shifted.  In the end, it fell short, almost directly behind him.  I dashed forward and landed in a power slide, beating out my closest opponent by mere inches.  So powerful was my slide, it left a streak on the floor.

Pictured here suspiciously eying something to my right.
Whatever it was, I’m sure I protected everyone from it.

I then proceeded to mingle and dance maniacally, both of which are easier as a drunkard champion.  There were so many of the best people I know there.

This goes down in my book as the best wedding that I have so far attended.  Good job everyone.

We all love you very much, Katie.  I cannot express how much joy I hope is in your future, but I have no doubt that it will be there waiting for you.  Consider yourself blessed by the Reverend Doctor Jones.



Only once the last song began to play did I reveal the true glory of Adam Jones.

Pictured here being awesome.

 Anyone have any awesome wedding experiences they’d like to share?

 Oh, and all the pictures were from the lovely and talented Annie Gannon Kaufman.

Short Story: Squirrel Troubles

One of the things I wanted to do with this blog was to use it as a vehicle to share the short stories and poems that I write.  I also wanted to start writing short stories and poems...

So now I have!

Below is a tiny little story that I recently put together and I'm sharing it with you here on MeetAdamJones.com.  If you have any comments of suggestions for future material, let me know in the comments.

Love you!




Squirrel Troubles

              When the youngest McMillan girl moved out, she put her childhood toys in the attic of her parent's shed. Each treasured memory was placed lovingly, for she would be back for them one day (there was just no room in her new apartment). To make sure that her dolls were sufficiently content without her, she fashioned a tea room out of her old play-sets and put it by the window overlooking her family's orchard. There were tiny tables, cups, counters, and even a functional piano. When it got dark, she hung up a couple of strings of old Christmas lights so she could keep working. Once she was satisfied that everything was in order, she climbed down the ladder and embarked (as bravely as she could) upon her new life.

              The toys in the attic sat undisturbed until the cold winds of autumn came. The walls of the McMillan house became home to a nice family of field mice, the barn took in some owls, and the attic of the shed became a hangout for some of the local squirrels. Murray, an older squirrel, was still tough from a lifetime of hard work, but beginning to wizen. It was Murray who first found the attic and took to passing out acorns of the farmer's hidden cider to others who happened by. This caused others to happen by quite frequently. After a few weeks of experimentation in various states of sobriety, a young squirrel named Chauncey learned to produce something quite resembling the Blues from the tiny piano. Chauncey, though young, had lived a turbulent life and was able to express it through notes sometimes haunting and sometimes mellow. Folks would stop by under the glow of the forgotten Christmas lights, offer Murray up a bit of food, and enjoy the company, or just a quiet drink by the window.

               Gary was usually quite lively. He was the type that tried to be a bit more clever than he was. Some of his jokes would have people clutching their sides and twitching their tails. Other jokes brought out the one halfhearted laugh that trailed away as they looked for something that needed them to be elsewhere. That night, though, Gary was the quiet drink by the window type.

               A lady-squirrel climbed the ladder and placed the acorn she was carrying on the counter. Murray popped its top, scooped out its guts into his food pile, and filled it with cider. After making some small talk and placing a kernel of corn by Chauncey’s piano, she made her way to Gary’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

“Shelly! Hey, yeah. I mean no, it’s not taken. Please, have a seat.”

She set her drink down and got comfortable. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing interesting. Looking for food, chewing holes, same as ever. What about you?”

“Same thing, I guess. The other day I thought I heard something, so I stopped everything and looked around. I think I nearly had a heart attack, but it turns out there wasn’t anything there. I do that a lot these days.”

“Yeah, me too,” he added with a laugh. “All the time I’m like ‘Huh? What was that?’ and it’s never anything. I swear, sometimes I think these woods are haunted.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something?”

“Heh, yeah…” They sipped their drinks and tried not to be uncomfortable for a while before he continued. “So, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. What are you even doing here? I thought you moved out to the Dodson farm to be with your new man.”

Her body sunk. “He…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes fell to her cider. “There was… an owl.”

“Oh, oh no,” Gary whispered. “I am so sorry. I hadn’t heard.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Shelly shook away the memories that had begun to creep back into her and resumed the confident posture that had given her so much comfort. “It was a while ago now. I tried to keep my life out there going, but it was too much. I just moved back about a week ago. Trying to start fresh.”

He offered her a warm smile. “Well, it’s good to see you.”

“Thanks. You, too.” She couldn’t help but return the smile. “So what’s wrong?”

“How do you mean?

She indicated his seat at the table. “You’re sitting in your sad drinking spot.”

He looked down at himself. “Ah, right. It’s just, I’ve been seeing this one girl for a while.”

“Things not going well?”

“On the contrary, things are great. In fact, I’m trying to figure out a way to ask her to marry me.”

Her little voice shrank a bit. “Oh.” She traced her paw aimlessly across the doll’s table. “So why the sad drinking?”

“I’m trying to think of some super romantic way of doing it.”

“Why? You’re no good at that kind of thing,” she teased.

“I know! That’s the problem. See, her last boyfriend was that kind of guy. He’d write her poems and bring her nuts with little hearts etched into them.”

“Well, if he was so great, why did they split?”

“She caught him taking his nuts to someone else.”

Shelly chuckled a bit. “Then maybe she’s better off with someone without as much… imagination.”

“Heh, that’s what I’ve been telling her.” Gary took a deep breath. “I know she loves me, but I also know that she misses the good parts of that relationship. I can’t give her a lifetime of it, but I should at least be able to do something romantic when I ask her to be my wife. She deserves that… but… I don’t know if I can.”

She took a long draught of cider, was about to speak, and then took another. Once she had wiped away the drop from the side of her mouth she replied “Of course you can. You’re one of the best squirrels I’ve ever known. You may not be a hopeless romantic, but you can do anything once you’ve set your mind to it. Tell me, how did you meet?”

He wanted to thank her, but she changed the subject too quickly. “We met right over there by the bar. I overheard her talking about how nervous she was going home. The cat had been in the trees a lot recently and she wasn’t sure what to do. I offered to walk her home. We got there safe, talked a lot, and really hit it off.”

Shelly furrowed her brow and rested her face in her paw. “Squirrel-Jesus, Gary. You really are thick. Just get her and some friends and family here, tell them all that story, and say something about how you would like to be able to watch over her and walk her home for the rest of your lives. Bingo-bango, you have a fiancée.”

“Wow, that’s a good idea.” He looked off in the distance at nothing in particular. “Yeah, that fits the bill. I think that’s what I’ll do! I owe you one. Tell you what, next time I come up here, I’ll bring an extra acorn. Your next drink is on me.”

“That sounds nice. Be sure to tell me how it goes.”

“But, you’ll be there, won’t you Shelly?”

She hesitated for a couple of beats before she answered. “Of course I will… that sounds nice. Anyway, I should get going.” Her words were strained and empty as she stood to leave. “Lots to do.”

“Oh…okay. Well, it really was good seeing you. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do. You’ve been a great help.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.” She waved and walked to the exit.

Gary lost himself in thought about the upcoming proposal, and wedding, and honeymoon, and family. Shelly climbed down the ladder and embarked (as bravely as she could) upon her new life.