I'm going to watch the final season of "Fringe." I wasn't really a fan of the overall storyline the Fox show pursued in Season 4; in the end, it didn't ultimately have the emotional resonance or cumulative power of Seasons 2 and 3.
When I was young people would say, "Oh, he has so much potential!" This was my death knell. Even in my naive state of ignorant bliss and never-ending cans of root beer I knew that I never wanted to be that guy who grew up with potential and lost it somewhere along the way.
Fandoms are wonderful. They encourage you to talk about your favorite show and assure you that your obsession does not require medical attention. I have encountered many TV fandoms over the years, but one in particular has really astounded me.
I've always told my siblings that I would only move to Texas if I were on my death bed -- and now that seems likely. The medical system is excellent, and it's my mother who is. Dying, I mean. And therein lies my dilemma.
It was a relief that the end of the Season 4 finale didn't involve yet another massive alteration or reset for the characters. I'm glad that as the show heads into the home stretch, I can watch the final season with at least a modicum of anticipation.
Now that I've finished dancing around the house singing "We Are the Champions," I can finally begin to put into words how excited, relieved, and overjoyed I am to hear that Fringe has been renewed for a fifth season.