Skip to main content

"Somebody Somewhere"

 Among many other strengths, "Somebody Somewhere" has special insights into the sibling bond between children of a mentally ill parent (i.e., all children everywhere).


Trish--the MVP on this show--walks all over her sister. We sense that Trish is tightly wound in all contexts, but her behavior with Sam is sometimes deplorable. Showing up fifty minutes early (without warning), then expressing impatience when Sam hasn't anticipated the change in plans. Last-minute canceling a social event (again, without warning) because a Tinder option has made itself available.

At the same time, Trish is fiercely proud of Sam. She brags about Sam's singing ability, as if the ability were her own and not Sam's. (This is how a family works. If one person has a talent, it is, oddly, all siblings' shared talent.) Trish also rationally guides Sam through questions about dating, because Sam is intensely neurotic whenever she has to reflect on her own life. (Easy to relate to this.)

In a standout episode, "Num Nums" (written by Lisa Kron), Trish expresses rage because her daughter has elected to spend Thanksgiving with her ex. ("If he feeds her Lean Cuisine, I will cut his dick off.") Eager to drown out her own thoughts, Trish drinks too much white wine, demands a lullaby from her sister, and passes out in her party clothing. The problem of the ex hasn't gone away--but the lullaby makes things tolerable.

I see myself in Trish, week after week, and I'm annoyed that this show is shutting off its lights for good. Justice for Mary Catherine Garrison.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...