I was in a FUNK. A George Clinton Parliament P-FUNKadelic FUNK to the funkiness squared for about three days.
I planted tomato and herb seeds and put them in my window, I crossed the four mile threshold on my runs and made a playlist, I put on makeup for Sunday morning, I wrote two songs, helped my husband clean the garage, started work on organizing my basement and still felt like total garbage and I think it’s all because of Jeff Winger and the Community group from season six.
I watched all six seasons in a row over the past five days so I know a thing or two about a binge hangover. And we already know Old Hopie has self-worth issues mixed with an over-active imagination mixed with isolation mixed with gin and tonics at 5pm, that’s a recipe for FUNK DRUNK. I was drunk with funk.
I loved that dumb show. I loved it when it first came on, I was sad when they cancelled it, I was glad when it went to Hulu, I was not into online watching by that time, I let the show go, I had no idea it went for six seasons.
It should not have gone to season six. What was that? A deliberate pouting session? A re-tool gone so very wrong? Is there something meta about Community because I remember trying to philosophize my way through “Hart of Dixie” that one time and no one was having any of it (except me). “Community” was so fantastic, such great ensemble energy, so creative, so joy-filled and “yes and” but then half the cast bounced, some great people filled the gap, but then the vibe was sad and angry and defensive, but still I stuck around. All six seasons. And by the end, I was sad that this beautiful thing had wilted and turned sad and since I was already sad, it all got worse.
Dangit, Jeff Winger (and others), I’m sorry it went down like that.
I was down too. I’m so good at it. I’m so good at being down. I’m so good at being frozen. A Froyo, A Fro-Ho(pe), A Fro-BRo(ken). And so it goes.
But what if I weren’t? What if I let go of the self-judgment armor for just long enough to remember season three of Community? I wouldn’t be resigned to the recasting, I wouldn’t dye Briita’s hair brown, I wouldn’t make Annie angry and wearing dress pants. I wouldn’t let Abed check the box marked socially awkward just to make sure new viewers knew who he was.
Instead, I would get into that writer’s room and write the biggest high-concept scenario that a half hour sitcom has ever dared undertake. I would sit in the read-through and watch everyone’s eyes light up as they discovered the episode and it would be like waiting for Christmas and the day of the shoot and everyone having already done all their work ahead of time and arriving early to set because they were so excited to out-TV all the TV that had ever come before.
Fearlessness. I would be the paintball episode, the six different timelines, the missing pen, the MeowMeowbeans, all of it. And I wouldn’t apologize and I wouldn’t resign myself and I would know who I was and I wouldn’t try to fit in a box labeled “lineup” and pass the test labeled “audience.”
And by the end of the last shot of the last scene of the last show of the last season, I wouldn’t turn the lights off in the study room and drive Annie and Abed to the airport with a folk-pop song playing as it moves. That was never how it was supposed to end. They weren’t supposed to get tired and safe. They were supposed to stay fearless and change. There’s a difference.
Stay fearless and change. Change is good. It shows that we’re learning and growing. Change does not point to settling and softened edges all the time. Maybe your 25 year old self thought that, but your 43 (me) year old self knows better and can see deeper. Blowing up buildings sometimes calls for dynamite. Blowing up buildings for reals takes something even stronger.
The funk is fading for now. I’m not so foolish as to think it won’t return. In the meantime, I’m storyboarding a season seven. The never-seen lost season. I’m five years late to the party, but who cares?
Tell Dan Harmon to call me.
Don’t. Please don’t tell Dan to call me. I just wanted to write something cool for the last line.