Cru Jones Society

The two hour season finale of Dexter: Season 1 airs on CBS this Sunday, and I’m practically tearing the leather off my office chair armrests waiting for it.

This has been the most engrossing, wonderful, surprising and darkly entertaining show I have ever seen. Scott Keith at Scott’s Blog of Doom raved about this show a great deal last year, and since it was on Showtime, I easily dismissed it. I haven’t watched Showtime since I was in high school and my parents subscribed to it. The only reason I watched it then was for Red Shoe Diaries as part of my soft core porn Friday night.

For those not in the know, the title character is a Miami blood spatter expert who spends his days helping to solve crimes for the police department and moonlights as a serial killer. Thanks to the insight of his keen foster father who noticed Dexter’s odd behavior at a young age, Dexter follows the “Code of Harry” appearing normal and well-adjusted to the outside world while only killing people who slip through the cracks of the legal system to satisfy his murderous itch. To most of the outside world, Dexter is well-mannered, always willing to help, and has a charming, dry wit. To his victims, Dexter is cold-blooded, exacting, and relentless. He has more than 50 victims. And a girlfriend with kids.

Needless to say, this show is one of the most morally complicated shows ever created as I find myself struggling not to like Dexter, but am weirded out by the idea of sympathizing with a serial killer (even one who only kills bad guys). I’ve lost sleep over this show three times. It makes me physically uncomfortable to watch. It nearly gives me and Lady E panic attacks.

It’s the best show on television.

I am a phone call away from ordering Showtime just so I can watch Season 2 On Demand before Season 3 starts. The Internet serves as my perennial bamboo shoots under the fingernails as I resist on an hourly basis spoiling the whole goddamn series for myself. I want to see how the series unfolds that badly. I endlessly wonder about the fate of the Ice Truck Killer. I ponder if Dexter can adhere to the Code of Harry. I contemplate how long he can keep this up. I’m losing my mind.

But I have self-control. And I like actually having something to look forward to on Sunday nights besides the end-of-the-weekend blues. It’s like having miniature Christmas at the end of every weekend. Think about that a little more: Miniature Christmas with a serial killer. Two things you’re probably thinking:

1) Yeah, Dexter could definitely thin the herd in my family a bit to help make the holidays more enjoyable.
2) E Dagger is fucked up.

So I wait. I’ll have a more thorough breakdown of this series once I’ve digested more of it. If I were to write it now, it would be nothing more than drooling fanboy fellatio. And no one wants 3+ pages of that. The previous eight paragraphs are plenty. See you Sunday…

edagger@crujonessociety.com

Please enjoy the unsettling opening credits. This sequence won an Emmy for best Main Title Design. Who knew they gave awards for that? And who knew such mundane activities like shaving, squeezing an orange and tying your shoes could look so violent and creepy?