How to Blame It on The Bear

The perils of TV recapping through narcissistic injuries. Natalie Shapero. Thich Nhat Hanh on Anger. New tunes.

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Hey. This is A.J. Special thanks to Ben Gaffaney for filling in again last week. Got a doozy today. All our Sundays are paywalled — but if you can’t afford to pay for a subscription at this time, email me: ajd@thesmallbow.com and I’ll hook you up.

Let’s get into it.

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Over the past three summers, I took on a writing assignment for Decider to recap the very popular but much-maligned FX TV show, The Bear. Since I’m not a frequent or well-regarded TV reporter, I don't receive any screeners. So when Season 4 was dropped in its entirety last Wednesday at 5 p.m. PST, my hell week began.

Here are some facts about my past work experience: Even though I did it for many years, I hated full-time blogging. I was terrible at it. My work was sloppy and incoherent, and often childishly stupid and mean-spirited. I opted for a reckless, misanthropic voice because that was mostly how I felt at that time, subsisting on unhealthy substances and unhealthy self-esteem.

Because I’m in a better state of mind, my work is a bit cleaner, and my deadlines get met more often than not. I still dislike the pace of recapping, but I can power through it – it’s only four days, after all – and the extra paycheck helps alleviate the financial uncertainty and discomfort for at least another week.

So I will blog when I need to, and this year I need to blog about The Bear again.

It should be noted – I volunteered for this gig. I loved the first season of The Bear. I was energized and excited by it, particularly because it explored the contours of Al-Anon and the origins of “the family disease” in such a thoughtful way. And I loved the second season, too – despite its over-screaming self-indulgence, it still rattled me in a good way. Especially the “Forks” episode, which I found surprisingly regenerative.

Then, last year, things nosedived — I, along with what seemed like most of the critics and the entire TV-watching population, turned on the show. Four episodes into it last season, I was miserable. I asked my editor, Mark, if I could bail on the rest of them because I could feel myself growing more and more aggrieved, and I didn’t want to devote all my energy to trashing the show. I don’t like being a critic — even a jokey, unserious one — since all I’m doing is shitting on someone else’s art and for me to do that in such an unskillful way doesn’t add much value to the world. It feels off — like a very emotionally unsober activity.

He gave me a week off and allowed me to jump back in later, long after everyone else had already pissed on and forgotten about the season.

I swore I wouldn’t put myself through it again this summer, but I am both a sadist and a completist, so I came back.

To get it done on time, I need to clear as much of my schedule as possible. I try to delegate some of the TSB duties, and Julieanne offered to take the kids out of the house solo a couple of times, allowing me time to finish. I also decided to scale back on the rest of my recovery routine to free up my mornings: No 12-step meetings — no BJJ. I was convinced that I had banked enough solid recovery to be okay. I was wrong.

After almost a decade of sobriety, I can, for the most part, proclaim that the obsession to drink or use drugs has been lifted from me. I don’t need that in my life, and I have no illusions about whether I can handle it anymore.

However, the emotional volatility — the blinking self-destruct button that is always within reach — is something I have yet to conquer. If I’m not careful, I can still convince myself that I know everything — that I am the one they call God. It is why I try to be so diligent about the recovery rundowns here each week. I know that I can fuck up my life in so many less interesting ways.

Here’s some proof: In the first couple days I took a vacation from my recovery so I could write the goddamn Bear recaps, I managed to —