Dear Hank,
“Our time in the sun has been a thing of absolute fucking beauty.”
There was no way I was going to bed tonight without writing this to you– ’cause Dude, you changed my life. You gave me an identity. You gave god-fearing geeks someone to look up to.
You were the fucking man…
Californication was never the best show on TV. Hell, sometimes it wasn’t even funny. But more than anything, it had heart. The show was about a man who admits defeat before playing the game. He knows the end game. He’s that smart.
Hank Moody was a writer who doesn’t write. His life was one big distraction. And like any good man or any good writer, he evolves. He was honest. Brutal, and to the point. But that’s what made Moody the Moodiest.
Although, about 3.5-years ago when I touched down to Southern California by way of the Southcoast of Massachusetts — and marathon-viewed Californication‘s first three-seasons — I was about 20-years younger than you, had no high-school aged daughter (thank the high heavens for that), had more protein shakes than whiskey neats, and certainly had a bank account with a few less zeroes, this New Moody couldn’t help but relate.
I saw a little bit o’ Hanky in nearly every single attribute. Procrastination. Writer’s block. Zero motivation. One desire too many. Nutty social scenarios. Even if never wound up in jail (only because I’m luckier than you) and never bothered to tour with a Russell Brand knock-off (because I would have strangled him a lot sooner), we certainly found ourselves with enough strangers in the bedroom, and the most unfortunate circumstances of watching nutty best friends/agents do stranger things in theirs.
Oh, just a couple of “functioning alcoholics”.
But even in our moments of solace away from all of the devil’s ultimately tasty treats and recreation, the passion was still there. The candle was always lit. We never neglected the affection.
Hank (or David Duchovny, I guess), I’m not going to review your last episode/series finale/plotlines/blah blah– because you never gave a fuck about your critics. You were already too busy being your own worst one. You knew being Moody was a dastardly thing to be, but it was the only option. Someone had to be Moody and I’m glad it was you. Even if it took you until the 11th hour, the 29th minute of the 12th episode of the 7th season to finally own up to all of the immaturity, to grow up and become a man, how could I not admire that?
Let’s not forget, too: you were also Fox Mulder. The guy who believed in extraterrestrial life ended up the guy who set the stage for a future geek culture icon– without any references to what I’ve always deemed as MY KAREN: comic book superheroes, video games, or science fiction (but you did have the RZA for a season though). Brilliant. Ironic then, that it took me all the way to Comic-Con last summer — further pushing your stardom toward popular geek cred — to finally catch you in person. And then I was even blessed to partake in a scene with you! Sure, I didn’t have a line. Or get to talk to you for more than a few seconds with all of those clingy/hovering producers around. And…I did have a strong fear I was going to nail you with that damn golf cart.
But I can always say I was on the show. Even if you may never know it, there was indeed Two Moodies on Californication.
And how epic is that, “Muthaa-faackuhhhhhh”??!!?!
-Travis Moody
P.S…
