Lexmas

You know why I watch SV? You might think it's for the caramel-covered lickability of Clark and Lex, and, hell yeah, that's part of it: the show delivers pretty like a Botticelli clone. And, sure, SV's gayer than a Vancouver Pride Parade, than a thousand glory holes. But, truth be told, I watch it because no other show delivers epic like this puppy.

It's like seeing Oedipus meet Jocasta for the first time, and you're all, "Eek! She's your mom! Noooooooo..." Because Lex is straight out of Sophocles, so tragic I can taste it, thick and bitter as Turkish coffee. He's gunning it right past redemption, right past hope, miles past happiness, gunning it straight to fucking doom.

The guy can't even have a Christmas fantasy that ends well, can't even meet the ghost of dead-mommas past without throwing himself into some Tartarian pit where guilt and hate and fear are a trio of gnawing vultures, each with Lionel's face. And I want it to end well, want the happily-ever-after just like Lex, but that's the thing about doom, about a doom that your father carved on your bones the day you were born: nothing, no one, can pry Lex from his death-grip on self-destruction. Nothing, no one, can stop him from cocooning himself with power to keep the big bad out, from becoming the big bad when happiness can't nose its way in.

You know what kills me most? It's that Lex gets the ending wrong, screws up his own fantasy because he doesn't understand the whole chain-of-goodness thing. If he became that man in his Dickension vision, Clark would've confessed his secret to him; Lex would've known that Clark would save Lana, because Clark is good, because Clark loves Lana, because Clark's in love with Lex.

I'm not blaming Clark or Lex here, of course. It's not their fault, these two epic pretties whose biggest mistake is not confessing everything to each other because they're both big gorgeous chickens--though props to Clark for actually coming out to Lex on the porch at the Christmas party. Heh.

Okay, a brief bit o' levity, but it reminds me of something I've always believed, the hope I cling to when the guys can't: one day it'll be Lex, not Santa, on that roof, and Clark will save him, and the story will, will, will end happily ever after.