One equal temper of heroic hearts

In the grand tradition of making elaborate, busy plans for Sunday afternoons and then failing to follow through with them because a nap seems to be a more personally progressive option, I have spent most of today watching the second season of The X-Files and (appropriately) re-freaking myself out. I never knew that the rainforests of Costa Rica could look so much like the deciduous forests of British Columbia ("F. Emasculata"), that you can study pulse magnetics in an office that looks like the lobby of a branch library ("Soft Light"), or that -- speaking of magnets -- Dana Scully's head seems to be a magnet for heavy, blunt objects ("Our Town").

I'm trying to recapture some of the vip, vim and -- I'm not ashamed to admit it -- the vigor of my early obsession with the show. With the release of the second film, I almost feel obligated. I mean, for me? The X-Files was the beginning of everything. What I know now about life ("A cheap, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for"); and love (root beer = no; iced tea = yes) is neatly contained in nine (okay, six-and-a-half) seasons of television. Before House taught me to be aloof and acerbic, Mulder taught me the importance of truth, perseverance and, you know, always losing your cell phone/flashlight/partner at the most inopportune time during the episode.

To celebrate, I give you an X-Files Season 1 picspam:



( TRUST NO ONE. CLICK ANYWAY. )

Feel free to add your comments. What was your favourite episode? Your favourite season? Which of the multitude of opportunities that Scully had to handcuff Mulder to something did you wish she took it that much further? Did anybody really care about Monica Reyes? SPAM ME. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO.