I missed Silicon Valley when the show was first aired earlier this year. Over the weekend, though, I sat and watched all eight episodes from Season One in one sitting, with only an appropriate mid-season bathroom break. It was tremendous, and I would argue that the final episode of Season One ranks as one of the great single episodes of any TV sitcom, ever — right up there with the Death of Chuckles episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show or the Seinfeld episode about The Contest.
If you haven’t seen the show, the plot is straightforward. Four computer geeks decide to start their own company, with a product based on an advanced compression algorithm one of them has developed. The show is a satire of the Silicon Valley culture — drenched in cash, but also insisting that it is altruistically making the world a better place — and is chock full of memorable characters and scenes. It’s about time we saw a lampooning of the technology/money culture in America, and this show really delivers — with a few detours into Satanism, American immigration policy, technology shows, billionaire egos, and some other sources of hilarity.
The principal actors on the show — Thomas Middleditch as the vomiting software genius, T.J. Miller as the brash and self-deluding Erlich, Martin Starr as the deadpan, Satan-worshipping Gilfoyle, Kumail Nanjiani as the acerbic Dinesh, and Zach Woods as the boring but capable Jared — are spot on in their depiction of nerds and geeks trying to find their way in the cash culture, and the rest of the cast is equally good. The writing is terrific and sharp. If you haven’t seen it, give it a try.
On the home stretch of this morning’s walk, as I moved along a section of Route 62 where there are woods on both sides of the road, two deer stood on the pavement while a car approached. Fortunately, they crossed over without incident, and the car slid by.
Normally the deer would promptly vanish into the trees. This time, though, the female stood, framed in the glow of a street light, and stared at me, her primal black eyes glittering in the lamplight. It was unnerving — and suddenly I felt all of my senses on high alert, providing the kind of acute awareness of my surroundings not felt since I was in a movie theater with a high school date, conscious of every movement she made and trying to figure out whether they meant that she was receptive to holding hands.
The deer wasn’t watching to admire my walking form. The only logical conclusion was a fawn was still on my side of the road, and the mother deer was waiting and watching to make sure they were reunited. If so, that meant I needed to get out of the area without confronting Bambi, or the two deer might come down on me in an unpleasant New Albany version of When Animals Attack. So I listened carefully, sniffed the air and smelled the lingering musky odor of the two deer that had passed, kept one eye out for the mother and the other for the child, and kept moving ahead at a steady pace. The mother watched me the whole way.
My primitive senses aren’t very sharp, because I never saw the fawn, but after I passed I turned back to see what was happening. Sure enough, the mother crossed the road again, and a small deer emerged from hiding right where I had passed. The mother sensed my presence and turned and stared at me again with those intense, wild eyes. I decided it was wise to move along.