The first time I saw myself on TV I was only eight years old. It was on the show My So-Called Life, which had aired on ABC and quickly become required viewing for everyone in my family. They let me watch with them once a week, even though I was too young to understand most of the dialogue. Comprehension wasn’t necessary anyway; I loved it simply because it was about the lives of teenagers. The moment I came out of the womb, I wanted to be fifteen years old, slamming lockers and ditching class and having crushes. I imagined high school to be a magical place full of love and broken hearts and life altering moments, and I couldn’t wait for it to be my time to go there.

Rickie Vasquez was a character on My So-Called Life whom I just adored. He hung out in the girls’ bathroom, wore eyeliner, and felt protective over his wild child best friend, Rayanne Graff. He was a nurturer, someone who perhaps placed more value on his friends’ lives than his own. His family had outcast him when they discovered he was gay and he spent the better part of the series as a vagrant, bouncing from friend’s house to friend’s house until he finally found sanctuary in his English teacher’s apartment (Trust me, that sounds creepier than it actually was).

Rickie wasn’t like me in many ways. I, for one, never felt the desire to wear eyeliner and I also knew that my family would never disown me. But he was the first television character I identified with. At the time, I couldn’t have told you why. I would’ve just said that I liked him because he was friends with girls like I was and he liked to wear colorful vests. It was only later, when I re-watched the series at thirteen that I began to understand why Rickie and I had been cut from the same cloth: We both liked boys, OMG!

When My So-Called Life died a premature death, my entire family was devastated. To curb our sadness though, we decided to purchase tickets to an event in Hollywood that would feature the entire cast for a Q & A session. My recollection of this event is foggy (I was 8, remember?) but I do remember a meet and greet with the cast members. I think I met Jared Leto and Claire Danes and got their autograph, but who cares? I MET WILSON CRUZ, the actor who played Rickie! He was wearing a bright blue blazer and just exuded this wonderful warmth. I have no idea what he actually said to me. All I can recall is him giving me a giant hug and my insides just exploding with happiness. Afterwards, I felt okay with My So-Called Life being over because I would always have this memory, and that meant more to me than any episode had.

I don’t think I ever saw so much of myself in a TV character again. Shows have regressed since then and gay characters have a tendency to be very one note. I guess that’s what made Rickie so special. His sexuality managed to be a secondary part of his personality even in 1994.

Ryan O’Connell is an editor at Thought Catalog, and he thinks it’d be really nice if you friended them on Facebook.

Previously on Castle… actually, I have no idea, which is why our editor thought this would be a perfect show for my inaugural WTHIGO. I used to say that you couldn’t pay me to watch certain shows, but I now know that if you pay me, I will, in fact, watch a show. Here goes.

(Warning! Spoilers follow. Also, it gets gruesome. Immediately.)

A would-be rape in a dark alleyway is thwarted when the almost rapist has his hand sliced off with a sword by an anonymous man with a resounding baritone, who goes on to use the sword again to slice said rapist in freaking half! They aren’t messing around, as this is only the first thirty seconds of the show. All that comes to a screeching halt when Castle and his mother, an aging drag queen, react to the news that his daughter is going to concentrate on her film career now that she’s old enough not to need a tutor on set—I mean, going off to college. Castle plays it off like it doesn’t bother him, but he tells Beckett—who’s pretty but wearing a men’s suit so you know that she’s a serious lady cop—that he’s not ready to let go of his daughter.

Castle and Beckett arrive at the crime scene and learn that the cops only know the victim’s identity, let’s call him Vic Timh, and the almost rape victim says that she couldn’t make out the guy who rescued her. A visit from Vic’s mother reveals that she is an awful, awful person who would rather have a smoke than mourn her son, but she mentions that he had a lot of enemies and a list of crimes a mile long. The two other cops from the crime scene ascertain that the victim had been in an altercation with some a guy in the mob whose family owns a meat packing plant.

Mob Guy didn’t know about Vic’s death, but bets it was done by a vigilante who carved an “L” into Mob Guy’s rear end, an act which he had caught on video. A cursory review of the video reveals that the vigilante is a costumed superhero, a fact which tickles Castle to no end, which means he likes comic books, I guess.

Beckett reports this information to her captain, who notes that the superhero probably escaped from Bellevue. Because only the insane do weird stuff around Manhattan, right? But Castle thinks that this might be someone working as an actual superhero, with a backstory and everything. Also, Beckett calls her female boss “Sir” for some reason, like the role was intended for a man, but the script supervisor was out sick that day.

To prove that there are actually people dressed as superheroes running around the city, Castle shows Beckett a video of “Red Maroon,” a guy in a costume who fails to fell a mugger and ends up getting beaten by the lady who lost her purse on Youtube, or the Castle equivalent of a website which mostly contains videos of people being victims of crimes or getting hurt. So… Youtube.

The other cops in the office, whom I’ll call “Mr. & Mr. Cop,” since they appear to be interchangeable and in every scene together, state that they’ve heard rumors of a costumed vigilante swordsman around town. Meanwhile, Castle uses his comic book collection that he evidently has on his person to create a psychological profile of the suspect: someone who likes comic books! And in a city as diverse as Manhattan, there is one place to which such a person would most definitely go: the one comic book store in Manhattan (where they incidentally feature his own graphic novel)!

The Comic Book Guy can’t give Castle information about clients who read particular comics (as per the Comic Book Guy Code, you know), but he knows who the suspect is: Lone Vengeance, an online comic with a small following. When Castle sees the comic, he notices that the knuckle plate (which I guess is a thing) of the costume, resembles a button he thought he saw back at the crime scene.

Mr. & Mr. Cop continue their search for the sword and banter back and forth about how awesome it would be to be a superhero, but we really know what’s going on. I hope things work out for these crazy kids and they end up together by season’s close. Regardless, a pawn shop calls them and says they recognize the guy who bought a sword like the one the killer used. Man, being a New York City policeman is easy!

Beckett and Castle head back to the crime scene to find the knuckle plate in the middle of the night because when else would you want to try to find a button-sized object in a dark, Manhattan alleyway, and wouldn’t you know it, they find it after two seconds and it has a print! No sooner do they lift it up when Lone Vengeance himself shows up and uses some weird tool to precisely grab it out of Beckett’s hand. He then uses his secret power, unnecessary parkour, to evade Castle and drive off on his motorcycle, which he must have walked there because Castle and Beckett didn’t hear him coming. No matter. Mr. Cop #1 knows Lone Vengeance’s identity, so Beckett and Castle are able to apprehend LV in his sad, lonely, studio apartment, practicing his swordplay. (Actual swordplay, not the kind of swordplay that usually occurs in sad, lonely, studio apartments.)

When they get him back to the station, they discover the perp is the wrong guy: a fanboy who is probably only engaging in this form of cosplay until his inevitable loneliness compels him to become a furry. Not-LV explains that he merely aspires to be Lone Vengeance’s Robin, but Castle reminds him that the first part of his moniker means that he probably isn’t looking for a partner.

Meanwhile, Mr. & Mr. Cop are busy looking up everyone who has ever driven a motorcycle, when Beckett tasks them with finding out everyone who has ever downloaded the Lone Vengeance comic book—which Castle has apparently done, as he’s reading a copy of it, and the copy has been printed out in color. I imagine this is to drive home the fact that he is rich. While he’s reading, his daughter, whom I’ll call “Speedbump,” since I’m totally taken out of the crime story, shows up and tells her father that she’s taking all the same classes as her boyfriend who finally shows her all the attention Daddy never did growing up while he was being an author, a cop and generally smug about being Castle.

Whilst Castle takes a moment to regret his seventeen years of bad parenting, he notices that there was a panel in one of the comics in which a hoodlum has an “L” carved in his butt…”L” like “Lone.” Of course, if you tilt him a little to the left, the carving becomes “V” like “Vengeance,” but what do I know? And the comic came out after Mob Guy had gotten the “L” on his derriere, so they deduce that the killer is the author of the Lone Vengeance comic book.

The comic book’s author operates under a nom de plume, but Mr. & Mr. Cop find a couple more instances in the comics of art imitating life. A visit to Vic Timh’s Mother of the Year exposes that while she didn’t care about his death, she knew exactly what kinds of comics he loved and the exact conversations her son had in the days leading up to his death with the reporter from the crime scene whom I’m supposed to remember, despite the fact he spoke one line. Mr. & Mr. Cop discover a connection between the reporter and Vic, but they vie for approval from Castle (Does everyone have daddy issues on this show?), and as they hammer this comic book theme over our heads a little more, Beckett receives a call that the reporter has been spotted by the one comic book store in all of Manhattan, where he appears to be preparing to flee.

In custody, Reporter appears “mild-mannered,” as Castle is quick to say, lest we leave any comic book terms out of this show, and he and Beckett remind Reporter of his mugging at an abandoned tenement which could have been his origin story (They almost left that term out. Phew!). Reporter reluctantly agrees to confess to killing the Vic, as he threatened to expose LV’s real identity (which would be a bad thing, I guess?), but Castle and Beckett ain’t buying it. Because Reporter acts worse than a third grade production of 12 Angry Men. Although that would be adorable.

Ceckett & Bastle jump to the conclusion that the real LV must be at the one abandoned tenement building in Manhattan where Reporter was mugged. Despite it being a less than impressive lair, according to Castle, they find Lone Vengeance, who is unmasked to be…a lady! What’s more, she’s indubitably the lady cop who also spoke one line in the Crime Scene scene, which we’re supposed to have remembered.

They arrest Lona Vengeanca, and it turns out that she has an obligatory, although very brief origin story (which involves her father; I’m just sayin’), and it resembles what I guess happened to Beckett in seasons past. Also, Reporter is crazy in love with Lona, but she didn’t want him to turn himself in for this crime that neither of them committed. And she only stole that knuckle plate (still a thing) from Beckett so that she could take it to the police and have it dusted for prints…which I would have assumed Beckett would have done, but that added another twenty minutes to the story so there you go.

But what we learn is that there is someone else out there dressing like Lona, but splitting people down their sternums, but who else is left from that Crime Scene scene?

Beckett believes Lona, because a cop knows, and C&B bring back the Mob Guy from the scene after the Crime Scene. Oh, Castle Writers, thou hast bested me. Mob Guy has the original motive about which they questioned him half an hour ago: Vic had been tipping off Lona on Mob Guy’s whereabouts so she could stop his crimes. Mob Guy knows they don’t have any proof, but they do: the knuckle plate (most definitely a thing now)! It has the thumbprint of Mob Guy’s cousin, Ernesto the tailor…because Mob Guy is Italian. I can only assume they cut out the scenes in which he talked about his monkey-grinding side business with his cousin from Jersey Shore. Ernesto dropped the dime on Mob Guy, telling the cops that he made his Faux-ne Vengeance costume. You’ve been Castled, my friend!

Beckett reaches out to the now free Lona, telling her to let go of the past as Beckett has had to do, and Lona goes into the arms of her beloved Reporter. Then everyone spends far too long watching the couple embrace. The Captain decides to pretend that this whole superhero never happened, and still no one addresses why Beckett is calling her “Sir.” The Captain is a woman, right?

Castle notices the similarities between Lona and Reporter and Beckett and himself: a writer and his lady cop muse. And as Castkett watches Lona and Reporter kiss, Beckle realizes that when they finally make out, it will be their last season.

Oh, and Speedbump had another scene. She, like, learned a lesson or something about being herself.

As you’ve all heard by now, the First Couple of music is expecting. Beyoncé Knowles (who long ago stopped needing her last name out of sheer celebrity – a task made much easier when no one else has the same first name as you, as evidenced Cher and Oprah) is pregnant with Jay-Z’s (né Shawn Carter’s) child. This kid is going to be in the spotlight from the ultrasounds onward. That kind of pressure takes a toll on a child; it’s going to be a struggle to stay grounded and live a normal life. And who better to offer some words of wisdom on the topic of maintaining a regular existence than me, a guy that no one has ever heard of? So to baby Knowles-Carter, here are some tidbits to make life run a little bit more smoothly.

1. Your Dad Used To Be Cool 

Here’s the elephant in the room. Jay-Z is forty-one years old. That’s kind of long in the tooth to be a first time dad. Right now, as he awaits your birth, he’s on top of the rap game, but how many rappers can say they’ve kept a hip-hop career going as they approached fifty?

My guess is, by the time you hit middle school, Old Man Hova will have his own ABC Family sitcom called Hangin’ With Hov. He’s kept himself in the game longer than gangstas-turned-teddy bears Snoop Dogg and Ice Cube, but sooner or later, he’s going to be less Blueprint and more Are We There Yet? But for a rapper, that’s aging gracefully. Do you really want to hear an old man crankily reminiscing about how he was “pushing weight back in ‘88” when he’s actually eighty-eight? I didn’t think so.

2. Be Proud of Your Name 

Celebrity kids get saddled with some real clunkers, but I have a hunch that your parents will buck that trend. Jay and Bey both have strong senses of their own places in American history and even more specifically, in African American history. Chances are, you’ll be able to avoid the worst of celebrity names (Quinoa Carter), made-up apostrophe names (Le’Majisty Carter), vanity names (Youngest Hova or Destiny III) and rich people names (Carter C. Carter Esq.). I would bet on something dignified from a Black artist or civil rights leader. Appreciate the fact that you’ll likely be Malcolm, Martin, Maya, or The Notorious BIG and not Apple or Moon Unit.

3. Don’t Dig Too Deep Into Your Parents’ Pasts

Most of us have the benefit of learning about our parents’ childhoods through photo albums or anecdotes. You also have the opportunity to hear the hit singles about your folks’ early years. My recommendation: Don’t. It’s very confusing to hear about the infidelities of your mother’s old boyfriends (“Say My Name”) or to realize that your dad’s extracurriculars used to include big pimpin’ up in NYC. Seriously, you’re going to hear things you won’t be able to unhear. If you’re curious, though, I’m sure dad’s old pal Bun B will tell you lots of stories when he’s in town for the weekend.

4. You’re Still Just a Kid

You’re going to grow up rich, and most likely famous. Just remember to listen to your parents. They’ve been through a lot. Your mother is a survivor. She pays her own telephone bill and automobill, the latter of which is a portmanteau that she invented combining automobiles and bill. Your father lived a hard knock life.

You’ll probably think you know everything, but there’s a lot for you to learn. Don’t get too big a head on your shoulders (which is something someone should have told your dad’s last protégé, Kanye West). Remember, your mother brought you into this world, and she can take you out of it. Or, in other words, she can make another you in a minute.

5. Take Your Education Seriously

You’ve got to learn more than “1+1” and “H to the Izzo before V to the Izzay except after C.” Go to school. Study. Follow your passions. You have a world full of opportunity and excitement at your fingertips. Soak it all up. Good luck to you, little Carter-Knowles, and godspeed.

And please, never make a music video about whipping your hair back and forth.

I’ve always loved TV. Growing up, I would watch shows like “Beverly Hills, 90210″ and “Melrose Place” religiously (I was an advanced child) and I would even go as far as ask my parents to buy me scripts for Christmas. The first show I fell in love with from start to finish though was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It aired in 1997 when I was 12 years old and I remember staying up to watch and record the premiere. I had been a fan of the movie, which the creator, Joss Whedon, apparently loathed, so I was curious to see what he had originally envisioned for the plot.

The pilot was dazzling. Sure, the effects were cheesy and the budget seemed tiny, but it blended elements of horror, comedy, and romance flawlessly. One moment you would be laughing and the next you would be either crying about the star-crossed affair of Buffy and Angel or be scared out of your mind about some creepy monster they had to kill. The tone jumped around constantly without ever becoming uneven.

I wasn’t able to identify it at the time but Buffy was also a show for feminists. Buffy Summers wasn’t the one-dimensional vampire killer she had  been in the movie; she was complicated, funny, tortured and, most importantly, strong. The show didn’t exploit her girliness. They didn’t linger on the fact that Buffy liked to wear lipstick and don cute outfits, but, oh my god, she kicked serious butt too! That would be too obvious. Instead, she was a variety of different things, drenched in complexities. When I was 12, I just thought of her as this badass chick but as I got to be older, I began to understand just how important and rare of a character she actually was.

I was obsessed with Buffy. I recorded every single episode on VHS tapes. This was before the convenience of DVDs so I would actually have to sit in front of the TV and press play and record, even making a point to leave out commercials. I would then carefully label the tapes and stack them in order. I was dedicated.

One year, my well-connected stepmother was able to score me a visit to the set so I could look around and even meet the actors! I was 13 at the time so the news put me on cloud nine. I was able to talk to Sarah Michelle Gellar (oh my god, she’s so short!) and chat with Nicholas Brendon and Alyson Hannigan. The whole experience felt surreal and just cemented my love for the show.

Looking back, I realize that I have yet to be as obsessed with a show as I was with Buffy. Granted, some of that had to do with my age. When you’re in middle school, you have nothing but time to get obsessed with things. But it was also a testament to how special the show truly was. I mean, the show was about vampires and demons but it somehow managed to be realer and more relatable than any show out there. Take that, Dawson’s Creek!

Check out more of Ryan’s quest to, among other things, accurately chronicle the 20-something at Thought Catalog.

I’ve been reading a lot of the beginnings of books lately.

This, truthfully, is a tremendously dangerous thing. A couple of years ago, I read 150 pages of Lolita and then put it down. For a long time. A very long time.

For at least 350 days, I lived in a world where one could (1950s spoiler alert, by the way) predatorily stalk a preteen, kill her mother, then amble cross-country with the kid as a means of doing some tremendously vile things—and everything would be totally fine.

I’m not sure that’s the lesson I was supposed to get from Lolita. But that’s the one I got. Until I finished it.

I suppose that’s why this blog exists this week. To make sure we see things through. To make sure we don’t get caught on the pretty first words.

There’s a quick fix for this and it’s called speed reading. I took one of those classes once. The teacher encouraged me and the nice, almost law-breakingly smelly boy next to me to have a race to finish “Flowers for Algernon.”

That’s almost exactly the opposite of what you’re supposed to get out of “Flowers for Algernon.”

So there’s this other way of remedying this problem, and it’s called “genuine perseverance and sticktoitiveness.” While I recognize it’s a massive pain in the ass, I say we try it out, America.

Just for like a week, though, to see how it feels.

It’s premiere week right now. I’m watching a bunch of shows that I won’t watch in the future, either because I’ll lose interest or I don’t yet know that the show is burning my brain away with stupid.

I’m only worried about the “lose interest” part.

I’m desperately afraid, honestly, that I’ll be stuck in this mode forever—reading the beginning of everything; watching through to a comfortable place until a show becomes too much of a commitment, starts to act like a bad girlfriend.

I’m almost certain that this is how most people operate now, and I’m a little scared that this is what causes people to lose their minds.

But losing your mind is the human condition. Television just accelerates it. Let’s talk about it.

“Television. Light of my life. Fire of my something something. Coins? Let’s say coins. Fire up my coins.”