K. and I recently watched all ten episodes of John From Cincinnati, the HBO series from madman Deadwood creator David Milch and "surf noir" mystery writer Kem Nunn. The story followed three generations of a highly dysfunctional family of professional surfers and the often wacky characters that take a bit too much interest in them (mostly played by actors intentionally assembled from formerly popular, low-brow television shows). Chief among those hangers-on in bizarreness was the title character, John, who was more likely from Heaven, Nirvana or Outer Space than any city in Ohio.

Abounding with miracles and unexplained phenomena, the show had a heavy spiritual, mystical vibe, but was way too twisted to ever feel boringly dogmatic. In fact you'd be hard pressed to say for sure what David Milch's agenda actually was. The show was fueled by its unpredictability and cut short before it got a chance to answer any of the questions it raised. But it's a damn fun ride nonetheless.

Although it might have been fascinating to see where Milch was going with it, in some ways I'm kind of glad the show ended where it did. I have the feeling it might have been like The Maxx, a comic book where the more they explained the insane things that were going on, the less interesting the story got. Of course, it's easy for me to say that since, unlike people watching it as it aired, I knew where and a little bit of how it was going to end.