Wednesday, September 30, 2015

A Haunting Realization

I begin this post before completing that other post I started and have yet to publish. I would have included what follows in this post in that other post, but then that other post would be far too long. You follow? Plus, doing this allows me to post, not once in a blue moon, but twice in a blue moon! The way I fill up this screen with meaningless one-way banter, one would think that I'd be posting essay-long posts all the time. Anyway. What this post will incorporate is, mostly, an analysis of myself and the journey I've went through from high school to now. There is a point relative to film/television as to why I've decided to post this. Things may get a little deep and possibly inappropriate in terms of what should (but will not) remain private. I'll try to hold back the more graphic elements, since my parents may be reading this. I apologize if they don't approve of me divulging such information, but it got me writing again so I think that's a fabulous justification. The topics discussed here may be PG-13, and even borderline R. Viewer discretion is advised.

It's honestly amazing how much I've changed over the past few years. I consider my life as of now to have begun in freshman year of high school--everything before then I consider to be childhood, and is therefore irrelevant to what I'm talking about now. (My childhood did have an effect on me, of course, but I don't want to give a bio.) I can categorize each year of high school, and I'll do it just because I'm curious to see what I come up with. Freshman Year: doe-eyed optimist, easily excited by the littlest events. Sophomore Year: loner year where next to nothing happened, spent mostly in the school library. Junior Year: rabid anorexic period where I viciously snapped at almost everyone important in my life. Senior Year: the year that that initiated the transition that has brought me to my realization stated earlier.

What I believe distinguishes the years in high school to now is my sentiment toward Miss Carrie Bradshaw. As you recall, years ago I simply despised her. Read previous posts for clarification and elaboration. Now? I identify with her. It's no joke, I sincerely find similarities between her and I, and the scary thing is that I accept these likenesses with content satisfaction. I say "satisfaction" because I am happy with who I am. Granted I have several flaws and bad habits, but I believe that hating myself will only enhance those horrid qualities. Where I stand now, I am truly content with the type of person I am. Change is guaranteed since life at every moment adds a special kind of dent in each individual. This dent may be positive or negative, but it basically tweaks a person in some form or another. Anyway....

Senior year was one where I started partying like a typical high schooler, like you see in the movies. Though the movie-type parties didn't come until very recently (i.e. this summer). In addition to my increased social presence and drinking levels, that last year of high school was when I lost my virginity. I don't know if I should be sharing this or not, but writing is indeed a form of release so write it I will. I won't get graphic or anything like that, for the sake of absolutely everybody. That pivotal moment of sexual maturity (such a grown-up clause, gross) truly sparked a change in me. Enter Carrie Bradshaw.

Aside from our shared talent (?) of writing, she and I share a similar romantic philosophy. Beyond that, we behave in very similar ways when it comes to so-called "love". That is, we've experimented with various men--I don't want to say boys because that's near pedophile territory--on our way to the ultimate goal that is finding love. Allow me to explain. She had sex with men in the city, and so have I. That's pretty much it. Have we made mistakes and done things (or guys) we've regretted? Absolutely. Are we ashamed of it? Not really. I mean, Carrie was a little humiliated when Natasha caught her sleeping with her then-husband Mr. Big. I've yet to have such an awkward encounter. Overall, though, the decisions we make are, at times, impulsive and hardly thought-out; however, we don't let our lack of judgement interfere with how we see ourselves. Note that I'll be referring to Carrie as if I know her or as if she is actually me and I know what she's going through. Many people consider this attitude to be akin to that of the "slut," and of course that is their collected opinion. I realize that I may be looked at a certain way, but I'm definitely not Bree Van De Kamp in late season 8 when she went lunatic and started sleeping with everybody. No, I keep my sexual prowess (pause for awkward giggles) under control, as does Carrie. In a sense anyway. As I'm typing this Sex and the City monologue, I'm increasingly aware of how inappropriate it is. Sorry for any awkward feelings that project from the screen and onto (unto?) you. Not really. Never apologize.

To get the juices flowing once more, I'd like to include some things I said about Carrie in previous posts. This is to perhaps gain an insight into myself--how I indeed see myself but am unwilling to admit until now. This should be fun.

As a person, if one prefers to call her that, Carrie Bradshaw is an absolutely terrible thing of nature.
This habit of blatantly interrupting people, her friends no less, really defines Carrie, as that is exactly who she is: conceited, selfish, and an overall bitch.
Not only is Carrie dim-witted in the department of love and relationships, but she has absolutely no sense--fashion or otherwise. 
She claims that he [Mr. Big] has commitment issues when she, herself, cannot commit to the supposedly ideal Aidan in later seasons; she even finds herself in bed with Mr. Big while in a relationship with Aidan. Sure, Mr. Big is married at the time also, but she is so self-righteous in her demeanor, justifying her illicit actions in the entirety of this lucid affair. 
She is the epitome of pretentious: valuing herself over others yet reaching out to them as if they were charity cases, and dressing glamorously which is actually quite tasteless. Nevertheless, I'm rather fond of the silly girl.
[taken from an unpublished post] Carrie Bradshaw is a quasi-fashion/television icon. In the eyes of millions of women, she is their idol: a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. More importantly, Carrie sees herself as a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. And so we begin my undying criticism. Unlike the general population of women, I view Carrie Bradshaw as an awful person. Yes, awful, in every single way. Not only is she not beautiful, but she is overall fake. She treats those around her like they are beneath her. Not in a nasty way, oh no, our Carrie would never. She treats them with excessive kindness and coos over those who buy their clothes at on-designer stores. "Aww! You buy off the rack! How adorable!" (That's just an example of her patronizing personality.) In this way, and so many others that I will get into, she is a bad person. No need to put the sugar coat on, she's a conceited bitch. But she wears some interesting clothing. Not stylish, interesting.

This quote right here, I feel, exemplifies the parallel between us:
Anyway, Carrie Bradshaw has many, many flaws, though somehow she comes off as (dare I say it) likable. Perhaps it is her self-delusion, how she convinces herself of certain things that are far from reality; perhaps her narration has inspired me to write in such a manner that pleases myself as well as you all, I am sure; or perhaps, deep within, I want to be Carrie Bradshaw. Doesn't every idealistic single girl want that? In some shape or form, maybe I strive for her life. Though I certainly hope I am not as foolish and self-absorbed as she is, or as careless with her expenses. Carrie Bradshaw is fabulous, in her convoluted, vapid sort of way, and I can only hope that I will be as lucky and successful as she is. That's all she is, really. Lucky.

As you can see, I was incredibly hateful of Carrie once upon a time. At times, I still am hateful towards her, but perhaps that is my way of redirecting judgement of myself towards another person. Psychologically speaking, I guess. The following statement(s) may sound far-fetched, but here it goes. Maybe I despised Carrie all this time because I was unhappy with myself. Maybe I directed all those criticisms at her so I could avoid addressing my own personal issues. Granted, I hated Carrie before I swiped the V card (if you know what I'm talking about, gold star for you). Maybe I had to explore my sexual "personality" before I could even make a comment about Carrie. At the time of my trek through the Sex and the City series, I was, also, going through serious health and personal issues. That was the time I had an eating disorder, when I was severely insecure about myself. I truly hated myself during that period, constantly thinking the worst of myself but never opening up to others about it. Maybe this is why I decided to hate characters in TV shows and movies. Now that I've achieved a place of complete security about myself, perhaps I've opened myself to accepting the similarities between Carrie and I. This is all very abstract and undeveloped, I know, but this blog is all about thoughts and ideas after all. I hope that wasn't too deep and contemplative. Definitely contemplative with all the "maybes". If I haven't said it already, I'm writing all this down and sharing it as my way of expressing my state of contentment and self-acceptance. I'm only sharing this with friends of mine, I'm not advertising it on social media at all. If you happen to read it and I don't know you, well now you know a little more about me. Let me know if I'm going far into Tumblr territory....

Now, it's closing time. I'm trying to limit my posts to less than a book nowadays. I feel really good about what I've said, which is something I don't outright share with you. If you care to judge me for the decisions I've vaguely explained, that's your choice. Just don't disparage me in the comments because that would make you not only judgmental but kind of an asshole too. I hope you enjoyed this change of pace. Sometimes it's nice to be a conceited bitch who shares everything about herself like Carrie. But you all love that conceited bitch, don't you? Until next time.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Inspiration for Insight

Greetings one and all. I feel like that's something Jimmy Neutron said in the movie, the one that came before the TV show, little known fact people don't know. Anyway, hello everyone! I was tempted to title this post "Inspired to Input Insightful Intellect" or some variation of that. But that's a tad lengthy, and as much as I love alliteration, it's a bit much. Anyway. I'm here to begin with a question: What inspires me? Recently, and most often as exhibited in previous posts, music seems to inspire me. Interruptions from others actually distracts me enormously. (I say this because someone is asking whether or not I'm sleeping. Sorry if I happen to write while I attempt slumber. Fuck, I miss writing.) Yes, music inspires me greatly to write. In particular to last night, the song "California" by Phantom Planet which is featured in the show The O.C.... That song really got my gears working but sadly the only computer nearby was not my own and had a goddamn password. Oh, another thing that bothers me is bipolar individuals. I realize that it is a legitimate illness, but it doesn't make it less irritating to experience and witness. 

That little intro was written a few weeks ago on my phone. Unfortunately, that so-called insight that overwhelmed when writing that has vanished. I have absolutely not idea what I wanted to write about at that moment. If only I had a functioning laptop that was in my vicinity. Now that I've been reunited with my MacBook, I felt it was time to get some words onto the screen and, dare I say it, actually post something. To get the creative juices flowing (as so many "writers" reiterate time and again), let me fill you in with what's been going on in my personal life. Those of you who care anyway.

One aspect of my summer is the acquisition of habits. Annoyingly vague isn't it? My use of eloquent evasion is spot on. I don't know if "habits" is the proper word to use here, except to refer to two activities that is certainly not at all healthy. Raised in a European household, I began drinking at an early age. Not vodka in my baby bottle early, but earlier than most. Drinking for me was solely for entertainment and I always made sure to be doing it with someone else. I'm not at the stage of drinking alone quite yet; I'm waiting for my first divorce or a midlife crisis. Still, my drinking did bother my ex, from what he hinted at while we were together and from what I found out later from his friends. I understand his frustration with my little (understatement) drinking, but it would have been nice to be confronted about it if it was such a problem. Again, no bitterness. I'm simply stating the fact that if you're in a caring relationship, those confrontations, while difficult, are recommended if not necessary. Sorry if that sounds harsh. Anyway, drinking has never really gotten out of hand for me over the summer, thankfully. It remains a very fun pastime I share with my closest friends. Or oftentimes new friends. I've made quite a few of those over the summer. I just feel drinking is a disinhibitor (because it is) and that it can pave the way for great friendships. In my case it has anyway. So that's that for my chapter in drinking. Don't drink and drive. Stay in school. Oh, the other habit is the occasional cigarette. Don't do drugs.

I'm trying not to write into "depressing Tumblr" territory, because that's not what this blog is about. I merely wanted to get the creative juices flowing (repetition) and share a little of what's been happening in my life. More excuses as to why I haven't been writing. It seems that I've developed a trend for writing posts, which involves writing in segments. For instance, the intro was written mid-nap sometime in August. The portion before what I am writing now was written a couple nights ago. Now, I am sitting in a computer lab on campus, finding a way to occupy my time in between classes. I'd have to say this is far more productive than my previous method, which is not writing at all. Anyway.... Let's move on to some more relevant topics that I normally cover.

I'll start the cinematic portion of this post (about damn time) by discussing the second season of True Detective. To begin what I hope to be a reasonably lengthy analysis, I'll give an overview of the first season and my thoughts on it. Most of the TV-viewing population was positively enthralled by the premiere of True Detective. Many critics and viewers alike dissected the series as a dark, complex, meanings-upon-meanings creation. The lead actors--best buddies Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson--were enormously praised for their performances; McConaughey for his portrayal of the brooding, contemplative Det. Rust Cohle, Harrelson for his portrayal of the damaged, volatile Det. Marty Hart. This just in: As I was skimming over the True Detective page on IMDb, I noticed that the website added a feature called "The Top 250 TV" list. True Detective is at #12. This is a very much appreciated addition, IMDb. Again, I won't get into plot specifics because (1) it wastes too much time, and (2) most of you have probably watched the first season. What was unique about the series from its initial launch was that it sort of reintroduced the noir genre to television. I say "sort of" because I can't say for sure whether that statement is true. I don't watch every single show, so I can't say for sure, correct? Granted, Breaking Bad has noir-ish elements, but I view it more as a dark Western type of production. But that's just me. Anyway, True Detective provided audiences with astounding performances, which make up for most of the show's allure in my opinion, mixed with intriguing, makes-you-think dialogue. The two lead characters, also, have an amazing on-screen chemistry--their conversations and debates are so engaging and realistic that it is as if you've become a bystander to their verbal exchange. The show itself has a mesmerizing atmosphere. Taking place in the Deep South of Louisiana (I think I'm inaccurate in calling it the Deep South), the setting provides an additional element of mystery and grittiness that only enhances the show's allure. I love writing with elaborate adjectives. The plot itself, involving a serial homicide case and witchy cults, completes the thrill and attraction of the first season of True Detective. A show this praised and complex just screamed for a continuation. Enter season 2.

The show was developed, I'm assuming, to have completely different storylines and characters from seasons to season. The second season includes four big names, as opposed to two in the first season, and a story many people found to be far less complex and therefore (to most) less interesting. The characters of this season are: Det. Ray Velcoro (played by Colin Farrell), a deeply disturbed alcoholic/drug-abuser who has connections to the underworld of crime; Det. Ani Bezzerides (played by Rachel McAdams), whose resistance to human connection causes her to give off a stone-cold front; Frank Semyon (played by Vince Vaughn, of all people), a pragmatic and intimidating leader of the criminal underworld; and Officer Paul Woodrugh (played by Taylor Kitsch), a strange, quiet war hero whose sexuality, he believes, contradicts his masculine persona. All I will say about the show is that its actors are superb. As good actors, they are good anywhere--that's basically the gist of it. The character development is lacking somewhat, yet this ambiguity contributes to the show's overall ambiguous character. Yes, the show has character as well as physical human characters. I really can't say why the reviews were so scarring for season two, other than maybe that the dialogue was a bit trite and cheesy. However, I'd like to justify that with the idea that the season was attempting to emulate the older films of the crime/noir genre. I saw the back-and-forth dialogue as a sort of homage to those older gangster-crime films, but that's just me apparently.

That's all I have to say on the topic of True Detective because, once again, I am continuing this post after a period of time. What appears to be the new format of my way of posting is that I will write in inspired spurts while I sit (most likely) inside my local Starbucks. I realize this is very very pretentious and clichéd, but it is honestly so peaceful here. Writing in cafés is clichéd for a reason. Thoughts just pop in my head. Whether or not those thoughts are actually interesting is up to you. I think every thought is valuable. Sometimes.

Looking back at how much I've written thus far, I believe it is time to wrap things up. I showed some posts to a few dear friends of mine, and they were shocked at how long they were. And that was said about the introduction alone. Of course, that's my odd, annoying writing style. I'd like to end this post with some repeated information as to how I'll be posting, if I do in fact post frequently. When a thought comes to mind that I think is broad enough to discuss in a post, I'll shoot out some witty yet scattered paragraphs about the topic. I will definitely be going off on tangents, especially when I continue writing the post at a later time. Regarding the titles, that I will have trouble with since I will probably be covering multiple topics in one post, all unrelated. The title of this post came to mind months ago when I started writing this, so I won't change that. I suppose I'll just use a title that forms in my mind as I'm writing--I really don't know. This is the most confusing paragraph of the post, resembling the complexity of True Detective. Boom, connecting points. I don't know. I write as I think. Also, I would like to disclose that some future posts may be very personal and might even resemble a column that Carrie Bradshaw would write. (Spoiler for my next post, which I am in the process of writing.) The dynamic and format of this blog may change dramatically, but will still possess my distinctive voice and eccentricities. Never fret, I'm still me. I am simply transmitting my laziness onto the blog; that is, instead of not writing, I will write when I feel like it and it will be very unorganized. I'll try to make sense. Again, this paragraph could be committed but I never erase of delete anything, which is a creative issue for me. Anyway. I hope to keep writing throughout the rest of the year and onward! Farewell until next time.