I went to go see
Sex and the City with Ted at Showplace East's midnight showing, and it was absolutely the single woman's
Star Wars dress-up. The next day, however, I developed a
SPOILERy impression of Mr. Big's character arc in one minute, slightly amended here:
"Hey Babe, whatever you want.
"I just want you.
"This wedding is getting too big, materialistic, and status-obsessed. It's making me have doubts, especially considering my past two failed marriages. All I really want is something simple and with you.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry."
Disappears for an hour.
"How convenient I'm here.
"Well, honestly, it's just kinda obvious I'd be
here.
"I'm sorry.
"Will you marry me?"
And it's fine as revenge for the billions of movies where a woman's character is flimsily reactive of men. (Plus its opening weekend is a nice rejoinder to
film execs who don't want to make movies with leading women anymore.) But then it got me thinking about its male corollary HBO white-suburban wish-fulfillment porn,
Entourage. I guess the equal-opportunity stupidity goes around.
…I wanted to do this one before I left for Eville then Louisville (Stacey's wedding!), so I could hand some of these mixes to people in person. Here's some feminism for non-twits, or at least women who don't secretly let their daddy issues overtake their rational minds with endless hopes for princess weddings. (Speaking of which, side note for people planning weddings: We sang "Yo Ho, Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)" after her and Chris's first walk up the aisle as man and wife. That, like all things Stacey, was goofy without being forced and eccentric without being kitschy. It was an awesome wedding.)
5/25 Sleater-Kinney's Greatest Hits Mix- "Little Mouth" (Call the Doctor)
- "Dig Me Out" (Dig Me Out)
- "The Fox" (The Woods)
- "Oh!" (One Beat)
- "Turn It On" (BBC, "Get Up")
- "Jumpers" (The Woods)
- "I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone" (Call the Doctor)
- "Lions and Tigers" (One Beat Bonus)
- "Little Babies" (Dig Me Out)
- "Ironclad" (All Hands on the Bad One)
- "Far Away" (One Beat)
- "You're No Rock N' Roll Fun" (All Hands on the Bad One)
- "Not What You Want" (Dig Me Out)
- "Words and Guitar" (Dig Me Out)
- "Light Rail Coyote" (One Beat)
- "Modern Girl" (The Woods)
- "Leave You Behind" (All Hands on the Bad One)
- "A Real Man" (Sleater-Kinney)
- "Get Up" (The Hot Rock)
- "Step Aside" (One Beat)
- "Good Things" (live)
- "Start Together" (The Hot Rock)
- "Jenny" (Dig Me Out)
- "One More Hour" (live, Crystal Ballroom, Portland, OR, August 12, 2006) (S-K's final song at the final performance!)
- "Entertain" (The Woods)
…It seems like recently I'm a sucker for high-media reflections-on-blogging's. And though I caught this a week late, the first few pages of this
NY Times magazine essay describes some of the introverted-extrovert reasons I blog—along with more gray areas I've crossed many times. I took down two posts recently and held it against the person who asked me to do it; "I've never taken anything down," I said. "
Anything" (this being a pointed reference to the many overdramatic things that have come from good ol' INBaSiTW). The most hilarious points come from times the essay's writer, Emily Gould, wanted to erase a post, but instead said, "Just password protect it." (This is the same Gould who was the subject of
one of the best pieces of non-political journalism I read last year.) The archivalist takes over; for better or worse, this is the author's public diary.
But the thing is, it hasn't. I been off the personal post wagon for quite some time, and those confessional passages of her essay made me feel almost as equally guilty. This blog's audience base has always been weird, and even though it's still mostly scattershot over the country and old friends, there's still times where little ol' 20-hit-a-day me might still get a reaction from someone I see in person who's been mentioned on my Interwebs—potentially even with the boldness of a proper noun! It's the same whenever I read some blogger I know, the uncertainty of a pronoun-laden post cutting you to the bone even though it isn't about you. Blogging ain't for the paranoiac, and yet, it absolutely is.
Plus, I try not to repeat stories I've always written about, because, especially if I use the same language in person, it would become increasingly embarrassing if I realize it'd been read—or will later be read. And I'd like to genuinely feel as I tell someone a story that I'm not reciting it, that I'm genuinely informing them in real time. But, by that same token, the public diary effect is on. My best stories are on here, and the half the time, knowing how memory works, the blog clears the first path for a soon-to-be heavily trafficked neural pathway. And if the story's not on here, I have trouble remembering it. Maybe that's a vow for future writing on here. Or a requiem for past writing on here.
Whatever. Maybe the reason I don't do personal posts anymore is because I get maudlin and boring as shit.
Recently Viewed:Sex and the City (Thurs.),
The Fall (Fri.),
Standard Operating Procedure (Mon.)
