Blog 47: In Defense of My Fondness for "Moulin Rouge"

I know it is such a stupid girl thing to like the movie Moulin Rouge. Hear me out, though. It's for that very reason that it took me ten years to finally watch it. I didn't want to be like all the rest. I can't help but assume that popular things are stupid. Every once in awhile, however, I am proven so very wrong. Whitteny (my roomie/best friend, for those of you just tuning in) has a huge collection of movies and one day I got bored enough to give it a chance...I did not regret it. How? Why? Your questions will be answered. But first! a Whitteny quote: "It's like drinking maple syrup...which is amazing." - Whitteny on Jack Daniels Honey. (Should maybe have been followed with, "We elves stick to the four main food groups...")

Beauty, freedom, truth, and love, the Bohemian sentiments that Ewan McGregor's character dreamily sighs after in the beginning of the movie, are some of my own ideals. I will admit I am quite the hippie in a lot of ways (though I like to put my ideals into every-day action rather than pointless protests or weed-fueled rants). I want to believe in epic love stories, and so it is difficult for me to resist one; especially when it is so creatively written. When Christian (McGregor) starts out, he doesn't know anything about real life. He seeks experience and an artist's satisfaction in the gritty town that houses the whorehouse/entertainment hall called the Moulin Rouge. Amidst the glitz and the glamour, he remains pure of heart, even when he immediately falls in love with the most infamous courtesan, Satine. He teaches her that playing pretend is never as satisfying as real love. It's your classic "prove that love exists" sort of story, but with so much more to offer. Such as...

1- Excellent musical mash-ups with satirical themes and excellent original scoring as well. I always wish that more movies were musicals in the way of the classics--like Singing in the Rain, White Christmas, and (to a lesser extent) Some Like it Hot. Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is at one point sung by a group of tuxedo'd men who visit the brothel (perfect parallel). There's even a new-agey, Indian-sounding version of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend." Countless good songs are put together in such a creative and whimsical way--my favorite being "Your Song" by Elton John--a beautiful (albeit, perhaps a bit sappy) tune that I might not have ever heard otherwise, accompanying the scene where the ill-fated lovers first meet. An intense and storied tango is danced to a gravelly cover of "Roxanne" by The Police, featuring an actor with a drinking problem and a bitter prostitute. Then there's this lovely medley:

2- It is a movie that makes fun of itself, while embracing itself. The characters who embrace the Bohemian ideals are naive, impractical, and often somewhat ridiculous. One even describes himself as "only a drunken, vice-ridden gnome whose friends are pimps and girls from brothels," but then goes on to say: "but I know about art and love if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being." They're hipsters in some ways, fools in another, and yet--like all of us, they have something to offer. Part of the way it makes fun of itself is in the overdone nature of everything: too-bright colors, dramatic numbers, silly situations (such as when Satine, believing she is seducing a duke, is embarrassingly overt at her temptation techniques). 

3- The actors are magnificent. I was actually never a fan of Nicole Kidman until this film, but she was perfect in the role. Delicate and pitiable, embittered and remorseful--she did it well. The real star, however, is Ewan McGregor, in my opinion. His voice is warm, innocent, and steady, and his look was perfect for the role.

4- "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return." Damnit. I'm such a sap. "Come what may..."

5- The bad guy gets a big ol' punch to the face. Come on, now. Even John McClane would dig that enough to love this film.

In conclusion...

SIR ELTON JOHN, FOLKS. SIR. ELTON. MOTHERFREAKIN'. JOHN.

Blog 46: The Jerk Whisperer

I had been trying for weeks to put into words this irksome sense of something in my head, when last night, it finally came. I have my older sister Elise to thank for it. Captioning it with "You haven't really tried to do this for awhile, but it still made me think of you," she sent me this picture in a text message:

Now, I think that whoever made up the word "hater" should be shot. And yet, it made me think. In my case, it's not so much trying to win over the 'haters,' but trying to fix people who are just (for lack of a better term) assholes. I'm pretty sure that's what Elise was saying...mostly in direct commentary on my love life (although I've had some pretty douchey 'friends' as well). There's something in me that just can't stand to watch people wallow in self-pity, depression, anger, bitterness, and so on. There's something in me that has to show those people that happiness is not only possible, but absolutely probable if they would stop for one moment and think of all the things in their lives that are worthy of being thankful for--they aren't starving, they aren't uneducated, they aren't being drafted into guerilla warfare or forced into the sex trade. People all around the world are suffering and dying, and we whine about something as stupid as a bad latte...just all the time. It's sort of a grodie behavior. Yes, I just sad grodie. No, it isn't 1996.

I don't know what this says about my character, but I'm sort of a magnet for hardened hearts. The insecure, selfish, angry, decidedly apathetic, self-segregated...they all want to latch onto this lady. And I usually let them, I'm sorry to say. It's like trying to be a life preserver for someone who has willingly attached hundred-pound weights to his ankles. Weaker vessels would be completely drained by this vampiric species we call jerks, but thankfully I always bounce back really quickly. It's a gift.

In some ways, I really am the Jerk Whisperer. When these people hang out with me, they're sometimes on their very best behavior. They're cheered up, they go light on the trashiness, they at least acknowledge that happiness exists. Hell, a few even try reading. Crazy, right? But the fix is only ever temporary because it's in pursuit of my approval, and I am stingy with praise when I don't believe a change is genuine. Most jerks prefer the lazy, coward's way out, so they give up after several "No, I will not marry you" statements. Moderating attitude, putting others before yourself, working hard--what nonsense. We should all just sit on our asses, drink beer, and play video games, all the while complaining about what a terrible place this world is and how unfair it is that we can't find anyone to love us.

I'm really big on Facebook. It makes me feel like I'm communicating all the time and I just love it. The other night, I posted a status about needing to get out of my head, and received a text from someone asking what was bothering me. I feel like my response would seem lackluster to most people, but I explained that it all came from observing hopeless, lost-in-the-dark friends. I spend a lot of time compounding world problems in my mind just because of coming in contact with unhappy people. How can I fix it? Should I punch all of them in their faces? Should I just try and shrug it off? No on the last. Never give up on your picture of a beautiful world. Do I genuinely hurt for these friends? Yes. I often feel broken-hearted that they choose not to see how great things could be, how much of a difference they could make if they'd just get off of their asses and try. But I also spend a lot of time just wanting to shake it out of them. Or karate chop it out of them, Jackie Chan style. Or roundhouse kick it out of them, Chuck Norris style. Violence is the answer? What? No. No, probably not. Damnit.

My best friend, my sisters, and other people in my life are constantly asking me things like: "Why are you friends with her?" or "Why do you hang out with him?" followed by: "He's an asshole" or "She's a liar." It's not that I don't see the horrible qualities of these jerks--I am neither blind nor stupid. It's that I cannot shake a sense of responsibility to make an effort on their behalf. It's that I can't just walk away from people who are drowning in their own bullshit. They have to see even an inkling of compassion. I do believe that one day it could completely change them. So, I will probably continue to give of myself with perhaps no tangible results, as insane as it can make me. I will not, however, be getting into romances with d-bags anymore.

In short, it seems I will remain the Jerk Whisperer, but the Beauty and the Beast complex has to end at some point. After awhile, it becomes a lack of self-respect to 'fall in like' with guys who berate you for being "too fat," "too smart," or (in one case) too unwilling to disavow your own family for not being spotlessly perfect. Let's avoid that rant, however. The point is, my heart unfortunately goes out to all of you egocentric bastards out there. And my realist-idealist, far-too-tenderhearted nature will make me hold out my hand to you for the rest of my days.

PS- NO I WILL NOT MARRY YOU.

Blog 45: The Curious Business of Love and Longing

I feel like I've had a lot of conversations with people lately regarding romance, loneliness, estrangement; from those who pine after what they believe they can't have to those who question if what they have is really that life-changing, meant-to-be, passionate love they've always dreamed of, I've heard it all. I think tonight, as I sit alone in the quiet house, the melancholy mood has struck--not the kind you frantically try to escape, but the kind you embrace. Sometimes, a person just needs to be sad. That being said, I settled into my pensive state with music playing.

One of the first songs was "Slow Show" by the National. It isn't a song for everyone, but it is one that has intrigued me since the first time I heard it play. My favorite part says: "You know I dreamed about you for twenty-nine years before I saw you, you know I dreamed about you--I missed you for these twenty-nine years." I would probably instantly fall in love with a man who spoke such words to me, as I am wont to give in to romanticism. I am enamored with the idea of a lover being so vital in a person's life that the absence can be felt as a deep ache, before a tangible connection is even established. I don't mean, of course, those whiny, codependent people who will fill that space with any convenient person who comes along. I mean that it is a beautiful thought that perhaps one day, a man could walk into my life who shows me just what was so empty about all of my previous relationships. I like the idea of us ruining each other for all other men and women--that we could see to the very heart of one another and be so besotted with every quality that no other person will do.

Of course, part of me wonders if such a thing will ever come. I really am okay with the idea of never being married. I would rather die alone than settle into a life that isn't meant for me, with someone who could undoubtedly find someone "just as good" to wed. Maybe it's vanity, but I want to be vital, understood, and truly admired. I really have no lack of patience in this arena. I think between the ages of 27-35 are the ideal years for marriage, when a sense of self is reached, mistakes have been made, real-life disappointment or tragedy has been faced and conquered, and a person has had the opportunity to see what he or she cannot accept in a relationship. I am about to make a seriously nerdy analogy, but in most cases I think marrying young is the equivalent of choosing the Fellowship of the Ring in Tolkien's trilogy. They all seemed ideal companions initially, but it soon became clear that they were only meant to stay by Frodo's side for a season. They began with an entire team, but in the end only Sam remained.

Anyway, I like to imagine my future self--having waded through the seasonal confidantes and transient paramours; having seen the giving, the taking, the wounding, the healing, the fear of impolitic affairs; and having moved a few steps closer to who she wants to be. I like to imagine that person being wooed, suddenly struck with an ardent and unyielding need to allow another human being into her world forever. I know I sound so dramatic. I get swept up in imaginings. And yet, like I said, I also really enjoy the idea of never marrying. I hate when I'm musing on the subject of romance and some (admittedly well-meaning) person butts in and 'encourages' me that I will find someone. I very well may not, and it honestly makes me angry that people think my life won't be complete until I do.

What is it about us that craves romance? Why do we long and pine and torture ourselves with what-ifs? Why do we get lonely? I once read that people in relationships (married or other live-in versions) tend to sleep better than single people. I absolutely believe it. As cliche as it may sound, no man is an island. We need each other. We need warmth. We need to share burdens. We need to be held, touched, and comforted.

I think that being in love is the easiest and most exciting way to allow ourselves to be vulnerable. It's why so many people subconsciously work so hard to make themselves believe that their relationships have more depth than they actually do. It's why my theatrical side falls prey so easily to scenes of impassioned music, dark rooms, and a hand on my face; pretending for a moment in my mind that a kiss means more than a mutual desire to escape loneliness. It's why we allow emotions to soar. We all want to feel like we're involved in something as epic as love because it makes us free. In love, we can lay aside insecurity, pressure, fear, and self-doubt. In real love, we can rest assured that we are cherished. As a society, we counterfeit it constantly, usually in the form of half-hearted trysts--because then we can at least imagine that the other person, for just a little while, doesn't want to escape our company as badly as we sometimes want to flee from ourselves. Am I making any sense? I don't know. I've seen enough of desperation to believe the logic is sound. I've been the stand-in, the second choice, and the convenient option--and I used to let that knowledge fuel my fury. These days, I still recognize that those boys (for boys is what they are) were wrong to treat any person that way, but I can't help but be compassionate toward them. They were just trying to survive. We've all grabbed hold of questionable lifelines whilst wallowing in wretchedness, and spurious affection is the most soothing mistake at the time for many of the aforementioned reasons.

I believe I've rambled enough. I've got a date with a soundtrack full of exquisitely sad songs.

Blog 44: 7 Reasons Why I Hate Women

All right, so hate is a very strong word. I really don't hate anyone. A more apt, though less catchy title, would've been: "7 Reasons Why I Want to Punch Women in the Face for Making Me Lose All Hope in Mankind." But you've got to be pithy and extreme with titles, you know--draw the readers in with them. Maybe I've demonstrated the behaviors I'm about to describe, but I have striven to avoid them at all costs for my entire life. I'm basically a dude in a lot of ways, even though I clean up real nice. First, I'll relate the story that prompted this list, as it is fresh on my mind and I think it will help me stop seething if I type it out. haha. Another comment I'd like to make is that I'm obviously making generalities here. I can't live thinking ALL women are this way...because, well, I am one.

That day was a great day all around, though I won't bore you with the mundane details of my contentment. It all culminated in getting off work at my temp job an hour and a half early. Excitedly, I trotted down the stairs and out to the parking lot. Once I got in my car, I uttered the sad, "No, no, no. Please start" that I usually speak when I do something stupid such as, oh I don't know--leaving my freaking lights on and killing Maurice's battery. Of course, I had already been at work for 8 hours, so barring a miracle, it was not going to start. In the past, when I've had car trouble, I've just automatically called AAA because I get too embarrassed to ask for help. This time, however, I wasn't going to be so ridiculous. I didn't want to wait between 45 minutes to an hour when I could just ask for help. A lot of us were getting off early, so surely someone would have time. I started with two ladies in the parking lot. "Excuse me," I said, I hate to ask but I left my lights on and my car needs a jump. I have cables and I know how to do it. I just need another battery to jump it off with." The first response: "I can't." (pointing) "Ask her!"...This next part I'll write sort of like a screenplay...

The Hapless Redhead jogs in the direction of another woman, hurriedly leaving the parking lot, and explains the situation again.

Hurrying Lady: (Pointing toward the building over her shoulder) Go inside to the door on the right.

The Hapless Redhead: Uh--o-okay. Thanks. (Jogs to car to get keys and shut the door. Then walks inside.)

Hurrying Lady: You're welcome.

THR enters building. Two women coworkers get off of the elevator and walk in her direction, Douchey McGee and Airhead McLazy Pants.

THR: (explains exact same way)

Douchey McGee: I would, but I don't have time. (turning to friend) Do you have jumper cables? If you do, you can go find--

THR: Oh, I have jumper cables--

Douchey Mcgee: (ignoring THR completely and addressing her friend, who stands open-mouthed) Yeah, if you're willing to wait for her, just go find Janitor So and So and he can do it.

THR: But--

Airhead McLazy Pants: (Makes stupid sound, then just looks, confused, back and forth between the two other women)

THR: (realizing neither of the two women are going to do anything but waste time) It's okay. If neither of you can help, I'll just go ask around and find someone else. (Walks toward the stairs)

Douchey McGee: (Heading toward the door) Just go find So and So. Don't you know who that is?

THR: Nope. (continues on her way)

Douchey McGee: (shouting) Don't be rude to ME! Blah blah blah I'm a jerk. (<---obviously, that part is verbatim)


Okay...that method is going to take way too long. Moving on. Next came running up the stairs and asking the receptionist if she knew anyone who could help (because the 'room on the right' I was originally directed to was empty). She, like the other women, only shook her head, confused. Nobody can jump off a car. What? That's crazy talk. There were like three women coming out of the office who heard my whole predicament, glanced at me, and got on the elevator to leave anyway. I was upset. I went down the stairs, calling AAA and resigning myself to a long wait. Thank goodness, my friend (who is one of the leads there) just happened to be on break and he graciously came out to help. It took all of five minutes. Yeah LADIES. FIVE MINUTES! How terrible to wait five minutes longer. It makes me so angry that people are too selfish to help anyone in need. I have jumped off two cars in that parking lot, and I didn't have to be asked. I saw the people having trouble and went over to inquire if they needed a jump. And as much as I like to help people, that's not exactly Mother Teresa level behavior. It's just a common courtesy situation. Anywho, on to the point...


7 Reasons Why I Hate Women


7: They all hate each other for being competition. I can't tell you how many times I've been fear-friended on Facebook (when a girl friends you despite not knowing you, because you've commented on some guy's page...then she stalks you a little). I can't tell you how many times I've had menopausal managers who were perfectly kind to all the male workers but basically went all Evil Queen on any other women who worked there. It's disgusting. Also...there are those crazy girls who hate you for even being in the same room as their boyfriends or what-have-you.

6: Too many of them think that acting stupid is cute. (Speaking with that annoying voice where all their "s's" are weirdly emphasized--yeah, you know what I'm talking about) "Oh. My. God. Let me tell you the ssstory of the time I acted like ssssuch an idiot and didn't even realize how dumb it wasss until sssomeone totally exssssplained it to me!" (giggles)

5: They have stupid voices. (See above)

4: They always act like there's an audience. The other day I noticed a chick at Starbucks talking to a friend. Every exaggerated facial expression, every look-around laugh, every pristine sip on her coffee looked like it was calculated for someone to see it. "I hope everyone sees how cute and happy I'm being over here. Can't stop smiling or someone might not think I'm adorable!" Everything has to be a show or a big production as a ploy for attention instead of letting themselves proceed in a natural way. Everything seems so fake. Some examples: girls who order bottled versions of the beers on draft (I'm not going to explain why), girls who only order salad on dates, girls who wear a ton of makeup and designer clothes to the gym. Another gem in this category of annoying behavior would be those chicks who take pictures of every single thing that they do. "This is me and my lunch! This is me wearing a hat! This is me totally sitting in a grassy field on a sunny day."

3: They feign ignorance so often--as if they don't know what they're saying with those dirty double entendres; as if they don't see the poor schmucks they flirt with getting hopelessly hooked; as if they don't strategically wear thin, white shirts on rainy days. They are so often pretenders, rather than straight-shooters.

2: They like the dumbest things. Case in point? Twilight. Titanic. UGG boots. Coach accessories of any kind (hello? What is so aesthetically appealing about a bunch of c's on basically plain brown cloth?). I could go on and on, but I'm sure you catch my drift by now.

1: They are far less likely to lend a helping hand to someone with a flat tire, a dead battery, a spilled change purse, or a dropped set of keys. They're so freaking paranoid about the entire world being out to get them, that they lose all sense of what it means to help their fellow man. When I approached the women who were technically my coworkers, they looked at me suspiciously and were extremely standoffish. Me, in my purple hat, little dress, and flowered rain boots. It's not like I was some big, hulking thug with bad grammar and gold teeth, wandering around downtown with some story about needing cash to feed my baby mama. A polite "excuse me!" began the conversation, and objectively, I looked adorably approachable. I just can't begin to imagine why women are so self-centered these days. Not that men can't be egocentric or that I imagine that they always have the purest of motives when helping a lady, but damn. I'd rather people help me just because they think they're going to get something out of it than not help at all. Too many women are sorely lacking the hero complex which, in the right measure, makes a person perform the duties of a "good Samaritan" in their everyday lives. I would've even accepted a half-assed good deed where someone simply pulled the car around, staying inside while I did everything on my own (in the rain. Did I mention it was raining that day? Or drizzling, rather.).

There you have it. I tried to make this humorous rather than mean...but like usual, it's probably a bit of both. I just get so tired of being constantly embarrassed by my entire gender and their shit. It's like going out to eat with a friend for the first time and realizing that he or she is one of those deplorable people who acts horribly rude to the wait-staff and then doesn't tip. If you're a decent human being, you feel apologetic and want to make up for it. Well, you can generally make up for a douchey dinner date with a sizable tip and a kind word or two, but it is much more difficult to compensate for the horrid activities of 90% of the women you know on a daily basis. haha.