Archives for the month of: May, 2010

Ā«The ugly smell of unexamined privilege hangs over this film like the smoke from cheap incenseĀ», says New York Times’ critic A. O. Scott about the forthcoming Sex and The City movie, and we believe him, because this is exactly what we felt about the last movie. And the show. But still, this used to be our guilty pleasure and even as much as we like to emphasise the GUILTY in our guilty pleasures a guilty pleasure can no longer stay a guilty PLEASURE when it leaves you feeling like your brain is being hacked by pink monkeys. We’ll get back to pink monkeys on a later occasion.

In order to make unwanted time pass, we recently rented (yeah, went on our feet to a video store like old people) the first season of SATC, and let us remind you: That was something else. Carrie wasn’t poor exactly, but she felt guilty when buying those shoes; she wasn’t old exactly, but she was no longer in her 20’s; and she talked directly to the camera, channeling an early Woody Allen, if the early Woody Allen had been the kind that liked to dress himself in oversized decorative flowers and sequins.

The World Trade Center was still there and the opening sequence perfectly captured the essence of the show, which is to say the essence of (at least certain peoples’) life in New York City; you walk around in this amazing place, feeling perhaps a little alienated but mostly awesome, your awesomeness increased by a bus with your face on it driving past you (in most New Yorkers’ lives this would not happen. Really. But something surely would happen to increase their feeling of awesomeness for a second – if only the sighting of a celebrity or someone’s kind comment about your awesome shoes or possibly just your own reflection in a window, if you’re lucky enough to like it).

And then the bus will splash water all over you and your fancy ballerina dress.

That’s it, you build up pride and awesomeness and then splash. That’s what we liked about that show, that’s what we like about most things we like. Stuff that shows you how vulnerable the social construction is. YES EVERYTHING CAN FALL APART. This is why we like the title of Daniel Mendelsohn’s book How Beautiful It Is And How Easily It Can Be Broken, which we haven’t read because we’re still busy hugging and rocking and tucking the title in at night, making sure it is okay, happy and healthy.

We will get to it one day.

Anyway. Surely this movie is going to suck as bad as we think it will, the question is if that retarded spot in our brain is going to like it anyway. That spot that marvels over everything that’s hologram-shiny, that spot that thinks: SURE, I can walk in these heels and also: I should.

Come to think of it, why is that the question? Don’t you just love it when writers make statements like that. IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THIS BECAUSE I SAID SO. I AM A SERIOUS PERSON WITH A BRITISH LAWYER STYLE WIG. Stupid writers. We’ll tell you one thing, writing too is a hoax. These letters right here are just here to kid you into the next line.

And it’s never going to stop!

But okay, guess what we were meaning to say is we’d like to say that we’re going to boycott this movie, but what is more likely to happen is that we are going to want to see it (retarded spot, pink monkeys), then realize yet again that we don’t have any female friends, cry a little outside of Magnolia Bakery, beg the boyfriend to go with us, watch him roll his eyes in a serious no way way (bless him), and then we will put our sneakers on and head for a ferry ride, because ferry rides are awesome.

And as we’re boating around out there, the Manhattan skyline will feature no Towers, but we can still marvel at the steely abundance of purple and golden, and our bangs will look stupid in the wind, but our sneakers won’t hurt our feet, and we will think about how curious it is to be standing here, watching the void of something we never got to see.

(The towers, not the movie.)


Lots of rain and thunder suddenly relieved me of all my duties. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. But is it true that lightning can kill your tv?

Bubble wrap is pretty awesome in itself, but turns outright magical when wrapped around sleeping carousel horses piled on top of each other on a forlorn beach and circled by yellow CAUTION tape. Take that, stupid average unicorn, hiding in the woods so no one can see you. Carousel horses do it for free.

Why is it that most of the literature devoted to exploring and helping along happiness blows? IT JUST BLOWS. Just reading the cover of one of these brightly colored self-help/spiritual guidance/happiness-industry books give me the same feeling I get when I read women’s magazines: WERE THESE THINGS MADE FOR ALIENS TO PREPARE THEM FOR THEIR FIRST VISIT TO EARTH? With advice like: “Be yourself”, “don’t eat too much sugar”, and “if you like a boy, you should try to talk to him!” one should surely think so.

I will devote more time to this subject later, there is much to say. I am just so fucking tired of happy people monopolizing happiness.

One thing I like is the old, dusty exhibitions at Museum of Natural History. I am sure other places have museums like these too. Places that computers have yet to destroy with their blob-blob, zap-zap. It’s like a museum ate itself. Or like a museum of a museum. It’s the manifestation of the dictionary definition of a museum. Dust, dust, dust. If it wasn’t for all the children who come there, it would be a nice place to go: