Showing posts with label television. Show all posts
Showing posts with label television. Show all posts

Thursday, March 31, 2016

2015: On the Screen

This year's movie scene started out promising. I averaged around two movies a week, helped in part by a lack of steady employment and by a volunteering gig at Scarecrow Video. Honestly, it was a creative haven for me. I was watching movies outside my comfort zone, studying directors, becoming more of an auteur completist. Taylor and I barreled through 70s war movie and Kurosawa phases, dipped our toes into classic works we'd never seen. For my sadly short-lived Most Worlds blog (short-lived due completely to my own personal failings), I immersed myself in glam and vampire films, forced myself through horror flicks. With so many opportunities for new and great films, it was a golden age for the expansion of world views and massive explosions of personal creativity.

And then in July, I embarked upon the Grand X-Files Rewatch of 2015.

Watching one episode a day of any TV show is unexpectedly taxing. It's a lot of screen time, especially when you fall behind and have to catch up on six hours over the weekend. Compound that with rejoining the teaching force and my treasured film time seriously deteriorated. I was lucky to get one a week, if that. It left a surprising hole in my heart. To those who argue movies are a waste of time and brain, I say PHOOEY. It's a necessary boost for my mental acuity. Without movies, my brain is sludge. With movies, my brain ticks and whirs. Go figure.

So, without further ado, my 2015 movie round-up:



Total Movies Watched: 112. A serious dip from last year (133). Again, I blame the X-Files rewatch.

Movies I Saw By Myself in Theatres: The Imitation Game. Selma. Cuidad Delirio. Amy. Ricki and the Flash. Crimson Peak. Steve Jobs. The Big Short.

Movies I FINALLY Watched, Under Much Duress: The Hunt for Red October. It was not as boring as I thought it would be. However, it was also not as great as I'd been led to believe. It was a solid "a'ight."

Movies I Watched for Halloween: Monster Squad. Shaun of the Dead. MST3K: Manos. Corpse Bride. The Worst Witch. The Witches. Young Frankenstein. Something Wicked This Way Comes. 28 Days Later.

Martial Arts Movies: Police Story 3: Supercop. Armour of God 2: Operation Condor. Legend of Drunken Master 2. Fist of Legend. Rifftrax: Miami Connection.*

*I'm counting it. I mean, martial arts IS the co-main focus of the movie (next to neutered 80's pop songs).

Classic Movies I'd Never Seen: Heat. Zodiac. His Girl Friday. Ran. A Streetcar Named Desire. THe Shining. The Deer Hunter. Fight Club. The Silence of the Lambs. Jaws. The Seven Samurai.**

**Flawless Film

Movies Whose Awfulness Angered Me: The Hobbit: the Battle of Five Armies. Avengers: Age of Ultron.***

***Sweet mercy, I hated this movie. I'll be the first to admit I suffer from superhero film fatigue, and the whole building-smash-quick-cut style in this film didn't help. And then there's what they did to Hawkeye. Clint is not a family man. It does not make sense. And the love story was dumb, and they barely gave Quicksilver any lines so WHO CARES. You can tell that Whedon was exhausted with the film, because every frame resonates with a lack of caring. OK, do an explosion, fine. That's your delivery, Ruffalo? Cool, whatever. "Let's just finish the thing and go home" must have been Whedon's mantra as a director, and it was definitely my perspective as a viewer.

Movies That Filled Me With Righteous Anger: The Big Short.

Favorite Movies Released in 2015: The Big Short. Ex Machina. Star Wars VII. Crimson Peak. **** Straight Outta Compton. What We Do in the Shadows.

****Pure Gothic giddiness throughout. A typical del Toro visual feast, but with enough story to keep me interested.

Clint Eastwood Movies: Gran Torino. A Fistful of Dollars.

THE COMPLETE LIST:
  • Almost Famous
  • The Return of the King
  • Pee Wee's Big Adventure
  • Election
  • Jimi Hendrix: Hear My Train A Comin'
  • Heat
  • Velvet Goldmine
  • Mud
  • Punk-Drunk Love
  • The Fifth Element
  • Wayne's World 2
  • Zodiac
  • The Imitation Game
  • Moulin Rouge
  • Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion
  • Snowpiercer
  • The Hobbit: the Battle of Five Armies
  • Can't Hardly Wait
  • Patton Oswalt: Tragedy Plus Comedy...
  • Donald Glover: Weirdo
  • Police Story 3: Supercop
  • Gran Torino
  • A Fistful of Dollars
  • John Wick
  • Scott Pilgrim vs. the World
  • American Sniper
  • Selma
  • His Girl Friday
  • The Amazing Spiderman 2
  • Remember the Titans
  • Fantasia
  • Fantasia 2000
  • Armour of God 2: Operation Condor
  • Gremlins
  • Trading Places
  • What We Do in the Shadows
  • 20 Feet From Stardom
  • Horns
  • The Big Lebowski
  • She's All That
  • The Crow
  • Legend of Drunken Master 2
  • Spirited Away
  • Ran
  • A Streetcar Named Desire
  • Life Itself
  • Cuidad Delirio
  • The Shining
  • The Deer Hunter
  • Mad Max: Fury Road
  • West of Redemption
  • Fist of Legend
  • The Spy Who Loved
  • Fight Club
  • Hot Fuzz
  • The Man with the Golden Gun
  • Inside Out
  • The Lost Boys
  • We Are the Best!
  • Ray
  • Django Unchained
  • Inglourious Basterds
  • Rifftrax: Independence Day
  • Pulp Fiction
  • Jurassic World 
  • Attack the Block
  • The Silence of the Lambs
  • Sharknado 3
  • True Grit
  • Mr. Holmes
  • Amy
  • Ricki and the Flash
  • Bridget Jones's Diary
  • Shakespeare in Love
  • From Dusk Till Dawn
  • Benny and Joon
  • The Hunt for Red October
  • Straight Outta Compton
  • Throne of Blood
  • Jaws
  • The Seven Samurai
  • Monster Squad
  • Casino
  • Hercules (2014)
  • MST3K: Manos
  • Rifftrax: Miami Connection
  • Black Mass
  • Shaun of the Dead
  • Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
  • Corpse Bride
  • The Worst Witch
  • The Witches
  • Young Frankenstein
  • Something Wicked This Way Comes
  • 28 Days Later
  • The X-Files (Fight the Future)
  • Crimson Peak
  • The World's End
  • Spectre
  • Steve Jobs
  • Coco Before Chanel
  • The Godfather
  • Laggies
  • Kill Bill vol. 1
  • Kill Bill vol. 2
  • Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens
  • Sisters
  • The Dark Knight Returns
  • Ex Machina
  • Avengers: Age of Ultron
  • The Big Short
  • Leon: The Professional

Monday, August 25, 2014

Take Note

Being the nostalgia slave that I amand trust me, with my pack rat ways and my love of anything tinged with melancholic atmosphere, I am a slave to the nostalgiaI sometimes enjoy going back through past notebooks.  During college, I would use the back pages of my notebooks to scribble less-than-stellar poetry/lyrics, angsty paragraphs about the state of my relationships at the time, and quick rants about my classes.  Today, in lieu of a freshly-written post, I present a sampling of notebook scribbles.  These date between January and April 2011.  This was a tumultuous time.  It was my last on-campus semester of college, an experience I was ready to leave behind.  I officially broke up with the boy my world revolved around.  I started dating the man I would marry.  

There was a lot going on.

Some of these quick writings are strangely prescient now.  It's also odd to look back and see that even though I have completely changed, at the core my self, my views, and my experience remains the same.  

I was so organized back in the day.
Now I use smaller, soft-backed books.
When I take notes at all.  Heh.

CLIP ONE: ANGST.  SUSPECTED DATE - JANUARY/FEBRUARY.

I am in a dark hole with dirt walls.  There is a hint of sunshine above, but I can't be sure.  All I know is that I want to get out of the hole.  I start climbing the walls, grabbing fistfuls of earth and digging platforms, but instead of elevating me further it's burying me.  My throat is closing, filling up with mud and gravel, and yet I'm still scrabbling away at the walls, desperate for some breath of air.


CLIP TWO: FRUSTRATION IN POETIC FORM.  SUSPECTED DATE - MARCH.

He loves to play the martyr,
He loves to play the fool,
He loves to play the one that was abandoned, it's his rule.
He loves to play the slighted, 
The one destined to lose,
The one....

CLIP THREE: PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS.  SUSPECTED DATE - LATE JANUARY, PROBABLY THE 26th.

In one of my education classes this morning, we had a topical writing essay.  The front of the class is littered with a heady array of composition booksgray, red, blue, marbled coverseach with a topic printed in Sharpie on the corner.  I grabbed "TV" and scribbled away, waxing poetic about Bryan Fuller, Aaron Sorkin, and J.J. Abrams.

The trouble came when we exchanged books and responded to others.  I was cornered by the girl I secretly refer to as "my nemesis."  That girl who has to raise her hand and comment on everything, whether she is qualified to voice an opinion or not.  The girl who spent the first five minutes of class quoting racist anti-Obama bumper stickers and dismissing the State of the Union as drivel.  The girl who, after we responded to each other's writing, turned to me and smugly commented on how interesting it was that she chose reading and I chose TV, clearly implying that her choice made her intellectually superior.  The girl who, after reading my ode to worthwhile TV, dismissed my arguments and points for quality TV shows and stated that she didn't like TV, that it "rots your brain," and as such should be condemned.

I just love people who live in a box and refuse to learn from others, don't you?

See, it just frustrated me that she so carelessly tossed aside television, because I think that certain shows can be incredibly stimulating, that some can raise intellectual debate and foster learning.  And I don't like that some snot-faced brown-noser can waltz in and claim that her voracious reading of Jane Austen and fantasy makes her more intelligent than my watching "Dead Like Me" and "The West Wing."  Because that is wrong.  It's false.

CLIP FOUR: I SHOULD LISTEN TO MYSELF.  DATED 4-24-11, MY 22nd BIRTHDAY.

Here's why I never would have made a good journalistI want people to like me.  That's what attracted me to the field.  Meeting interesting people, talking, it all sounds great.  Except for the part about asking questions.  I'm too cautious to be curious.  Shame, really.

AlsoI suspect I am like Chuck Klosterman.  My fiction is meticulous, labored, and overly self-conscious.  Observation is my medium, and I should embrace it.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Spiritus Animalia

"What's your spirit animal?"  This has become the latest iteration of a bonding question, something asked at parties or on OKCupid profiles.  It's the new "Hey baby, what's your sign?"  And strangely enough, the aesthetic of these question-askers has remained the same.  The same waifish physiques, mustaches, neckbeards, yellow-orange plaid shirts and medallions of the seventies.  I blame the hep hipsters desperate to be original and yet homage their super underground interests.  This is why we can't have nice things.

This question has popped up at more get-togethers (and even concerts) than I care to number (methodically, and requiring both hands and feet).  Inevitably someone brings up wolves.  Because naturally, they share a pack-like mentality and appetite for raw meat with these kindred spirits.  Otters are also really big right now.  I want to say something snarky about that, but serious talk.  Otters are just too cute.  I can't.  Here's the closest I can get: Um, yeah, you totally eat food off your stomach, don't you?*  Just like those otters, huh?

I'm usually hard-pressed for an answer when the spirit animal question comes up.  Quite frankly, I don't share commonalities with any animal.  Is there an animal that likes to burrow deep into a cocoon of warmth and watch others industriously working, while it eats bread and cheese and watches the latest season of Mad Men?  No?  I mean, a queen bee doesn't quite fit that bill (no Mad Men, plus royal jelly is no bread and cheese).  But thankfully, I've found some answers to throw out when asked this inane question.  They might not fit into the spirit of the thing, but I can think of no better examples of kinship than these, my top three Spirit Animals.

And we share an affinity for skulls!
3. Daria Morgendorffer

A quintessential product of the nineties, Daria's flat affect and killer apathy are everything I want to be in this world.  My theory about the nineties, and why I pine after them, are that everyone cared so much.  Feelings and angst were worn on tattered flannel sleeves, so when someone disconnected with the world it meant something.  It wasn't the childish irony of today, when everything is oh-so-amusing because nothing matters.  It was an actual stand against capitalism, or declining standards, or the machine.  If Daria existed in today's television landscape, she'd probably be Zooey Deschanel, the odd girl out thanks to floral prints, ukeleles, and quirky cartoon animal pictures.**  Airiness would be the unique factor.  But thankfully it is not a product of today, and Daria remains aloof through slightly twisted channels, through padded walls and Sick, Sad World.
This is a mere artistic representation.
Seemed less creepy than a glamour shot.

2. Glen Weldon

I'm slightly cheating with this one.  See, Glen Weldonone of the hosts of Pop Culture Happy Hour, my favorite podcastis not quite my spirit animal.  He's more the yin to my yang.  He represents the perfect complement to my own disposition, the ideal inversion of my own tastes and predilections.  But it's in such a perfect way that I have to pay him due.  Glen Weldon writes about books and comic books for the NPR website, and is the surly, distinctly unfeeling member of the PCHH crew.  We both like comics.  We both have a distaste for schmaltz.  But it translates in slightly different ways.

1. Glen is more likely, in his personal opinions, to have a pessimistic outlook on situations.  Definitely that glass half empty type.  I, on the other hand, harbor deep disdain for everyone and everything, but in my own secret soul I'm optimistic.  A little gentler.  Life is a terrible thing, but I think it's that way because we're capable of more.

2.  When it comes to comic fandom, Glen thrives on FUN.  Give him madcappery, wildness, abandon that can only come through the wacky world of  comics.  My comic leanings go towards grit. Somber.  Dark.  Those suck me in.

These are just a few examples of the yin-yang effect, but essentially when it comes to being the group member to embrace blanket hatred, sir Weldon and I could not be more similar.  Hate on, dude.

You can practically hear the evil laughter.
1. Louise Belcher

Yes, Tina Belcher is the popular break-out star of Fox's animated Bob's Burgers.  Which I cannot understand, because there's this character called Louise, and she's perfect. She's my everything.  I think that words might fail me at this moment, since I love her too much to adequately express it.  I am not exaggerating when I say she is the ultimate.  I don't even have to specify the ultimate what, because she's that good.  Louise knows who she is, she knows what she wants, and she demands control with immediate and exacting vengeance.  Yes, vengeance.  Making the best use of Kristen Schaal since ever, including her role as Flight of the Conchords fan Mel (the less said about her 30 Rock stint the better), Louise blends bravado and sheer capacity for terror in a cocktail of complete assurance.  Everyone knows that she's the real one in charge of the Belcher family.  She's sarcastic, she's savvy (no one can manipulate folks out of their money during an art crawl like Louise), and she doesn't buy into the idea that just because she is a little girl, she has to be one.  A sharp-as-nails child with the soul of a miserly old man, Louise rocks.  She's maniacal.  She's commanding.  She's my spirit animal.

*I do, though.  I really, really do.  There just comes an optimal slouch when watching TV, and the stomach becomes the ideal platform for that dish of nachos.

**Is it obvious I quit watching the New Girl after one season?

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Bird Watching

Hi.

My name's Cat, and I've been pretty depressed lately.

I know.  SHOCKER!  It's not like it's been pretty easy to decipher that fact if you've been following my blog, or are friends with me on Facebook, or if you're one of those near-mythical "real life friends" (seriously, do such things exist anymore, or are they just relegated to icons between ads on Facebook?) (I kid, I kid, you know I love you, people I have actually interacted with in the physical world).

But I've been alluding to it as if it's over, or close to over.  You know, I'm "coming out of a funk."  Or, "the last few months have been hard, but it's getting better," or even the more cynical but no less silver lining-ed "it's tough now, but I still have so much good in my life."

Well, I lied.

I'm not coming out of it.  It's not getting better.  And yeah, there's good in my life, but that just makes this pervasive darkness even more oppressive.  Of course there's good in my life, so where do I get off feeling so crummy?  Seriously.  What an ungrateful little turd I am.  Man, I suck.

My life, as depicted by http://thankyoucorndog.tumblr.com/.

This comic describes my feelings.  When I talk to people about my sorrow, it turns into a laundry list of why I shouldn't be so sad.

"But Cat, you're so smart!"

"But Cat, look at all you're doing!  You're owning grad school!"

"But Cat, look at the opportunities you're getting!"

"But Cat, you have a loving husband and a really good life!"

"But Cat, there are so many people that love you!"

"But Cat, you are really so blessed!  Look at all you have!"

But, dear friends and family. But, while that is all true and well and good, but.  But that doesn't automatically make me happier.

If anything, it makes me worse.

Because those reminders and encouragements only add to the mental tally, and yes it is a constant tally, of things I'm doing wrong.  It becomes another failure.  That Cat, having all these lovely things and yet somehow, selfishly, brokenly, remaining depressed.

I'm trying to pull myself out of this mire.  I'm chasing that freaking bluebird of happiness with a titanium butterfly net, tricked out with rocket launchers and an army of drones in the handle.  And there are times when that lovely little creature will circle around my head, nearly landing on my shoulder but not quite there yet.  It's there on a sunny afternoon when I sit by the Charles and feel my skin tingle under the sun.  It's there when I dance to The Ballad of Mr. Steak with wild abandon during a Kishi Bashi concert, arms flailing underneath colored lights and layered sounds.  It's there while watching Veronica Mars and having good conversation with fine folk that give me hope in humanity and my place therein.

But for each time the bluebird almost lands, there are tenfold moments where it flies into a thorny hedge and refuses to budge.  These are the times where I stare into the void of a growing inbox of requests and freeze.  When my hands linger over a chapter to be edited, or a writer to be researched, or a TV show that I've watched and taken notes on and elucidated my thoughts in outline format, or even just the thought of moving that dang ol' dishrag off the counter and hanging it on the rack, and yet the next step halts.  

It's times like today, where I lie on the couch watching Party of Five* and eating Cheetos Puffs.  The cheese-spun cylinders make me feel marginally better, right before making me feel exponentially and inevitably worse.  You know how it is.  Curse you, sweet sweet snacks!

Today is extreme.  Usually it's just this heart-squeezing, gut-tearing feeling of misery and loneliness and failure that never really goes away.  

I keep telling myself that fessing up to it is better than gulping it down and pretending it's not there.  You know, saying outright that yep, I'm basically a champ at the whole self-loathing thing.  I recognize this and want to change, and like any good addict admitting I have a problem is the first step to recovery.

And blast it all, I'm trying to recover.  I'm doing the exercises, eating the healthy foods**, seeing the therapist, making the happy lists.  Pushing myself to get out and socialize.  Forcing myself out of the solitary comfort zone my jerkbrain prescribes.  Doing all the maddening suggestions that well-meaning people give me when they try to help.  I mean, I still find myself crumpling on the ground almost every day, but I'm giving it the college try!  Happy face!  Attempts!

I'm still chasing the bird, but I'm running through quicksand, and for all the leverage I get I still am sliding down, sucked into the depths.

So what, right?  What now?  Why write this?  Why talk about this?

Because somehow, it's making me feel better.  Writing is a great way to figure things out.  It's why English teachers assign essays.  Well that, and the feeling of enjoyment we get from hearing the groans.  Sweet music to the ears! 

"The shortest distance between a human being and the truth is a story."  Anthony de Mello.

Right now, my story is sadness.  And anxiety.  And defeat.  And by writing about it, I hope to see the truth in this experience.  I want to be able to figure out what this means, to see patterns in my malaise.  If all goes well, these words will form a ladder to tug me out of the sand.  They will shape into wings where I can catch that damn bluebird in his own turf.

*What a truly terrible TV show, by the by.  Full House on steroids and with an over-inflated sense of importance.  And yet, there's something about Matthew Fox's hair on this show.  I can't look away.  I want to, believe me I want to, but every time I try stupid Jack is there with his stupid 90's mane waving in the non-existent breeze and whispering Caaaat.....loooook at meeee.....Caaaaat....

**Most of the time, all Cheetos cheats aside.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Out of the Mouth of Swanson

Ron Swanson.  The ultimate wise man.

Right now, I'm doing a piss-poor job of living by this advice.  I've upped this ante by 100 percent, splitting my time and concentration between four things (well, technically seven if you count each individual class).

I might have made some errors in judgment this semester.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Ready, Set, BREAK

And just like that, as sure as the sun rises over the east and sets in the golden melted pools of western skies, I am done.  

One semester of grad school annihilated, two more to go.

Now on to one month of blessed rest.

Truth be told, I'm pretty proud of how this last semester passed.  Yes, moving here has been hard, and yes, I still had more annoying student habits than I wanted, but for the most part I was able to defeat the worst of my under-achieving demons.  True, my nasty procrastination habit is not completely gone. But I did kick it into submission about eighty percent of the time (the less said about that other twenty percent, the better).  Most importantly, I was able to finish finals with less stress and in a more timely fashion than ever before.  No last minute cramming for me this semester!  As an undergrad, I would usually frantically write my papers the morning they were due, finishing them with fifteen minutes to run to campus, print, and hand them in.  I am not lying when I say I was a lazy student.

So this is a pretty big deal.

This semester, every paper was finished at least by the night before class, and sometimes with a wider margin than that.  Let's check the timer and see how much time I granted myself, shall we?

Principles and Techniques of Journalism: 14.5 hours
Journalism Research: 18 hours
Arts Criticism: 29.5 hours
Media Law and Ethics: 66 hours

Might not seem like much, but to me that's solid progress.  Actual growth.  So eat that, all those people who stood up to violence or proved the Higgs boson particle or what have you.  I decreased my procrastination!  Victory is mine!

And now I can curl up and spend my break doing all those things I've wanted to do for weeks but have been delaying in favor of doing my work.  So over the next month, I'll be....




Reading these books:







Watching these TV shows:








And these movies:






And writing more on here (shameless plugging):


LIGHTBOX HEROES, a blog dedicated to reviewing new network TV shows.
Check us out at: lightboxheroes.weebly.com

I have a new project coming up.  Stay tuned.

And last but not least, doing LOTS of this:

Garfield is my spirit animal

Have a wonderful holiday season, dear world.  Enjoy the rest of this year.  I know I will.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Shut it Down!

30 Rock is not the show it once was.  In fact, it hasn't even been a ghost of the show it was.  Season six was downright cringe-worthy, and while season seven has been slightly better, it's still only provided a few weak smiles instead of the belly laughs of old.




But I have to admit.  That finale.  It blew me out of the water, sucking me into the Rock hilarity of olden days.  

For the first time in a while, it didn't feel forced.  The show didn't feel like they were trying to betray characters, or build up to something, or change focus.  It felt honest.  They touched on all the greats--the crazy catch phrases, the dynamic in the writer's room (something I have sorely missed over the past couple of seasons), Jenna's insecurity and Tracy's insanity, the sudden reappearance of Pete (PETE!  How I've missed thee), and a return to NBC power dynamics, this time with Kenneth in a new role.  30 Rock was always at it's finest when it was grounded in reality, and somehow, inconceivably, it regained that dynamic in this last episode.  Whether it was dealing with the difficulties in negotiating with networks or the struggles in producing a workable show, Fey was at her best when the madcap moments had a logical jumping off point.  But that same madcappery took over the show as of late, making it almost a chore to watch.

And I felt that way through most of this last, fateful season.  I could not have cared less about Jenna's unwindulaxing, or if Jack was going to tank NBC.  There was no reality in it, so there was no investment.  And of all the insane plot devices, nothing was more irksome than Liz's relationship with Criss.  As played by James Marsden, Criss came off as a completely false character.  It was difficult to believe that his relationship with Liz even happened, and not only because Tina Fey and Marsden had absolutely no chemistry.

And then they got married.  And for the first 75% of the episode, I was a seething ball of rage.  This made no sense!  What a lazy way to get a point across!  What betrayal, to take the depth that was once Liz Lemon and make her into this harp-tastic poster model for the worst kind of feminist, the kind who kicked against all typical gender roles in an attempt to make the playing field more even.  And as I rolled my own eyes at her sweatshirt wedding, with it's overly-conscientious rebuttal against tradition, something unexpected happened. 

Liz softened, bending to the fairy tale, but wishing to make it uniquely hers.  She realized that she wanted something that spoke to her, that didn't celebrate her as a bride, but her as a wonderful beautiful person that was making a significant change in her life.  She looked at Criss with questioning in her eyes, until he said, “Liz, it’s okay to be a human woman!”  I cheered.  I might have teared up a little bit.  I definitely was won back over to the 30 Rock side of life.  Finally, after too long in the world of the bizarre, it was back with some truth.  Some plain, unforced truth that made me fall in love with Tina Fey all over again.

After that, it was easier to say goodbye.  There was no longer bitterness about the show that had once been, but only fond memories of what it was and how it ended.  Perfectly, drifting on a boat to find itself, but back again in those last few moments.  Wrapped up neatly, but with loving nods to what came before.  Just like Fey herself, the finale carved out it's own niche while retaining a respect for the medium, but all while acknowledging the things that made it great--both in the greater TV sphere (snow globe, anyone?) and in it's own unique mythology (Rural Juror!).  Well done, 30 Rock.  I'll slow clap that ending out.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Chapter XII: Wherein TV and False Feminism Collide

I'm so ashamed.  I just wasted an hour of my life watching these:

 

And you know what?  I'm done.  This is it.  This is the final breaking point.  Get ready world, because the rant that has been stewing for over a year has reached a boiling point and is about to explode all over the shiny white stove top of your mind.

Let's discuss New Girl for a moment.  I'll admit, a year ago I was looking forward to this show.  I watched that first episode and laughed my face off.  And then I kept watching, but something was amiss.  It fell further and further in my esteem, and halfway through the first season I was already admitting to watching it with shame, trying to downplay the fact that I would pull it up on Hulu and spend those twenty minutes wondering what I was doing.  Here are my main two issues:

#1: Schmidt.

Yeah.  That's right.  Start with the torches, but I'm sticking to my guns.  While I'm happy that Max Greenfield has found a successful role (go Leo!), Schmidt irks me.  As a character, I find him overwhelmingly shallow, narcissistic, and distracting.  "But that's who he is!  That's the point of him!" you naysayers might yell at me.  Alright, fine.  I'll give you that.  That could be his character, and while it is a lazy character it is an existing one that performs a certain purpose in the structure of the show, so OK.  Take that one.

But here's my main issue--Schmidt is the fan favorite.  Schmidt is apparently the star of New Girl, sparking press galore and even landing an entire book.  I've even heard some of my male friends express a desire to be just like him, and that's what gets my rile up.  Why?  Why would anyone exalt and emulate a man who has a douche jar, bases his values in expensive clothing and accessories, and who builds up a personality in persona rather than substance?  I understand the (slight) humor in that character, but when it goes into admiration it goes too far.  Men, you can do better than that.  You can be strong, substantial, interesting.  Schmidt behaves badly and his badness is acknowledged, but then he is inevitably rewarded for it.  This system denies him any sort of growth, and who can blame him?  If his behavior prompts the pretty girl to sleep with him, his roommates to validate him, etc., there is no reason for him to progress and change as a person.  And as someone who believes that life is about constant improvement, constant betterment, that's more than frustrating, that's offensive.  Talking about offensive,

#2:  Zooey Deschanel and her views of femininity.

I used to like Zooey.  Back when she did the wry, slightly sarcastic, slightly (very slightly) "quirky" characters, I thought she was interesting, and a new voice on the scene.  But when New Girl came out, she embraced the cuteness and made that the whole of her identity.  Which is good and dandy, but when she starts trumpeting herself as the new brand of feminism (as done through her website, articles, and episodes of her show), that's where I take umbrage.

Let's quickly dissect that aforementioned episode of New Girl to get at my point.  In 1.11--"Jess and Julia"--Zooey's character faces an obstacle in the form of the awesome Lizzy Caplan, who plays the girlfriend of Deschanel's roommate.  Caplan is a successful lawyer who wears tailored suits, works hard at her job, and is less comfortable with her emotions.  All of which, naturally, means she is lying to herself and betraying her gender.  The main conflict involves Deschanel and Caplan fighting over their ideals of womanhood, with Caplan as the big, mean woman who is too tough and trying too hard to be like a man, and Deschanel as the adorable one who is true to her femininity through baking, gossip, crying and frilly dresses.  This all ends in a huge yelling match where Deschanel gets Caplan to cry and talk about her feelings and admit that she is just faking it to be more successful, and then they have a happy knitting party.  You know, to signal that all is well in the female realm.

This bothers me.  Why are the only options the career wench and the little girl?  Why must women choose between emulating men and emulating infants?  Not even infants, but some hyper-sexualized version of every feminine stereotype there is?  There is something fundamentally wrong with that scenario.  But don't worry, Mindy Kaling will fix it.  Or will she?

Mindy Kaling and The Mindy Project: Indulging the Myth

First things first:  I think Mindy Kaling is a BAMF.  Is she the gossip-fueled, slightly silly, clothes-whoring sparkly-obsessed stereotype?  Yes.  But she freely owns up to it.  AND she has goals and works ridiculously hard to achieve them, and I can't possibly begrudge her that because that's rad.  And yet.  Somehow, her show fell so flat so fast that I can barely contain my shaking rage at what's going on over there.  NPR has an excellent, slightly more positive view on the show than I do, but they hit on a good point: the main character is unlikeable.  And I don't see that changing anytime soon.

As it stands, the character of Mindy is a shrill, overly critical woman who expects life to be a fairytale.  She expects her men to be handsome, financially secure, mentally sound, and to put up with her shallow beliefs and emotional tantrums over the slightest of obstacles, whether it's job difficulty or the wrong frozen yogurt flavor.  Which is such a non-issue, considering that yogurt places LET YOU TEST FLAVORS, that I could hardly believe that made it through the writers room, let alone became a minute and a half bit on the show.

So yes, as a character Mindy has some serious tweaking to be done.  But I think the main fault is that fairytale dream of the show, or the belief that a character who pictures life as a romantic comedy will get what she wants.  Or deserves to get what she wants.  Part of this frustration lies at the source.  Romantic comedies are a terrible model for love.  They teach that true love is instantaneous, that people are meant to be, and that happy ever after is an easy and painless possibility.  They preach that love can fall on your doorstep without any effort on the part of the receiver.  That Mr. Right will find you and stay with you, no matter if you are a whiny, entitled princess who does nothing to improve herself.  In fact, the more you stick to your childish emotions and beliefs, the more deserving you are of love because you are somehow more pure and unjaded than the rest of the world.

How is this tolerated?  Love does not work that way, and the audience should not be expected to root for a protagonist who operates under these assumptions.  And yet, in both existing episodes of The Mindy Project, Mindy acts like a spoiled brat and expects cheers from the viewer.  Look how brave she is to be uncompromising in her expectations!  Look how wonderful she is for yelling at her co-workers!  How amazing it is that she can so seamlessly fake the girl her date is looking for!  It's remarkable.

Here's what truly disturbing about these shows--they are being lauded for their bravery.  Both of the showrunners are women, and the media is abuzz about how these two shows (and HBO's Girls) are paving the way for feminism, casting new light and new possibility on women as a whole.

Quite frankly, if those shows are the model of how a woman is supposed to behave, I'm ashamed of my gender.

I'm ashamed at us for not expecting more.  For not demanding more.  According to these shows, if you are not actively working towards marriage, changing yourself for the opposite sex to make yourself more appealing, and unapologetically indulging in your girlishness without having to face any consequences for emotional outbursts or childish dreams, then you are doing it wrong.  Which is selling us short as a gender.  Feminism is not about sexualization, it's about making yourself better.  It's about the opportunity to rise to whatever is possible for you.  So kudos to Mindy Kaling, Elizabeth Meriwether, et al for being successful showrunners, but don't drop the ball now that you are there.


Women do not have to adhere to the two extremes of the overly masculine career woman and the soft little girl in pigtails.  There's an entire rich spectrum of possibility out there.  When I think of women who successfully lived up to their potential, I think of women who oozed confidence, who carried themselves with a self-assured charm.  They range from the pretty femininity of Audrey Hepburn, the strong sensuality of Lauren Bacall, and the roguish self-reliance of Katharine Hepburn.  They were not all the same cookie-cutter type of woman, but they are all connected in their level of comfort with who they were.

And that is what we need to be idealizing, ladies.  We need to stop being OK with being talked down to, with having our roles minimalized and placed in neat little boxes.  We need to stop conforming to these ideas and expectations.  Our sense of worth is not defined by how men see us.  We don't need to be sex objects or placed on the pedestal of innocence and purity.  The fight is about equality, which is essentially freedom.  Freedom to be accepting of our bodies and our personal ideals.  Freedom to be accepted for whatever personality we have.  Freedom to work if we choose, to love if we choose, and to live how we choose, according to our own standards.  So if Zooey truly loves cupcakes, awesome.  But don't call me less of a woman if I don't.  Don't tell me that my relationship is faulty because I didn't know Taylor was the one from the first moment I saw him.  And on the flip side, don't tell me that I'm selling myself short by being married, by not working more or pushing myself towards different careers.  Let me be confident in my own abilities, and I'll do the same for you.  But dear women, make sure your goals and dreams are yours, and not dictated by books or movies or TV shows.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

High and Dry

I was watching The Newsroom today when an interesting thought hit me... oh, you haven't seen The Newsroom yet?  Really?  That delightful new concoction from Aaron Sorkin that mixes cynicism with wild, patriotic optimism?  The TV show about a news show that wants to be fair, and thorough, and actually return to the state of honest journalism that has been sadly nonexistent in recent years?  That show starring Jeff Daniels and Sam Waterson and Emily Mortimer and Alison Pill (who was my favorite part of Scott Pilgrim) and Dev Patel (who I've hoped would do something to redeem his last appearance in the worst movie ever).  You know.  That show.*

Anyway.  Back to my evening and the inevitable exciting-ness therein.  As I was watching the second episode of The Newsroom, this aching started.  This slow burn spread from my sternum, burrowed though ribs and lungs and settled into a white hot point of despair right between ventricles and arteries and whatever necessary tubes lead to the heart.

I want to have a job I care about.  I so, so desperately want to have a job I care about.

There's a reason I haven't been writing a lot lately,either here or privately.  It's because while life is going great, and while I love being in Seattle and adjusting to being married (surprisingly easy, actually) and having new friends and new experiences, there is this constant drag on my spirit.  My job has been the greatest source of strife for me over the past few months.  Every day, I wake up soulsick, knowing that I have to drive and drive and then sit and sit, trying to fight apathetic teens and over-zealous parents, teaching a test I believe is fundamentally flawed, all while struggling against a broken system.  I hate it.  I HATE IT SO MUCH.

It's not a difficult job.  It's just mindless, and soul-sucking, and my branch is run by people who have absolutely no business being in charge of anything.  I'm lucky that I have an out soon, and that come August I start an excellent job at an excellent school.  But right now I'm stuck in the middle of this disaster.  It's a strange experience, witnessing a workplace fall apart.  I feel like I'm watching the tail-end of a year-long decline at my company, watching the students and teachers abandon ship one by one, and anxiously waiting for the time when I can put on my life preserver and jump off.
  
That's why it's difficult for me to view people that feel so strongly about the importance of what they are doing.  I am self-aware enough to know that I'm driven by passion, that I studied a field that could feed that need and that I'm quite skilled at to boot, yet here I am.  Drowning in the after tow of life-progression blues.  Trying my best to survive these two months until maybe, just maybe I can feel some drive and inspiration again.  Until I can float atop the waters, soaking in sunlight, rather than being sucked into the riptide.

*It's also that show that has some salty language, so if you have sensitive ears maybe it's not quite the show for you.  But may I recommend the first four seasons of The West Wing?

Monday, December 19, 2011

Ooh La La

Well. Quite a bit has happened in the past, oh, three or four months. Seriously. These have probably been the most chaotic months of my life. I'll try to give some brief highlights of the crazy shenanigans I've been up to since August.

-I completed my student teaching. Woah. This was the most exhausting, exhilarating experience of my life, and boy did I love it. I never thought that I could be so frustrated and so enchanted with students. I taught Humanities, English 9, and Honors English 9. I learned so much during my few months there, but the most important was this: I am a teacher. This is what I am supposed to do. There are countless things about my instruction I'd change for my own classroom, but I still loved teaching. I did well. There were kids I struggled with and kids that were a delight. But overall, teaching was a beautiful, beautiful thing. I got brownies, hand-drawn pictures of dragons, and awesome stories every day. Definitely worth getting up at five every morning.

-I got engaged and survived a long distance relationship! I should get a medal.

-At the last minute, I bought a ticket from my friend Thom and went to the Foo Fighters concert. Best. Decision. Ever. I have no idea how I could have considered not going. Dude. Dave Grohl rocks my world harder than I could have imagined. PLUS he played the drums for opener Cage the Elephant. I died. And then screamed really loud. And then died again. And loved every second of it. Oh, Dave Grohl.

-This semester, I also tested practically every gyro available in Provo. I don't know why, but there was never a time when I didn't want a gyro. Oh, what delicious morsels.

-I became a record person. Yep. After finally getting a lovely sound system to accompany my record player, I started listening to vinyl. You guys, it's totally better.

-For the first time ever, I dyed my hair. I decided to take baby steps, and just added a few turquoise streaks. You know, something nice and subtle. I look awesome, and punk rock, and classy. All at the same time.

-I enjoyed a lovely afternoon at Gardner Village with Rosemary and Mary, some of the only girls on the planet who can make shopping an enjoyable experience. We found the strangest conglomeration or ridiculosity and awesomeness in Anastasia's Attic, and then ate delicious food. Twas a day most marvelously spent.

-Spent way too many hours dancing to "Lonely Boy" by the Black Keys. Lauren, Ashley, Annie and I went a little crazy with this song. But we totally have the dance memorized now.



-Finally caved in and watched all of Parks and Recreation. Best three days of my life. Ron Swanson forever!

-And the biggest, most ridiculous thing I've done is finish school and leave Provo.

That's right. I left Utah Valley.

YES.

Today, I packed up my final college apartment, said goodbye to my last college roommates, and drove away from BYU for the last time. Tomorrow morning I head up to Seattle, where I plan on spending at least the next two years.

This has been an intense, difficult time for me. My relationship with Provo has become more antagonistic, especially over the last year, but there are parts I love in it. It is the most crazy, messed up, ridiculous town in the US, but it will always hold a special place in my heart. I formed some forever friendships there, and I don't even believe in those things. It opened me up to some amazing opportunities. It enabled me to grow in ways I didn't think possible.

Life is not perfect, and thinking back over the past four and a half years I have spent roaming around Provo and BYU, there are so many things I would change. But I don't think I would have become the person I am today without living in Provo and going to BYU, so I am incredibly grateful for that.

The other day I was randomly listening to iTunes, and this song came up.



I hate Rod Stewart, and will never forgive him for the monstrosity that is "Maggie May," but I think that this song encapsulates my feelings perfectly. Somehow or other.

Even though I do wish I knew what I know now when I was younger, I'm still happy I had the process of learning everything. I had good times. I had great times. I had times that I wish I could forget. But each moment added up to where I am right now, and I am completely satisfied with that.

So here's to my new adventure. But more importantly, here's to you. Odds are, if you're reading this blog, you've helped shape the past four years in one way or another. So I want you to know, thank you. I've appreciated knowing you more than you could know. Whether you are family, friend, classmate, ward member, or random acquaintance, it's been wonderful knowing and learning from you. And as I start this new chapter in my life, a chapter that thrills and terrifies me, I want you to know I cherish you.

And now, I'm moving forward. Let's see how this goes.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Must Be This Tall To Ride

Well, I just watched Reality Bites again. Dearie me, what a great movie. Except every time I watch it I wish, with all my heart, that I could find Ethan Hawke even just a little attractive. I mean the character he plays is fantastic, intriguing, and has that whole dirty musician thing that's usually my weakness. But I can't get over his greasy weasel face. Such a shame.

Anyway, watching it inspired me to write. To write candidly, and with very little censor. Well, little censor for me, that is. Going from an emotionless brick wall to a wall with a small crack might not seem like much, but take what you can get.

If you've read this blog at all, you might guess that I'm a little media-obsessed. I'm an escapist in the truest sense of the word. Well, maybe escape isn't quite right. I don't seek to lose myself in the art of the day. Actually, it's the opposite--with every piece of music or TV or movie I watch, I try to use it to figure out my own existence. In fact, this trait has been exhibited several times on the ol' Angst Muffins, and even in a previous post about Reality Bites (found here). But I'm starting to wonder if this isn't the best tactic to take. Possibly, just possibly, stories by others do not carry clues to figuring out my own puzzling situations. What a blow.

That sounded a wee bit crazy. It's not as if I take everything I watch to be some great mystical Ouija Board. I don't think that I should mimic character's actions or anything. But the reason media is fascinating is because it forms connections, and I do believe that the more you examine the connections, the better any viewing/reading/consuming experience will be.

Take this Christmas Break for instance. Things you need to know about my Christmas Break: A- Fall semester was absolute Hell.
B-Over Christmas Break, I watched the series My So-Called Life in it's entirety.

I am not proud of this statement. Mostly because, all nostalgia aside, My So-Called Life is a terrible show. No, really. There is not a single likeable character in the mix.

* RANT* Except for Ricky. Ricky is pretty great. I never really understood why he hung out with Rayanne, except for the whole momma-bear 'no one will look out for her if I don't' spiel. She's a bad seed Ricky! You are better than that. *END RANT*

But back to MSCL, as the cool kids say. Really, just an irksome show. Like I said, bad characters, sophomoric, irritating dialogue ("It was, like, so totally elemental. Like my soul was, like, all, exposed or something." I don't think this is a direct quote, but it might as well be), and episodes that seemed to jump around and were over-dramatic, over-acted, and straight up annoying.

And yet I loved it. And what's more, I identified with it. Go figure.

There were times when I would finish an episode and just sit and squirm, I identified with Angela Chase so much. You see, back then, I had my Jordan Catalano, a guy I was oh-so-into, but like Jordan, all he wanted to do was make out in the high school furnace room and ignore me in front of his bandmates (not literally, that's referencing a story arc from the show for emphasis). And that Christmas, I had my Brian Krakow, the childhood friend, the boy next door who just wanted a shot, but circled my street on his bike one too many times (once again, a show reference, not reality).

And I thought, 'hey, MSCL. These can't be the only options, right?'

So I would sit a fume and vow to find the third character. An escape route. And all this time I would sit and have internal monologues that were undoubtedly in Angela's voice, and then I would get frustrated because my subconscious sounded like a fifteen year old girl. I didn't ever want that, even when I was fifteen.

See, I think that was the part that bothered me the most about finding myself in Angela Chase. She was a sophomore in high school. And I was twenty-one and finishing up college. There should not have been any comparison, right? I should not be sympathizing with the struggles of teenagers.

Sometimes I seriously worry that I have stunted growth. That is not to say that I am immature. In fact, I've usually considered myself more rational than other people my age (she said ever so smugly). That sounded condescending, and I apologize. It's not intellectually, or physically, but emotionally. I joke that I am an emotionless brick wall, but for a long time, I think that was true. I didn't start letting people in--whether it's friends or relationships or whatever--until college. So I guess it makes sense that I'm a little behind, desperately trying to catch up to the high school sophomores of the world, to figure out how interacting with others is supposed to work. I'm working on it, but sometimes progress is slow. Sometimes, I still think it's easier to just shut everything and everyone out. But alas, as I'm discovering, I'm an unexpectedly social creature, and I don't think the arms-length method of living would be worth it in the end.

So I'll progress. Slow but steady. And who knows, maybe I'll hit where I'm supposed to be one of these days.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

The Breaking Point

Me: Do you realize we have spent the past two days on the couch, in our pajamas, not doing anything? I mean, you're playing Solitaire and I'm watching Studio 60.

Annie: It's called roommate bonding. Now shut up. I'm winning.





Monday, March 14, 2011

And They Call Me...

... the Jackal.

It's time for me to wax eloquent about The West Wing. However, due to the fact that I don't blog until late and I almost always would rather go to bed than do this, I will probably not do it the justice that it so richly deserves.


Let's boil it down to a few main talking points, upon which I might elaborate at a future date.

1. I love Aaron Sorkin. I think his writing is beyond brilliant. The way he creates the most complex, and truly human characters is admirable. Sorkin also manages to mold situations and plot in a way that never, ever ceases to be magical. I just finished the second season, and I am still getting chills from the writing. The fact that I often just stare at the screen, dumbstruck, only able to whisper "this is the most well-written production" should attest to his genius. Also, have I mentioned that the man has an Oscar? Because he does. Aaron Sorkin now has an Oscar. And I have never supported and fully endorsed any win as much as I have his. Aaron, I am genuinely full of joy for you.

2. It has the perfect cast. I never thought I would like Martin Sheen, let alone be so loyal to his fictional president. I would vote for President Bartlet in a second, because (according to his character) he is a good man, with an excellent and supportive staff. He is the kind of president I would be proud of. He has to make the tough calls, but at his core he is a bleeding heart who truly wants the best for every single American. And that's just my opinion of the president! I haven't even started talking the rest of the spectacular cast. Like CJ, the amazingly incredible press secretary, or Toby, whose speeches make me shiver and inspire me, or Sam's idealistic heart of gold, or Charlie's sheer dedication to the president, or Josh. Sigh. Josh. Josh and his fantastic cockiness, his magnificent air of surety and his brusque, yet caring manner. I'm a little bit (a whole lotta little bit) in love with that man.

Basically, awesome cast. I could wax on and on, but I should probably stop before the sheer fandom makes my computer explode.

But what's magical about The West Wing is how it makes you genuinely care about the world. It makes you realized the importance behind those people who work tirelessly at the White House. Are their jobs easy? Not at all. Do they always get what they want? Far from it. But it shows a staff with dedication, with heart and hope and a sense of humor. It inspires me. If they can make those tough decisions, and have their hearts broken time after time after time, and yet still carry on with a modicum of hope, with some deep-ingrained belief that they can make this world better, then so can I. I won't let life break me. I will remain full of passion and inspiration and a desire to do good.

The gospel of Aaron Sorkin. One convert at a time. Join me, brethren.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Hello, Human Larvae

I'm quite a bit sleepy. It's been a crazy week, one that depended far too much on Diet Coke. But today has been a nice chance to slow down and try to recharge. I love that I finish at eleven in the morning on Fridays- it gives me a chance to glory in weekend earlier than most.

Quick shout out to Mary and her fantastic presentation today. I've never been so interested in the Riot Grrrl movement in my life. Punk! Anarchy! Legitimate art form in zines! I loved it.

You know what else I love? INVADER ZIM. Why has no one shown me this glorious, glorious cartoon before now? It just makes sense that it should be in my life. We complete each other. I haven't laughed so hard in a while. Victory for Zim!


I also stole (ish) a Trogdor sweatshirt today. Life is good.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Growing Up

So, what I've learned in 2010.... oh what's that? You thought you were going to be spared the New Year's retrospective because this thing wasn't titled "My 2010: A Year in Review"? Well too bad suckas! Here it is.

2010 was the best year of my life.

2010 was the worst year of my life.

Both of these statements are true.

This year brought a lot of new revelations for me. I had to work through things, figure stuff out, and face a whole slew of decisions I thought I had a much longer time to make. This was the year that forced me to accept reality, to deal with the future—with what I want and who I want to be. Those are some pretty big judgment calls, and to have to confront them all was daunting.

In short, too much of this year was spent in struggle. I struggled for four months with the roommate from Hell, learning what it was like to actually hate another person (which, by the way, proved that Star Wars is right—hate is the absolute worst emotion, and dealing with it is impossibly hard. It's difficult to feel happiness or hope when hate is trying to pervade every aspect of life). I struggled with my schooling, starting a downward slide this summer that culminated in the past four months, where my faith in education and love for learning has been shaken. I suffered the ever pervasive relationship issues, not just with romantic partners, but with building friendships and even interacting with my family. I struggled with facing my parent's mortality, manifest when my dad had a stroke not too long ago. I struggled with having to leave a job I had worked at for two years, a job where I was comfortable, safe and secure.

All this was heaped on top of the multiple identity crises I was having with more and more frequency throughout the year. In this sense, 2010 was the Year of Self-Doubt. But then, we continue to look at my title. I had to grow up this year. I had to accept that adulthood was fast approaching, and I must either deal with it or perish. So I sucked it up, came to terms with my fading youth, and moved forward.

It's odd to be so young, yet so old. Live in Provo and you'll know what I'm talking about. What a magical land Provo is, where a unmarried 22 year old with her Bachelor's degree is an anomaly.

But at this crucial time, I take solace in the mighty words of Oasis. "Don't Look Back in Anger." I won't, Noah and Liam. I promise.

Because you know what? 2010 was incredible. Last year I:

-Watched the X-Files.
-Finally embraced the phenomenons that are Jones soda and Cafe Rio.
-Caught a catfish, using shrimp and WD-40.
-Took some lovely walks in the rain.
-Had the best time at Lagoon ever.
-Found an awesome tree behind some office buildings in Provo.
-Longboarded down Provo Canyon.
-Bid a fond farewell to Lost. I may have cried, but only a little.
-Read The English Patient, and fell in love with beautiful writing.
-Passed my last general (Physical Science), and only went to class twice. Subsequently, I was able to enjoy my summer.
-Finally admitted that Ben Gibbard is a talented man.
-Went on a fantastic road trip to San Diego, where I attended Comic-Con. It was one of the best experiences of my life.
-Taught multicultural high school students a class on how to pass the ACT reading test.
-Ate hot dogs roasted over a fire.
-Watched nineties comfort movies projected on the back of a house.
-Sat in a hammock.
-Went camping by Utah Lake.
-Moved into an apartment with delightful roommates, all of whom are attractive.
-Bought the first season of Community.
-Read Chuck Klosterman. Gained a new hero.
-Played Werewolf.
-Debated the best Hostess treat.
-Saw some amazing movies. My favorites? Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, True Grit, the Social Network, Easy A, and Inception.
-Danced.
-And finally, saw SO MANY CONCERTS. It was the best year ever, concert wise. This was my favorite activity this year. I got a full range of musical styles, venues, and experiences. God bless music, because it saved my sanity. And God bless Sir Paul McCartney. Here's the list (as far as I can remember), with my very favorites bolded. All of these were good (with the exception of MGMT), but some just rocked my world.

Cat's Concert Countdown, 2010
-The Vibrant Sound (2) -Can't Stop Won't Stop
-Vampire Weekend
-Muse
-Mudbison
-Isaac Russell (2)
-MGMT
-The Black Keys
-Imogen Heap
-Portugal. the Man.
-
Modest Mouse
-Everson
-SIR PAUL McCARTNEY
-Rooney
-Big Boi
-Chromeo
-Matisyahu
-The Indecision (2)
-Temper Trap
-Ben Folds
-Ghost in a Jar (3?)
-The Utah Symphony presents the music of Led Zeppelin
-Colin Hay
-She & Him
-Mates of State
-Jenny and Johnny
-Seve vs Evan
-Imagine Dragons
-Fictionist (2)
-Joshua James (2)
-Sufjan Stevens
-Low

So there you have it. Cat's year in a nutshell. It was awesome and terrible, which is really all you can say about life in general. It's all about having a positive outlook that will balance those two traits. Incidentally, that's my goal this year. I want to look at life with optimism and hope, to find things to love about it. I've cherished a cynical persona, but I'm an idealist at heart and it's alright for me to let that show. Contrary to popular opinion, intellect does not equal cynicism. In fact, when it comes to people I truly admire, they are usually the ones who have risen above the world with unfailing love. I want to emulate that.

I think Conan O'Brien said it best: "
All I ask of you is one thing: please don’t be cynical. I hate cynicism — it’s my least favorite quality and it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard, and you’re kind, amazing things will happen."

Let's allow this New Year to be full of love. Life is good. This world is beautiful. And this year will be amazing.