Up on a Soap Box

Every time i return to The States I go through some variance of culture shock. I am bombarded with English speakers, huge hamburgers, buttered popcorn at non subtitled movies and 80 channels of television. (My mom just gets basic cable.) I have seen T.V. commercials for the most asinine things, things I forgot I was supposed to want and need. I now feel that my life is less than perfect since I don't have an air freshener that is on a timer and goes off at thirty minute intervals. I also feel less than human for not having trash bags that are scientifically engineered to "not smell", a disposable mop that wets the floor for you, and a zip lock bag that can withstand the Civil War.

I don't miss television.

I arrived in Los Angeles right before the 4th of July. I had almost forgotten about the holiday due to the massive coverage of Michael Jackson's death. It reminded me of the O.J. Simpson trial coverage. You cannot walk down the street, get in a car or walk into a store without hearing about Michael. It is on the radio, the television and on every Angelino's lips. And today was the memorial service. Coverage of the "event", which was ticketed, began last night and has yet to conclude. It's 9pm.

I watched all of the memorial service and I cried. I feel bad for his family and for his children. I feel bad for his friends and people that he loved and who loved him. I found the service to be respectable and worthy of a man who changed not only the face of entertainment, but who endured a sad and lonely existence for most of his life.

What you think about Michael Jackson doesn't matter. What matters is that we used him. We sacrificed him. We have done it in the past, we are doing it now and we will continue to do it in the future. I don't mean to get all preachy here, but just think about it. We take celebrities, throw them into a tiger pit and watch them try to escape. That's Entertainment.

The best ones are the ones we get while they are young. Like Elvis, Marilyn and Judy Garland. All three of these stars were "made" by film studios and then thrown under the big bus of mass media. Like Michael Jackson, they were all surrounded by people ready to use them pretending to be their friends. They were all heavily drugged by "doctor's" and expected to preform. They all died young due to drugs.

I look at what happened to MJ and I can't help but think of Brittney. A child star, who burst into fame with no one really on her side. We have all taken pleasure in watching her flounder, fuck up, train wreck and self destruct. When Brit Brit was fighting for custody of her kids, we all had jokes and opinions. But you know what? My dad used to drive around with me on his lap too. It wasn't the end of the world. In fact, no one ever batted an eye.

I think Michael was paranoid with good reason. I think he never left his home or hotel room because he couldn't - he didn't feel safe. And, would you feel safe? Wacko Jacko. Child Molester. Traitor to Blacks. Gay. Crazy. Unfit Parent.

Do celebrities "deserve" this treatment just because they are famous? Is this part of what they HAVE to endure as the price of fame? I hope not, because it's kind of fucked up. It's fucked up that we as a society expect people to "pay" for being famous. Because we like their movies or buy their records we also expect to be able to critique their figures, love life and life style. It is never enough that they are talented and bring joy to our lives - we need to feed off of it. If someone followed me around every hour of every day taking pictures of me, I would not want to leave my house either. I have enough trouble dealing with my weight without being displayed in a magazine under a heading "Fit or Fat?".

I guess this really hit a nerve with me because I don't see this everyday. I flew into a media frenzy from a media free bubble. I am finding it disturbing. A man is dead - a man that most people found joy from in one way or another - and we still can't find it in our hearts to leave him alone.

LIFE

As a child the concept of “my future” was regulated to questions like, “what do you want for lunch?” or “Would you like to go to 31 Flavors after school today?” The future seemed not that far off, like Disneyland. I knew it was nearby, but I couldn’t tell you exactly how to get there or how long it might take due to traffic. The future was often a suspenseful thing, like not knowing what was going to happen next week on Dynasty. The only time I recall being asked the standard “what do you want to be when you grow up” was in school and being forced to either write or draw about it. I learned quickly that being honest in these situations would just mean doing the project over again. Acceptable answers included but were not limited too – veterinarian, schoolteacher, astronaut, mom, doctor or dentist. I think other kids in my class had caught on. I am pretty sure that no child dreams of dentistry.

My answer was always the same. “singer/actor”. The SLASH in between was very important because it signified that both singer and actor were on equal footing, both equally important. You would never ask Judy Garland if she was an actor or a singer would you? In my mind the two went hand and hand. I was raised on black and white musical comedies, so I knew that all actors had to be able to sing AND dance. You could not possibly be one without the other.

My scaled down answer of “singer/actor” was like I said, a compromise. It was an acceptable answer to the question presented before me. When I had written things like “Ginger Rogers” or “Lady who wears pretty dresses and twirls around on cruise ships” I was told that these were not real things a little girl can grow up to be. So I was told that being an actor or singer was a viable career option for a little girl in Southern California. I might have been better off trying to be Ginger Rogers.

The future also presented itself in the form of a board game that my mother refused to purchase for us. I would like to think that she was looking out for us and didn’t want to limit our little imaginations to stuffy ideas of being a grown up. But, I think the real reason was that the game contained many tiny pieces and required a minimal amount of putting together and my mother was not interested in the putting together of things. This was the game of LIFE. I marveled at this game when I visited my friend’s homes. This game had a spinner. This game had dice. This game allowed you to go to college and have pink and blue children. This game allowed and encouraged you to be as normal as possible. I hated it.

What fun was it to play a gamed based on your mom and dad? And College? That is something that we never talked about in our house. It simply was not an option for my future. A job was something that my brother had to have in order to get a car. So, naturally I figured that if I didn’t want a car I wouldn’t need one. And children? Well, let’s just say that my fantasy future filmed in black and white taking place on exotic beaches featuring me wearing a sarong waiting for a handsome leading man to come and have witty repartee with me was not accentuated by kids.

As I got older I had the nagging sense that my future was gaining on me. I saw that my friends were all “planning” theirs. What college they would go to and what classes they needed to take to get into said college. My friends all studied for the SAT’s and I was woken up on a Saturday morning and told to go take it. I was annoyed that I had to take the dang thing since I was going to Jr. College and it was not required for admittance. To this day I have no idea what I scored on that joke of a test.

To me, the future seemed to be a lot of hoop jumping and fancy semantics. Not much different than when I was a five year old being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were acceptable answers now as well. Mine ended up being – “I am going to PCC for a couple of years to get my GE credits out of the way and then transfer. It’s way cheaper than going straight to a four year school”. My real answer was much simpler: I DON’T KNOW. “I don’t know” made parents nervous. It conjured images of slacking off and living in their basements forever. Parent’s worldwide cringed when those words came out of their little baby’s mouth and they saw a life of explaining that little Timmy was just working at the Burger Palace temporarily until his transcripts got sorted.
I learned to lie and stall for time. I ended up spending about ten years at PCC, and I actually consider it a major part of my education. I took every English class that was offered from Gothic Literature and Horror to Utopian and Dystopian Literature. I took short story writing and analysis and poetry. I took philosophy, film and whatever else did not have math involved. I enjoyed it. I occasionally had fantasies of going off to a “real” school but I didn’t really see the point in it. By this point my future seemed pretty clear – find a job, a man and settle down.

So here I am in Prague many years later. I tried living the “future” that was expected of me, but it just didn’t fit. It was kind of like watching Cameron Diaz play a role that requires an accent and period clothing. You just don’t believe it for a second. Now I am living a life that is as completely off the grid as I could have gotten. But that’s the thing with the future, right? You can plan all you want but you really have no control over any of it. You have no way of knowing what life will hold ten years down the line, much less six months. Better to just loosen up on those reigns there, cow poke.

I know a lot of people in their mid twenties here in Prague, and the majority of them at one time or another have said something like this: I have to go back to the states and start my real life. This has always bothered me, the concept of beginning your “real life”. It’s as if you are saying, “I am not accountable now. I take no responsibility for my life up to this point”. And that is just a cop out. Your life is going on right now. You don’t have to achieve anything in particular in order for your life to begin. Getting a Master’s Degree or a BA does not magically make your life begin. Getting married, as I can attest, does not constitute the beginning of your life. Having a great job or a man that will take care of you is not the beginning of your life. Your life is NOW.

Each second of my day I consider another chance to make my life awesome. When I decide, “I’ll fix this toilet myself instead of calling my boyfriend or landlord” I have chosen to live my own life. Every choice I make every day is just another chance to live my life rather than just wait for the future to happen to me. Being a husband, wife, mother, father – these are all just job titles. You are you – living - no matter what roles you have decided to play out. Your REAL LIFE began the moment you came out all gross and goo covered straining for air.

So? I ask you this – what are you waiting for? Are you waiting for someone to rescue you from your life? Are you waiting to be saved? Cause, I got news for you – that just doesn’t work. I have been there. When you let someone “take care of you” you are just creating more problems for yourself. Not to mention you are just deluding yourself and the person who thinks they are helping you. A real friend is the person who says – okay. You have a problem. Let’s figure out what YOU can do to fix it. Anyone who wants to swoop in and save the day and is not wearing a pair of Super Hero tights is just a normal person who needs to feel important. It saves no one. There is that old adage about giving a man a fish or teaching him to fish. I try to remember that as often as possible. I like fish.

And, I have to remember that the future is always changing. I am always changing. What I wanted from life now is not the same as what I wanted from life when I was five. And that’s probably a good thing. If I still wanted to be a mermaid who can walk on shore to get candy then, I might have a problem. My fantasy future now involves me sitting at a huge mahogany desk flooded with natural light streaming in from the window next to it. My two very sophisticated children who enjoy reading, coloring and dancing are scampering about chasing the cat. My husband is not far off in the kitchen preparing a savory meal for us to enjoy that will celebrate the publication of my first book.

I wish there was an alternate version of “The Game of Life” one where you land on a square and take cards that say:

“You have an ephiany! Move ahead three spaces.”
“You choose not to go to college and piss off mom and dad. Move forward one square and back 2 for 10 years.”
“You tell your husband you love him just because. Move ahead.”
“Your future is constantly changing. Close your eyes and point to a square. Move there.”

Instead of Bankruptcy you have the option of squeaking by but being really happy in your life. The only way to loose at The New and Improved Game of Life is to let someone else pay your way, do your thinking and make excuses for you. If you are the kind of person that either thinks it’s okay to let someone clean up your messes, or cleans up those messes then…move back three spaces and think. Think. This is life. My life. I can either start fishing or wait to be fed. I can either be a fishing instructor or the guy on the corner handing out free fish samples to people who are to lazy to figure it out themselves.

I know. There really isn’t a guy who stands on the corner doing that. But you get the point. And this is my life – I make the rules.

Sing out Louise!

You use your voice every day. You talk. You might sing in the shower. You may even yell at someone for stepping on your foot or pushing you into a wall. but you use you voice. It is part of who you are.

A few months ago, I noticed that mine had gone into hiding. Hibernation. I won't go into detail but if my face is any reflection of me as a person, and my life then...zoinks! But, as things do - I am healing. Yeah, I fell off of a swing and landed on my face. SOBER.

During this time of spring and beer garden's and friends - I have been keeping to myself. I am not trying to be anti social, but I was on a self imposed schedule. A long time ago I read an amazing book - Steven King On Writing - It was really helpful in me deciding that i really did want to be a writer. He gave really great advice: Read...A LOT! and write EVERY DAY. So that, my friends, is what i have been doing. Working at the bookstore has helped enormously with the reading. I have access to tons of books and I am burning through them, reading all types of books and styles of writing.

As for mister King's second piece of advice - write every day - I have been. For the past couple of months I have been writing. A lot. I have begun to write poetry again. As I recall, I used to be pretty good at it. I had won some prizes back in my college days and had two pieces published. But I just stopped. Got lazy or defeated. So, I have been trying to find that voice again. I have also been working on a short story. And, much like the poetry, my voice took a sabbatical. It has not been easy. I have been writing this blog for so long that my style has really become honed - for a memoir. So, I have been working really hard to get back into fiction. And, I am almost done. I have two publications that I want to submit the story too once it is complete. If I can bear it, I will post it for you all to read. And, I have already submitted some of my poetry. I'll keep you up to date on that also.

Now, some of you also know that I fancy myself a good singer. In fact, I get asked at least once a week why I am "wasting" myself singing Karaoke in Prague. "You should be on Broadway!" "I would buy your album if you had one." And so forth. Well folks, I'll tell ya. I moved from Prague once before and I came right back. I like it here. I had a lot of reasons for coming back not the least of wich was I really missed my karaoke gig at The Blind Eye. Yes. I am a dork, and I like Karaoke. I get called The Karaoke Queen often, and I don't mind.

But, as with my writing, I do have some dreams attached to my voice. Not just my literary voice either - my god given Mezzo Sopranno. My belt. My pipes. You get it. As most of you know, I am from L.A., land of the hopeful waiters. That is one of the reasons I left. But, I do have more than a few contacts in the BIZ, and I have contacted them. Networking. Yep. In my isolation I have been attempting to put together a tiny little demo for myself. Next time I visit L.A. I am hoping to record a few songs. From there...? We'll see. I have contacts here in Prague as well and maybe I can get myself some little gigs.

This is the first I have mentioned ANY of this to ANYONE. After my failure with NANoWRIMO, I decided to keep my goals on the down low. Most people are supportive, but sometimes you come across people that disrupt or disarm you, and I didn't want to take that chance. The people closest to me had no idea. In hind sight I should have confided in someone. But, "...the benefit of hindsight and the clarity that accompanies misfortune and grief..."

So, that's what I have been up too. I now ask for your support and help. It has come to my attention recently that I need to share more. So from now on, think of me as Gypsy Rose Lee, and feel free to tell me to use my voice - all of them - and yell as loud as you can

"SING OUT LOUISE!"

I'll do my best to comply.

GENIUS

Genius. The word gets tossed around more than Britney Spears at a Frat party. Just recently Kanye West proclaimed to the world that he, himself was a genius. Isn’t there some rule that says: You can’t nickname yourself, and you can’t proclaim yourself to be a genius. (This rule applies to you as well, Erica Badu.) And, what makes Mr. West a genius? Sampling? I don’t think treating other people’s songs like a 24-hour – Non-Stop – All – You – Can – Eat Buffet qualifies someone as a genius. If so, then P-Diddy and Madonna are geniuses too. And the kid at the Metro with a Casio Keyboard and his itunes Shuffle. It doesn’t help that most of Kanye’s “fans” are in their 20’s and have never heard music that was made before Beyonce. Kanye West is what happens when you tell your children that everything they do is great, and they can sing when they can’t, that they are THE BEST and the prettiest. Maybe if Kanye’s mom had been a little more honest with him as a youth, we wouldn’t have to deal with the total Douche Baggery that is Kanye West.

I recently saw the film “Synecdoche, New York” and left the theater thinking, “Holy crap. That man is a genius.”

I am talking about Charlie Kauffman.

This film is a total departure from any “normal” movie you go and see. And I don’t mean that in a David Lynch sort of way. There are no atmospheric dwarves or metaphoric trees in this film. It doesn’t have any high urethane glossy love scenes, most of the people in it are flawed physically and emotionally, and it is completely frustrating to watch, but it is a product of pure genius. I saw the film 3 weeks ago and I am just now coming to grips with it and how truly new and beautiful, sweet and heartbreaking it really was.

It stars Phillip Seymour Hoffman as a man whose body begins to fail him little by little, and his entire life follows suit. That’s the bare bones version. It deals with loss and love. Parenthood and death. Beauty and pain. And living. Actually living your life – not missing it.

The film is harder to explain than quantum physics, so you’ll just have to go see what I am talking about.

But, the best thing about the film is that you get a brief glimpse inside the total mind fuck that is Charlie Kauffman. I sat there wondering just what kind of brain, what kind of creative super awesome brain thought this up? When we are riddled with films that have as much creative force behind them as a high school stage version of "Grease", we have to really applaud something different. It follows none of the rules of film making, but not in a pretentious "I am smarter than you" way. It breaks the rules simply and honestly, making you wonder about yourself.

So, Kanye, if you are listening and I know you are not, please PLEASE! Do us all a favor. Try writing your own music. You might be surprised.

And then there's Maude...

This isn't going to be very well thought out, and it might not even be eloquent. Bea Arthur died yesterday. I never met her, and she didn't know who I was but she played an important role in me becoming ME.

Maude. The first time I ever really knew what a feminist was was due to Bea's portrayal of the outspoken, liberal, divorced Maude Findlay. I watched in re-runs of course, the show ended when i was 4 years old or something, but I remember thinking how i had never seen a woman on TV like that before. Not glamorous or traditionally beautiful, Maude made a difference. The first time I ever heard the phrase "Women's rights" or saw a character deal with having an abortion or nervous breakdown. Something that would never pass today's overly cautious TV standards.(I also got to meet her future roommate and Golden Girl Rue McClanahan)

I don't know. Bea was a cool lady and her career and roles helped shape who I am.

Thanks for being you, Bea.

OBAMA does PRAHA

I saw President Obama give his first public speech in Europe this morning. It was in front of Prague Castle which is kinda in my back yard. Just a 5 minute ride on the metro and a tram (or walk) up the hill and you are there. When I woke up this morning I had no intention of going. I looked at my clock at 6:20, rubbed my eyes and said, "what the hell."

Like I said, it was easy getting there. I decided to walk rather then be the last clown attempting to squeeze in the car - or tram - as the case may be. 15 minutes later I was in a group of people waiting to go through security. I found some friends in the horde and we joked around until we were herded through the gates.

It was set up like a concert. Since it's Prague there were stands selling sausages and beer. But non alcoholic beer this time. We can't have any drunk assholes during the Presidents speech, now can we. There were port-o-potties, and about three huge screens so that little folk like myself could see what was going on and not just the backs of peoples heads. I appreciate little details like that. There was a huge swing camera taking shots of the crowd and people waving flags - both Czech and American. It felt kinda like the big dance scene in Grease when the the kids notice the camera and crowd around it waving.

I lost my friends as quickly as I found them and settled into a spot on a hill. While we all waited, a cool little Czech Blue Grass band entertained us, and I listened in as two Czech men and an American woman discussed Czech pacifism and what a total lame ass Klaus is. It was more entertaining than the music. During this time (from about 8-10am) I noticed how everyone in attendance was very excited and happy to be there. No one was protesting. No one was disruptive, except maybe the losers from Green Peace with their signs, but I ignored them right along with everyone else. It seemed that everyone there was really positive and chill.

When the band stopped playing we were treated to various up-beat pop songs by such internationally popular bands as U2, Kanye, and Earth Wind and Fire. I think one of my favorite moments was when Czech President Vaclav Klaus walked out to "Touch the Sky" by Kanye West. The Czech guy behind me was laughing and saying - "I bet Klaus thinks this is all for him". He also said that the late start was due to Klaus forcing Obama to listen to him read from his book. I liked that guy.

Obama walked to the stage with beautiful Prague as his back drop with his lovely wife at his side. They waved and smiled and people cheered. No one booed. No one.

The speech itself was awesome. He talked of Czech history and the Prague Spring. He talked about being in Prague and how important it was for him to be there. He talked of the youth of todays Czech Republic being leaders and how we need to look at the past for leadership. He spoke at great length about his resolve to stop the use and production of Nuclear weapons and how America can and will lead the charge in combating Global Warming...ah, I mean Climate Change. He was perfect. He even managed to say a few things in Czech. And the crowd goes wild.

When he was done I scurried out like a little bunny on speed. I think I beat the rush too. I turned around and saw hundreds of people behind me and just kept walking. While I was riding the Metro home I realized that for the first time in years, I felt pride for my country. I just saw a man, The President, give a speech and i was not left with an embarrassment or a need to deny my nationality. I was left with a feeling of hope and general glee. And, I must admit, kind of a crush.

Sorry Mr. Clinton. I think you've been replaced.

Everything I Need to Know in Life I learned from Old Patrick Dempsey Movies

The world today seems to be going all topsy-turvy because of the “Global Economy”. Everyday I read more about cut backs here, lay-offs there and a new term that I find mildly amusing – being made redundant. Seriously? Has our society become so thin skinned that we have resorted to the thesaurus to ease the pain of being fired? Instead of saying, “Sam, I am sorry but you are no longer needed here, and your position is no longer useful to the company.” It is somehow BETTER to hear, “Sam, we are making you redundant.” I wouldn’t know what to do with that. I would sit there; blank faced wondering what I should say. But I digress. The point was that the world seems to be going through a purse pinching, cancel that Latte, I’ll walk to work if I still have a job to walk to - crisis time.

I am completely unaffected by this. I am not saying this to be arrogant, or brag about my amazing job, but the global economy has little effect on me or my life. Why? I have always lived this way. My best friend often jokes that I am the only woman in the world who can have $20 at the beginning of the month, and come the thirtieth I still have about $10. I am not just frugal; I learned the value of money very early in my life. And I am not afraid of living off of potatoes.

I grew up in a predominately pretentious, little white suburb in Southern California just south east of Pasadena. The San Gabriel Mountains and the Angeles National Forrest were literally in my back yard. La Canada, California – home to Descanso Gardens, The LCHS Spartans, Christians and soccer moms galore. It is now called La Canada Flintridge and is even more gentrified than when I was growing up – if that is even possible. Back then there was no movie theater, no shopping mall and one video store. You were either an alum of La Canada Elementary or Paradise Canyon. Your parents made you attend one of five churches on Sunday and you played on a sports team.
As I got older, my friends and I embarked on new adventures such as meeting at Winchel’s Donuts to discuss where the party was, or we would drive up Angeles Crest Highway and drink in our cars until the cops came. Other times we would go to a point called Sugar Loaf and just “hang out”. Most times we partied at our friend’s houses. These friends usually had parents who thought it best for their sweet darlings to do their drinking under their roof, even if they were not home. God bless ‘em. As a point of reference, I had friends named Missy, Beau, Becky, Heidi, Holly, Bry, Brent, Dustin, K.C. and Shari.

This was La Canada.

My parents were Republican, my brother was Republican and I am pretty sure that our dog was Republican. I think that there was some sort of paper you had to fill out before buying property stating that you promised to vote republican, stay white and not bring in any outsiders to the village. I don’t think I knew anyone who was a democrat growing up. It was rumored that my dad was, but he never talked about it. Fear of my mother will strike you silent.

Statistically, my family was on the “poor” side. This is to say that my father built our home with his own two hands, my mother worked, both my brother and I had to get jobs when we turned sixteen, and unlike the majority of my friends at school, I was not given a car for my birthday. At high school graduation when all of my friends were hoping in their new cars and heading off to college I was unwrapping my Lava Lamp that flowed the color of the LCHS Spartans. God job kid.

I worked. I understood that cars cost money, and money didn’t grow in my mom’s purse or daddy’s pocket. My first car was purchased in cash; by me with money I earned over three years working at Domino’s pizza. I might have hated her for it at the time but my mother didn’t see the point in me having my own car if I could just borrow hers. In my household if you wanted something, you figured out how much it cost and saved your allowance. ALL-OW-ANCE. That’s a stipend that parents used to give their kids for helping out around the house and doing chores before they were old enough to get a part time job. You want a new toy? Then save your pennies little girl.

I have to say, I am really happy that my mom never felt the pressure to show me how much she cared by giving me everything that I wanted. I say this now with the beauty of hindsight. When I was 16 or 17 I was quite pissed off about having to be the only kid with a job – a real job – not just baby-sitting. And it is all paying off now.

I am living in Europe now still poor as fuck, but it doesn’t really affect me. I don’t own a car, so my transportation costs about $40/month. Food here is not really expensive and I don’t go out to eat very often. I keep my partying and drinking to the nights I work at the bar so it’s free. I have four part time jobs. I NEVER even think of entering a Starbucks, and I don’t buy new things unless I need them. I don’t have cable, TiVo or Netflicks. My only real indulgence is going to the movies now and again. And I am happy.

I know what you are thinking. “Sure, I would live that way if I lived in Europe too.” Well, I got news for you tough guy. I lived this way in America. (Except maybe the car – but I only drove when I HAD too. I hate driving.) Don’t believe me? Ask my best friend Jenn. She will confirm that I would come close to having a panic attack at the thought of buying anything more than $9.99 DVD from target, or a pair of cute shoes on sale at Payless.

Why am I bothering to tell you this? Well, honestly I am tired of hearing America complain that it can’t afford a new car…this year. Because we need a new car EVERY YEAR or so. I am tired of hearing, “How am I supposed to live under 6 figures?” Get a grip and toss that Prada bitch. I am tired of hearing about rising gas prices, expanding waistlines and no one walking! I am tired of seeing kids with cell phones, ipods, iphones and whatnot and hearing their parents complain about not being able to afford ________. I bet your little princess doesn’t have a job does she? And I’ll tell you this – a book costs a lot less than an iphone. I am tired of hearing American’s complain about a lack of jobs, but refuse to put on an apron or uniform of any kind. American pride is bankrupting America.

So, I want to thank you Kevin Bacon for working in the Mill in “Footloose” so you could put gas in your old BW Bug and drive yourself to the Prom. Thanks Mollie Ringwald for working after school at Tracks in “Pretty in Pink” and supporting your dad, who didn’t want to work. Thanks Judge Reinhold for working a Fast Food Job in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” and showing me that a job is a job even if it means wearing a stupid outfit. And, thank you Patrick Dempsey. Thank you for delivering pizza in a goofy mustache in “Lover Boy”, and for mowing 286 lawns in order to get the girl and the telescope, and for teaching me that money can’t buy me love.

I Hate Sex and the City

My relationship with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha started out promising enough. I, like many other women was happy to see smart, sexy, pretty, employed and SINGLE women represented on television. I was pleased to see a show where women talked and joked about dating and men in a somewhat realistic way. My friends and I had nick-named our past boyfriends, shared more than one cocktail or ice cream marathon over a jerk and even walked each other though weddings and divorces. Up until SatC the single women on television were limited to Bea Arthur and her pals on The Golden Girls, or the schizophrenic ramblings of the likes of Allie McBeal. Neither category was a flattering match for a woman who still has all her own teeth and all of her marbles.

Then along came Sex and the City. Suddenly women all over the world were aligning themselves with one of the characters on the show and ordering Cosmopolitans by the gallons. As I have finally watched every season of the show, and seen the movie of the same name - it occurred to me. Are women being manipulated by Sex and the City?

Somewhere about season four I started noticing something. Ads. Not outright commercials, but ads made into actual story lines. Pretty slick! Samantha gets her boyfriend a modeling gig for a brand name Vodka - which is featured on the show. Suddenly Carrie is eating McDonald's with her new beau. Miranda's life almost implodes because of her addiction to TiVo. Carrie has coffe at a Starbucks while typing on her MAC, and the shoes!...it goes on and on. When you sit back and realize what one little show did for a pretty pink cocktail - think what it could do for a hamburger. This series has spawned a culture of women who will buy anything.

Aside from the sneaky brainwashing, I was overtly pissed off at the movie. If you ask any group of women friends I bet you will find that they have all played some sort of variation of the "Sex and the City" game. Basically this entails a small group of women all trying to figure out which of the characters they most resemble and fighting over who gets to be the ever stylish, freakishly self centered, neurotic, Manolo Blahnik-ed Carrie Bradshaw. I have had actual arguments with friends who were offended because we thought they were Charlotte. Not everyone gets to be Carrie, and after I saw the movie I didn't want to be.

Sex and the City is just one of the most recent victims of a new, not so fashionable trend in film and television. Marriage as the answer. In the past few years there have been more and more films dedicated to the idea of a woman who wants to get married. This seasons hottest accessory? A husband. It's disgusting. Did anyone see that horrible Katherine Heigle vehicle "27 Dresses"? She plays an assistant (of course) who for some reason can't find a date much less a husband. She wants a wedding so badly that she collects other peoples weddings. Welcome to the year 2009 where women are sophisticated and above obsessing about the perfect wedding...oh wait. In this movie all the women are stupid. Why are women in movies today throwing away their dignity (and in Heigle's case) their personalities for a man?

Sex and the City has succumbed to the overpowering drone of the wedding march. And that pisses me off. I just recently finished watching the entire series from start to finish and that was not the direction of the ship I boarded! The theme of the show was - "it's okay to be single, you have girl friends". Sure Carrie was always looking for true love, but she also ENJOYED being single! She liked sleeping alone, coming home to an empty apartment and all of her quirky "single" habits. And it was okay! It didn't make her weird or stupid. It was just her choice. So, what happened?

Not to spoil the movie for you, but if you haven't seen it by now then just get over it. How the hell did they manage to marry off 3 out of 4 of them? And Carrie is one of them! I was really disappointed. I felt the whole integrity of the show was lost among wedding bells and designer gowns. Having Carrie marry Big betrayed not only her character on the show, but also the essence of the show. I think Carrie and Big could have been happy living together ala Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins or Kurt and Goldie. It seemed forced and wrong for them to tie the knot. By the end of the film, the only character who held true to herself was the prowling "cougar" Samantha. And, where was the SEX part? The men were not even characters in the film. I guess in the SatC world, once you get the guy and fuck him enough to propose and pay for the elaborate wedding he ceases to matter very much. I would have rather seen a movie about Steve's affair or Harry...just being Harry. I like them a lot more than I ended up liking Carrie.

I guess the reason I am writing this, on my very own MAC computer, with my very own clever voice over - is that I want us women to want for more. Let's be our own role models. Who needs a Carrie or a Miranda when there could be a YOU? It took me a while, but I realized that I am just as clever, sassy, stylish and sexy as any of those HBO ladies. Sure its fun to watch, but I think women took it a little too far. These are characters on a TV show in a New York City that doesn't really exist.

So, next time your friends start asking you which Sex and the City character are you I hope you remember this. Samantha isn't "liberated" she is a guy in a dress. Miranda is just a cynical Lawyer...in a dress. Charlotte is just...a dress. And Carrie? Well, she is just a lot of shallow and insipid questions wearing some very expensive shoes.