Step Away from the Watercooler: Thoughts on the Last Episode of Lost

26 May

Let me preface this post by informing you that I have never watched an entire episode of Lost. I have never have had nor will I ever have an urge to watch the entire series. However, I would like to comment on the “twist” ending of the series that seemed to captivate America for six seasons. Please don’t read ahead if you have not yet seen the ending of Lost.

Spoiler Ahead!

From my understanding, the surprise twist of Lost is that all the characters were dead the entire time, and no one actually survived the plane crash. This was part of a subplot called the “flash sideways,” which is symbolic of an afterlife that was alternate to the real life experiences that took place on the island. If this is an incorrect analysis, please feel free to correct me. However, if this is a correct analysis, my response to this is: duh.

I remember having a conversation with someone a few years ago about Lost. This person tried to convince me that watching Lost would be the best thing to ever happen to me, and on par with winning a small Las Vegas jackpot or having hot sex with Leonardo DiCaprio. Ahem, not so. There is nothing that turns me off more from a TV show than constant analysis of the plot and characters, and endless media coverage (I remember when people discussed Lost on Best Week Ever and in panel discussions on CNN.). The over-saturation of Lost made me hate Lost before I could ever watch it.

My biggest qualm with Lost is not its existence, but my ability to predict the “surprise twist ending” years before it disappointed millions of viewers. Whenever someone wanted a reason for why I did not want to watch Lost, my explanation was this: “I already know how it ends.” Actually, I had three predictions for what would happen at the conclusion of JJ Abrams’s brainchild:

1. The entire series will end up being the imagination and/or dream of a precocious child. A wide shot of the plane crash survivors would cut to a close-up of a young suburban boy in bed. The boy awakens and realizes he is late for school. He jumps out of bed, gets dressed, and runs out. The camera pans over drawings of planes and plane-related mishaps scotch-taped to the walls. Then blackout. And alas, ’twas all a dream. (A la the Tommy Westphall Universe theory.)

2. The plane crash “survivors” were dead the entire time and the island is a gigantic metaphor for purgatory, the disillusionment of human relationships and the acceptance of one’s life. Hmmm, sounds about right. This theory has been the most common on Lost fan sites and television blogs.

3. The camera pulls out from a shot of the survivors at a rapid pace, revealing the scene as a snow globe with an island scene inside of it. (Again, a la Tommy Westphall.)

How did I imagine any of these endings? I’m a writer and I hope to one day work as a staff television writer. These endings are completely standard for any sort of show that intends to lead an audience on a trail of confusion (See: St. Elsewhere, Dallas, and Newhart.) Why do you want to confuse an audience? It keeps people interested and it puts money into the pockets of network bigwigs.

The idea that the island in Lost served as a setting for purgatory is a good one; however, it was probably hinted at from the first episode (From my understanding, a dichotomy between the colors black and white established the symbolism of good vs. evil, in the very first episode). When was the last time that a large amount of people survived a plane crash anyway? And if they did, what are the chances that they could crash on an island in the South Pacific with polar bears, mysterious black smoke and time travel oddities? Lost went as far as it could take us into the imaginations of writers who tried their best to create and execute a vision for a TV show that would captivate and confuse a broad audience. They certainly succeeded – in the last six years, I could not go through a consecutive week without hearing, “Did you see Lost?” No, I did not see Lost. Perhaps I’ll write my own mysterious magnum opus of a television series and call it, No, I Did Not See Lost. Then I will be a millionaire with the freedom to make lame movies in the vein of Mission Impossible: III (Let’s face it, MI:3 was no original Mission: Impossible) and Cloverfield. Yeah JJ Abrams, I just went there.*

*A little-know fact about JJ Abrams is that he wrote the 1992 Mel Gibson movie Forever Young.  As a child I probably watched this movie dozens of times. How could a movie with the tagline “Time waits for no man, but true love waits forever,” be bad? Props to JJ Abrams for writing the early nineties masterpiece, Forever Young.

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I Love You, Marina Abramovic.

18 May

Marina Abramovic

A recent visit to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City introduced me to the work of Serbian and Yugoslavian performance artist Marina Abramovic.  The museum is currently featuring a retrospective of the artist’s work, as well as hosting Abramovic’s longest performance yet, The Artist is Present. I truly have not been more impressed by performance art, nor by a single museum exhibit to the extent that The Artist is Present captivated my attention.

The retrospective of Abramovic’s work shows unbelievable feats of a woman who uses her body as the medium of her work. Beginning in 1970s Yugoslavia, Abramovic’s performances focus on the manipulation and limits of the human body. Some of the pieces I took notes on were feats of the human body and mind that seem to have been completely unmatched.  In a performance titled Freeing the Body, “in trying to transcend physicality, Abramovic covered her head and continuously moved her body to the beat of a drum until she collapsed from exhaustion.”  In Freeing the Memory, “Abraomovic recited all the words she could think of, stopping when her memory failed her.” This piece made me wonder how man words I could recite before going completely blank. Not everyone can do what Abramovic does in her performances. Both of these performances were captured on film and can be viewed in the MoMA exhibit. The use of numerous multimedia in Abramovic’s art can be seen throughout the exhibit in the form of film, sound, and live actors.

In a 1973 piece titled Rhythm 10, Abramovic recorded herself playing a game of Five Finger Fillet (the game where you take a knife and try to stab the surface in between your fingers, while traying to avoid cutting yourself) with twenty different knives. Abramovic cut herself a total twenty times, listened to the recording of her stabbing herself with the different knives, and attempted the process again, in an effort to merge the past with the present.

In 1974’s Rhythm 0, Abramovic tested the limits of the relationship of an artist/performer with his/her audience.  Abramovic place 72 various objects on a table with a sign that informed the audience that they could use the objects on her in any way they chose.  Some of the objects included a knife, a gun and bullet, grapes, cotton balls, a slice of cake, and a single rose. Over a course of six hours, Abramovic allowed the audience to do what they pleased with the objects, with one participant loading the gun and aiming it at Abramovic’s head. Abramovic discovered, “if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed.” Rhythm 0 is a performance that chilled me; the control that Abramovic granted to the audience is something that could lead to sexual and physical abuse, and even death. Abramovic’s bravery is very impressive.

Starting in 1976, Abramovic paired with German-born performance artist Uwe Laysiepen, known professionally as Ulay. The performances by Abramovic and Ulay display the utmost in trust between partners and performers.  In a piece with a title I cannot recall, Abramovic and Ulay were nude, simultaneously running and colliding into large columns in front of an audience. In a recurring performance that would later become the basis for 2010’s The Artist is Present, Abramovic and Ulay sat opposite each other in chairs at a table.  A card describing the performance indicated that Abramovic and Ulay were not interested in what they were doing (sitting idly and silently at a table), but more about what they were not doing.  I took this to mean that the artists were interested in how long an individual can withhold himself or herself from reacting or acting on impulse.  The exercise is not only about patience, but also about self-control and avoiding base reactions.

Imponderabilia, 1977

Another Abramovic and Ulay performance recreated live in the MoMA exhibit is Imponderabilia, where the pair stood nude, facing each other in a doorway. Visitors to the work were invited to pass through the doorway, having to squeeze between two naked persons.  When I saw the recreation of Imponderabilia, two attractive young women were definitely nude, and facing each other in a doorway.  One by one, visitors, passed through the threshold.  I did notice that a good amount of men were gawking at these young women, and even more people could not seem to stifle their giggles as they passed by.  This piece, whether intentionally or not, makes a statement on nudity and the comfort level of humans in the presence of said nudity.  I honestly felt a little badly for these young women – their bodies somehow became the source of the pleasure of others, and not the neutral, beautiful works of natural art they were meant to be.

One of the most impressive pieces in the Abramovic retrospective was Balkan Baroque (1997), in which Abramovic scrubbed the meat off of 600 pounds of cow bones to symbolize the genocide of World War 2.  The MoMA exhibit displayed a huge pile of cow bones, though I am unsure of whether the ones on display are the ones Abramovic scrubbed clean. The exhibit lead to a room lined with photographs depicting Abramovic’s journey from a young girl in a volatile Yugoslavian household, to the accomplished performance artist and filmmaker she became.  Known as the “grandmother of performance art,” Abramovic’s life is as surreal as some of her works. Her life and work is stunning, and anyone who will have the privilege of seeing The Artist is Present before it closes on May 31st will feel the same way.

Marina Abramovic sits in the second floor atrium of the MoMA from its opening hour until a little past 5:30 PM.  The first time I see her sitting there, eyes fixed on the visitor sitting opposite herself, Abramovic looks waxen, and likely exhausted by her effort to remain completely motionless.  On the first day I see Abramovic, I see her end the performance at exactly 5:30 PM. She lowers her head and begins to weep. I can only imagine the immense effort and strength required to sit for nearly eight hours straight.

On the second day I came to MoMA, I wanted to wait to sit with Abramovic. I was unsure of whether there was a formal line to sit with the artist, but I did take some time to sit outside of the giant square on the floor and observe. I was able to sit and watch for around twenty minutes until I became restless. At this point, I realized that I was likely too impatient to wait to sit with Abramovic.  This notion makes me wonder whether one of Abramovic’s goals with The Artist is Present is to make a statement on human patience and its rapid dissipation in the era of online social networking, text messaging, and Blackberrys.  Think about what normally happens when you make eye contact with another person.  You try to look away, because making such contact is perceived as uncomfortable and invasive.  The 1,000-plus visitors who have sat across from Abramovic faced a fear that many are not willing to face. Prolonged eye contact is intimate and honest, and Abramovic holds no fear of being either of those things.  Perhaps Abramovic’s efforts have touched me because of a yearning I’ve had for human connection, something I feel that I’ve been without since my best friend and lover chose to leave me. I often wonder when someone’s gaze will captivate mine again, when I will be able to share a happy silence with another once more. Even though I did not sit across from her, I think Abramovic gave me a small taste of this feeling and the hope that I will find it again.

Marina Abramovic performing "The Artist is Present".

At its conclusion, The Artist is Present will total over 700 hours of performance time, and will be Abramovic’s longest performance yet.  Despite my enjoying The Artist is Present, many people will not understand, or simply care what Abramovic is up to. On my first day witnessing Abramovic sitting in the MoMA atrium, an older southern woman approached my mother and me, saying “I don’t get it. Am I missing something?” I imagine that this would be the reaction of most people, though my mother kept asking, “Where the hell is she going to the bathroom?” I suppose that may be a valid question, but it was also obvious to me that Abramovic is super-human, and she likely can avoid the bathroom for several hours. Marina Abramovic is an artist who has made her life’s work about her body, and she can do things with her body that the majority of human beings either will never care to do or be able to do. She is an artist whose genius impressed upon me a woman deserving of the amazing retrospective hosted by MoMA.

The Artist is Present runs until May 31st, 2010 at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

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How to Spot A Manwhore In Da Club (Go Shawty…)

8 May

Typical t-shirt worn by a manwhore.

 

In recent months, I’ve spent most of my leisure time doing what the kids call “getting tore up from the floor up.” I go out a few nights a week to drink, dance, and generally have a good time. I’m a bit surprised at the frequency of my clubbing – I think I only went out a handful of nights when I was in college (shocking!) and spent the majority of my weekends in a basement computer lab or in the library. College was a time of discipline and focus for me, and I think now that I still have yet to enter the “real world,” I’m simply getting all of my pent-up partying out of my system while being much more social.       

One of the few unfortunate things about nightclubs is the lack of savory people. Sure, you’ll meet a nice guy or two, but chances are that “nice guys” are not often found on the dance floor (where I spend most of my club time), where overtly suggestive dance moves are often the norm. This is why it is often imperative to go out with at least one other friend, who will act as a physical buffer for unwanted dance advances made by creepers. Of course, you could always dance by yourself, but people will probably take a video if you with their phone while you’re in the throes of “Red, Red Wine.” (Yes, they still play that song at clubs.) 70% of the time I am completely turned off  by the guys who try to dance with me – I do not go to clubs to meet men. I go to clubs to drink, dance, and perhaps meet new people. I highly doubt that the man I am destined to be with will be standing in the corner by the DJ booth while checking me out with a Colt 45 in hand.       

However, once in a while I’ll see someone I want to talk to. There is one guy I had had my eye on for a minute. We’ll call him Douchebag Jiggalo, to keep him anonymous. Douchebag Jiggalo is my exact physical type – blonde, blue eyes, tall, athletic physique, nice smile. He’s a bartender at a place I frequent, which should have been red flag #1. Apparently I’m the last girl in the world who was unaware that the only reason any man would bartend at a nightclub was to score vag. As my friend Angie said, “You can see it on him. When he’s pouring drinks he’s thinking of pussy.” Basically, Douchebag Jiggalo is the poor man’s Brian Flanagan, but without a Jordan to marry at the end of the movie.       

As it turns out, Douchebag Jiggalo is a manwhore. One of his friends revealed that any involvement with him comes with nothing more than barrels of tears and general bad life experiences. I’ll pass, but not without doing a service to my club-going sisterhood.       

The manwhore is not a unique being. He is plentiful, he is a shapeshifter. Here are some signs of the manwhore:       

1. Wears gaudy, expensive t-shirts in the Ed Hardy or MMA variety.       

Ed Hardy t-shirts, in addition to MMA-related apparel (See: Tapout) are the first indicator of douchebag-manwhore status. Only an idiot would think that a ridiculous t-shirt with an excessively large skull and rhinestones would ever be cool. Also, most men are not even capable of being MMA fighters. But you can pretend to be like one with your sideways Tapout hat.       

2. Either comes to a club in a group of four of more, or alone with his “wingman”.       

They travel in only two modes: swarm or couple.       

3. Reads Tucker Max or pretends to have read Tucker Max.       

If you don’t know who Tucker Max is, I’ll give you permission to Google him just this once. Now forget that you know he exists.       

4. His favorite movie is Wedding Crashers, The Hangover, Old School, or another masterpiece of the bromance genre.       

The bromance dominated the first decade of the 2000s. Expect your manwhore to count Vince Vaughn among his heroes. He’ll also likely talk about an “epic” trip to Vegas he’s planning.       

5. He only listens to two different kinds of music: shitty hip-hop (of the Plies and Gucci Mane persuasion) or Dave Mathews Band.       

The manwhore loves terrible rap music. He probably has the Gucci Mane song “Wasted” as his ringtone. If he plays guitar, he probably only knows one song – “Crash into Me” is guaranteed to get him laid.       

6. He favors light beer, but when light beer is unavailable, he drinks Vodka-Cranberries and pounds Jagerbombs.       

The manwhore is a bit of an amateur when it comes to drinking, and light beer is his best friend. When he’s feeling adventurous, a Vodka-Cranberry is the way to go.       

Those are all the signs I can think of for now. Do any readers out there have any I can add?

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I’m Better Than You: The Longterm Effects of Bullying

29 Apr

Typical high school bullies.

I remember being teased from a very young age. I think my earliest memories of being bullied are from kindergarten. The image of a slightly older girl, with long, light brown hair is surfacing in my mind. I don’t remember her name. What I do remember is that she made fun of my laugh. My laugh is my most mocked trait, closely followed by my above-average height. I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard that I sound like a donkey, that I cackle like a little old witch, that I rival Xena Warrior Princess, and I’ve been asked how the weather is “up there”. If we’ve met in person, I suppose you know what I’m talking about. I don’t get it, however, because I don’t notice. My laugh and my height are simply a part of me, things I never even think twice about.

The questions usually goes like this: “Why do you make that sound?” I don’t know. Why are you fat? See what I did there? We could all be mean and say the first things that come to mind when we meet someone new. However, when you are taught to be a kind person who does not judge others solely on traits that jump out first, you just may learn to judge people on their character. I have an extremely good judge of character, and I feel that this ability can be attributed to the constant teasing I endured as a young girl. I can quickly determine who has an ulterior motive to truly harm me, or who is simply poking fun because they love me.*

Anyway, kids first starting picking on me in kindergarten. I was always smarter than most kids my age. I’m not trying to sound self-important, but my point is that being smart is not considered cool. Especially by elementary school kids. If you’re a really smart kid, you’re bound to be bored by your peers and you’ll likely possess an imagination that rivals that of any Dungeons and Dragons master. I remember a spelling bee that took place in 3rd grade. A few kids had decided to sit out after making the point that “Heather will win.” I did win, on the word “apartment”. A great achievement, I know. My status as a nerd was forever ingrained at this moment. My nerdiness was a source of comfort for me – I would often spend my free time reading any book I could find and compiling lists of words of my choice for my weekly spelling tests. But did being smart get people to like me? Not at all. In fact, it probably did the opposite. The sneers I would get when I walked past certain kids led me to believe that my mind was somewhat of a curse.

8th grade was the worst year for me. A group of pubescent boys decided it would be fun to make my life hell by calling me the name of a particular animal that I will not mention. Their attacks were highly orchestrated, and somewhat creative. However, I would return home crying nearly every day, and my self-esteem, once strengthened by winning spelling bees and essay contests, plummeted. A 14-year-old girl has enough to worry about, and adding abusive peers to the equation did not bode well for me. I really don’t want to go into the dark details of the pain I struggled with, but what I will say is that at this point in my life, all I desired was to be accepted by my peers, and the difficulty I faced in overcoming the teasing I faced on a daily basis would continue to affect me at random periods in my life.

I skipped out on my confirmation classes in 9th grade because several of the kids in the class had bullied me before. This experience began my intellectual meanderings on the validity of organized religion. If these kids – who were studying the Bible and expected to follow its example – could act as horribly as they did toward me, then perhaps there was a bit of hypocrisy at work in organized religion. The memory of this has lent to my shaping my spiritual philosophy. I believe in the power of intention – whatever you put out will come back to you.

I know when I started thinking differently about myself. During my freshman year of high school, I got involved with theater. At first I was extremely shy with the older kids and often embarrassed when I would have to run lines in front of them. But it got better. I chose to join drama club, and I became involved with theater on a full-time basis. By my senior year of high school, I was a second year president of drama club and my high school’s thespian troupe. Theater gave me a chance to explore the feelings I had repressed – all the anger, resentment, and sadness I had held in for so long became useful when I was playing a character. I also developed a friendship with my high school theater teacher that has lasted well into my early twenties. Miss P became my confidant, my free personal therapist. I think I ate lunch in her office 90% of the time, and this was for a couple of reasons. First, I just enjoyed talking to Miss P and learning more about all the exciting adult things she knew, and second, my fear of school cafeterias was very much ingrained within me. (I remember those times when I couldn’t decide where to sit, and having to eat lunch alone.)

If you’ve been bullied in the past, the feelings of sadness that follow you will sometimes resurface at inopportune moments. I remember a period a few years ago during which a very close friend had decided she no longer wanted to be friends, and I had the comfort of a boyfriend to help me with the pain I was going through. I was receding to thoughts of 8th grade, of utter and complete rejection. However, my ex-boyfriend completely failed to understand why I dwelled on such events. He didn’t get it because he was voted homecoming king and was on the football team. You know, he was one of the types that does the bullying. I tried to explain how it really felt, but he often would tell me “to get over it”. If it were that simple, I would certainly do that, but it’s not. You must understand that when someone is bullied for an extended period, a few assumptions form in their head. You end up expecting everyone will hate you, that you are unworthy of respect or kindness. When you are the victim of a bully, you expect rejection from nearly everyone you meet. Today I am a very social person, but that did not come without years of struggling to overcome the feelings of worthlessness I once felt when I met someone new.

I think that for someone who has experienced bullying, the most important thing to realize is that you are the person who matters most. Spending time alone is not something you should avoid, but embrace. It is not until you know yourself, and love yourself, that you can live free from the pain that others can cause. I’m still unsure of why people bully others – is it insecurity? A lack of self-love? It doesn’t really matter, but what does matter is your happiness. I believe that if you form strong personal convictions and if you fight for what you believe in (love, women’s rights, etc.), happiness will automatically come from this strength.

If you are still struggling with the long-term effects of being bullied, you are definitely not alone. Hell, I still get comments about my laugh and my height. Every time I go out to a bar or club, I guarantee you that someone (most typically a man, because when they see a tall woman they feel that the glory of their penis is threatened) will comment on my height. The difference between now and then is that I’ve embraced my height, and I consider it one of the greatest things about me. I wouldn’t trade being tall for anything – I think it’s both extremely sexy and practical. As for my laugh, it’s a unique thing that adds to my character. I wouldn’t be Heather without it.

*I’m talking to you, Matt and Jake. I love you both, too.

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Kick-Ass, Feminist Style

19 Apr

Hit Girl will fuck you up.

The trailer for Kick-Ass did no justice to an amazing piece of comic book movie.  After seeing the trailer at least five or six times, I still had no desire to see this movie. I’ve been disappointed of late in Hollywood’s offerings, though I did thoroughly enjoy Hot Tub Time Machine. I had to be dragged to this movie, but now I’m quite glad for it. It even had one of my favorite actors from Hot Tub Time Machine, Clark Duke. If you don’t know him yet, please Google.

Kick-Ass surprised me immediately – the first scene of the movie reveals the dark humor at play in the movie. I wish I could write a lot more about exactly what happens in the movie, but I’m afraid of giving too much away. Here’s what you need to know: Dave Lizewski is a nerdy high school student living somewhere in New York City. He constantly wonders why no one has ever tried to become a superhero. One of his nerdy friends tells him straight up: “It’s impossible. You’ll be dead in like, a day.” After getting mugged and noticing that someone watched but did not offer help, Dave orders a wetsuit online and invents his own superhero persona, Kick-Ass. Kick-Ass gains popularity when a YouTube video of Dave intervening in a fight makes it online. Dave then creates a MySpace account for people to contact his superhero persona.

I really don’t want to give away any more than that, but I did want to mention the character that completely steals the show. Hit Girl, played by Chloe Grace Moretz, is a 12-year-old ass-kicking powerhouse. Trained by her vengeance-seeking father, Big Daddy (played by a cheekily awkward Nicolas Cage), Hit Girl is the main attraction. From her scary abilities with knives to her tendency to call bad guys “cunts,” Hit Girl exemplifies the powerful feminist message that can often be found in comic books and graphic novels. There has been a bit of controversy surrounding Hit Girl’s potty mouth and unrelenting violence. Many critics have called Hit Girl’s character “morally reprehensible,” but why is that?

Kick-Ass is very much a violent movie, and for a movie based on a comic, it certainly pushes the limit on superhero violence. Before the story of Batman was retold by Christopher Nolan, the violence depicted in the previous films (See: Batman Returns, Batman Forever, Batman & Robin) was very much sterile – there was no blood, and bad guys would get completely knocked out by just one of Batman’s punches. Kick-Ass seems to be commenting on the superhero film from within an insulated superhero meme. The violence that is central to a superhero film is turned completely upside down in Kick-Ass. Dave’s desire to become a superhero is mocked by his friends because, indeed, no one can be a true superhero.  The violence utilized by Hit Girl, Big Daddy, and the rest of Kick-Ass‘s cast is simply the best they can do in order to fight crime. In the case of Kick-Ass, violence is necessary to defeat an impasse of real drug dealers with real guns, and the heroes are required to reciprocate. Hit Girl’s use of knives, guns, and her own bare fists should impress any superhero fan. Hit Girl is the comic book stock character of the strong female fighter on crack. Though I would not recommend taking your pubescent daughter to Kick-Ass (which is rated R), I imagine that every girl close to my age will feel inspired by Chloe Moretz’s character, at least on a minimal level.

I would predict that many will be more shocked by Hit Girl’s use of the word cunt before they even blink an eye at her dazzling knife skills. I found Hit Girl’s prowess to be truly inspirational, and her status as a comic book heroine realized onscreen is something to look toward in future superhero films. Perhaps the forthcoming Wonder Woman movie will take a cue from Kick-Ass and provide Diana Prince with more clothing and a stronger ability to kick ass without a silly lasso of truth.

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On Tour: John Mayer in Denver

15 Apr

I love going to concerts, and I tend to go to more live shows than most people. I think I will be obligated to write some posts on the concerts I attend. This summer promises for some amazing concerts – a few that are coming up are La Roux, John Butler Trio, and the Mile High Music Festival.

It’s taken me forever to post about this concert – my apologies about that. I had a difficult time finding the cord that connects my camera to my laptop. Anyway, John Mayer’s March 23rd show at the Pepsi Center in Denver, though marred by an extremely inconvenient and very dangerous blizzard, was truly one of the best Mayer shows I’ve been to so far. I’m unsure of how many times I’ve seen him now – maybe 9 or 10. The 2010 winter tour focuses on Mayer’s fourth studio album, Battle Studies.

This was the setlist from the Denver show:

Heartbreak Warfare
Crossroads
Vultures
No Such Thing
Perfectly Lonely
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Assassin
Comfortable
Free Falling
Waiting on the World to Change
Half of My Heart > Dreams
Bigger Than My Body
Why Georgia

Encore:

Who Says
Gravity

I would have to say that the highlights were “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room,” simply because that has to be my favorite John Mayer song of all time, and the transition of “Half of My Heart” into Fleetwood Mac’s classic, “Dreams”.  The encore was not a surprise – “Who Says” and “Gravity” have been a staple of each show of this tour. I felt that the inclusion of songs like “Bigger Than My Body” and “Waiting on the World to Change” were meant to please fans who do not know every Mayer song, but would know the words to those radio hits. I really don’t care for the song “Perfectly Lonely,” and I’m not sure why. It’s just a little whiny for me. Some songs I would have loved to have heard are “St. Patrick’s Day” and “Wheel.” If you do not know those songs or if you’re on the fence about the musical stylings of John Mayer, those two songs will make you a believer.

I was fortunate enough to have seats in the third row, but I ended up having to go alone due to two factors: an ex-boyfriend who left me high and dry, and a massive blizzard that did not allow me to pick up my sister in Greeley. I ended up meeting two really cool girls from Fort Collins, and the three of us finagled our way onto one of John Mayer’s five tour buses, where I consumed Grey Goose that I assume is somehow provided by Columbia (John’s record label). I didn’t end up taking pictures of the inside of the bus, but it was likely one of the most luxurious tour buses in the world. The seats were upholstered in super-soft leather and flat-screen TV’s adorned every corner. The assortment of food and alcohol available made me want to live on a bus – that bus, specifically. Photos and videos of the show are posted below.

View from the 3rd Row.

Patented John Mayer guitar face.

During "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"

"Our love was, comfortable, and, so broken in..."

This photo is almost perfect and explains why I want a boyfriend with a Japanese sleeve tattoo.

I love this picture. This is when John had his guitar laid out in front of him for a serious solo.

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Feminine Inking: On Women and Tattoos

8 Apr

The recent revelation of Jesse James’s infidelity against his wife, Sandra Bullock, has introduced the world to a tattooed lady named Michelle “Bombshell” McGee. If you have followed this story at all, you would know about the controversy being caused by McGee’s tattoos alone. Many have criticized McGee for her heavily tattooed body, but shouldn’t we be more concerned that she’s the type of woman to fuck your husband and sell the story to tabloids?

Kat Von D, pretty tattooed lady.

Where do conceptions about the “appropriateness” of tattoos on women come from? Notice that a lower back tattoo, once very popular among young women in the late ’90s/early ’00s, is now deemed a tramp stamp. If you get one of those, ladies, you’re just asking for it. And you know what “it” is. The stigma against women possessing large tattoos does not seem to affect men. When a man rolls up his sleeve to show you his tribute to Star Wars in the form of a Darth Vader tattoo, no one even seems to blink. A man with a tattoo is as masculine as the Marlboro man of yesteryear. But if a woman with a full colored sleeve of images that are probably meaningful for her walks into a crowded room, comments could range from, “Why would she ruin her skin like that?” or “She looks so trashy!” You get the idea. Tattoos reveal a double standard among genders, and as tattoos become more commonplace, women still seem to bear the brunt of tattoo criticism.

A recent conversation with the mother of one of my close friends revealed her disdain for tattoos on women. She told me about a woman she saw in 7-11 with a very shocking neck tattoo that read, “All Bitches Lie”. Okay, I’ll admit that getting “All Bitches Lie” tattooed on your neck over steps the boundaries of what might be appropriate to have tattooed on one’s neck, but maybe there’s a cool story behind it. Whenever I see a tattoo that catches my eye, I wonder what it was that prompted that person to get whatever it is permanently stabbed into their skin. I’m the owner of one tattoo – my astrological sign is on my right ankle – and I can assure you that years of thought went into this small tattoo. I’m currently considering another, but I will likely think about it for a while if it ever comes to fruition. I’m always impressed by those who can commit to large pieces on conspicuous areas of their body. I have an odd fascination with Kat Von D, a tattoo artist specializing in portraits and star of the TLC reality show, LA Ink. Kat Von D carries herself with the “Who gives a fuck?” attitude necessary to pull off large pieces of ink, and she’s gorgeous to boot. (Shameless promotion: Kat Von D has an awesome line of makeup at Sephora. You should try it.)

So what do you think about tattoos on women? Are they sexy? Are they inappropriate? What is it that causes someone to criticize what a woman does to her body? Perhaps it’s a conflict between the private and the public lives that women are expected to maintain. A woman is historically expected to appear chaste and respectable while in public, but in private, a man expects her to be a sexual firebomb. As Ludacris said, he wants “a lady in the street but a freak in the bed.” Tattoos are a very small part of this paradox, but relevant, nonetheless.

A woman whose name eludes me declared the following: “The difference between tattooed people and non-tattooed people is tattooed people don’t care if you have tattoos or not.” But if you’re tattooed, you probably don’t care what other people think of you anyway.

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Tell the Truth, Even if it Makes You Look Stupid

31 Mar

One of my biggest pet peeves is dishonesty. No one wants to be friends with, date, or generally know a liar. Liars suck. Liars especially suck when you are 1000% sure that they are lying. When you have evidence of their dishonesty, the work of a liar becomes an example of the worst of humanity’s failings.

Liars: they suck.

Scenario #1:

You’ve been dating someone for about 2-and-a-half years. Yes, that’s a long time. It’s a long distance relationship, but one party is planning to move back to the location of the other party at the conclusion of college. The one that isn’t finishing college has promised to help you move 2,000 miles across the country. The only issue that arises is that this person bullies you on the phone one night until you can’t handle it anymore, and you hang up on them after yelling, “F*** You”. You figure that you’ll let your little outburst blow over and then call to apologize. However, the very next day you get a corporate email from AT&T stating that the other person wants you off of their account. Yes, this is how they’ve chosen to break up with you. They also rescind their promise to help you move. Truly scummy. A decent person would still help you if they have respect for you as a person. This person isn’t decent, and it’s a shock, since you’ve basically wasted 2.5 years of your precious earth time with them. You also find out that they’ve been eyeing another person for a while now. They contact/booty call this other person THE SAME DAY they break up with you. And then they lie about it every time you confront them about it.

Solution:

Look, if you want to date someone else, man up and tell me about it. It will hurt a lot less in the long run. Plus, you’ll look like less of an idiot. As one friend put it:

Even if nothing happened between them until after you two broke up, then he should have had the balls to tell you that one of the reasons he broke up with you was because he was interested in someone else.

Well said, friend. Well said.

Scenario #2:

You’ve been seeing a guy for a few weeks. However, he’s going away for a long time and you’re not sure whether you can handle keeping in touch for so long. (The long distance thing is quite tedious, and after Scenario #1, you probably will never do it again.) You would like to keep in touch on Skype and possibly send him home-baked cookies. He leaves and you give him a note with your email address. You find out ten days later that this person is engaged to be married to a completely different person in a completely different state. You’re clearly not the one who’s being played, but you are being used, even if it is in a minimal way. And your feelings have been hurt, because for whatever reason, you started having feelings for someone who turned out to be a liar. It happens to the best of us.

Solution:

Um, I don’t know. Maybe tell people that you’re ENGAGED. That shouldn’t be a big secret. And if it is, you shouldn’t be getting married to begin with. You’d make a terrible spouse anyway. You’re a liar, a cheater, and a little bit fat (in this specific case, the liar was slightly rotund). You fail. Thanks for playing.

There you have it. Two examples of why lying is such poor form. How do you avoid liars? You’d probably have to become a hermit. Liars are everywhere. You just have to learn how to spot them sooner.

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On My Way: Twentysomething Women in Hollywood

31 Mar

Greta Gerwig, Rhys Ifans, and Ben Stiller waste time in Greenberg.

A piece written by Irin Carmon on Jezebel asks whether the gender gap in film will be defeated by a new crop of twentysomething women.  In Noah Baumbach’s latest film, Greenberg, a 26-year-old actress named Greta Gerwig steps up to plate for my fellow female actresses and trumps Ben Stiller. Gerwig plays Florence Marr (which is a name that sounds kind of blah on its own) a lost soul of sorts, a young woman with a liberal arts education working a thankless job as a personal assistant. Florence, with her awkward gait and medical-looking bra, is the face of a befuddled young woman just trying to make it through the day.

As A.O. Scott put it, Gerwig’s Florence embodies “the particular confusions – emotional, professional, expressive – facing young, rootless women in 21st century America.”

Hmmm….young rootless women. I suppose I’m a rootless young woman. I am living in a bit of a limbo, between major cities, hoping to get any thankless job and labor my way toward future happiness. Are twentysomething women truly confused? I’ve certainly been confused before, about relationships, the point of a liberal arts education, how to properly file taxes. I think the question one must ask is whether it’s a bad thing to be confused. Confusion should be a part of youth, and your twenties are  a decade of self-discovery, worry, and general discontent. People in their twenties are still hopeful that they’ll be millionaires and movie stars.

Will the women of my generation overcome their suspected neuroses and make a move on Hollywood? I suspect that the death of the A-List could leave a gap for young, talented actors and writers. Why can’t a good portion of them be women? Take a look at the trailer for Tiny Furniture, the latest film by 23-year-old Lena Dunham. Dunham is well on her way to major indie film fandom, and I’m a little bit jealous. With the growing success of Gerwig and Dunham, I feel it may be time for me to make that transition to Hollywood as soon as possible. The only good thing about where I am now is the daily dose of disappointment that keeps me somewhat motivated. Well, that and the near-gurantee that I won’t get lung cancer from the air here.

Twentysomething female actresses, writers, and filmmakers – get on your grind.

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It Messed Me Up…Need A Second to Breathe.

23 Mar

Sing it, Lambert.

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