The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Would You Like Fries With That?

I get frustrated. It's a perennial evolution, coniferous in its needle-prick greenness, and it stings, leaves a little in me. I have things in my life, like most people do, that keep me guessing. It makes it difficult for me to be who I really am, because I get so bogged down in the ideas and opinions of others that I've yet to make acquaintance with the soul in here.

Take the whole damned 'Twilight' thing. I try to be nice about it, accepting even, because I'm not obtuse enough to think that my opinion counts for much. I'm just a girl, thumping on a keyboard, asking someone to love me. I don't care about the book at all, have barely thought about the movie, but somehow I found myself in a heated discussion with A. last night as she raged on and on about 'opinionated a-holes' who look down on her and her ilk for thinking it as moving as sacred scripture. There is no way to judge one piece of writing better than another!, she hissed, and I had to keep myself calm because there was no way of pretending she wasn't trying to irritate me. You could start with grammar, I said off-handedly, and this only brought the froth up and over. For about five solid minutes I listened her to prattle about snobbery from the wannabe writers who 'can't', who seek comfort in their criticisms of those who can actually turn a buck from churning out proper stories, and I was calm and silent as she did so. I did not interject with my theory that only 'women in want of something' eat that kind of stuff up with a couple of hungry hands. I did not try to get into a kind of debate over whether or not vampires can actually be 'sparkly' in the sun (it seems like a fairly stupid argument, since they're not real). What I wanted to say, but ultimately decided not to, is that the reason some bad writing makes it big is because the people reading it aren't always that bright. They aren't looking for meaning, symbolism, truth or purity of writing. They're looking for an easy read in the same way people might opt for fast food. No one said it isn't delicious, but when you look at what's in it, you can't help but acknowledge that it isn't really food.

I didn't say it because it would have been unkind and she would have found an insult in it that she would have thought was meant for her, but wasn't. I think A's actually quite intelligent, to be truthful, but her views get a little warped by all the garbage she lets into her head. Right now, she's an articulate, forward-thinking woman who is wrapped up in loving vampires and soap operas. She knows that I don't understand it, and despite my refusal to comment on it, she still seems to be bothered by my polite demeanor. She knows how I work, that there's a bit of snob inside, and when I say nothing I infuriate her even more because she's not used to the restraint. It must be really bad if I can't bring myself to say it at all. Everything aside, though, she brought up a decent point: at least people are reading. No argument there.

But, I get wrapped up in things, too. I like things that scholars and progressive-thinkers would love to mock me for and it would depend on the day as to whether I am bothered by it or not. I used to think of myself as something of an intellectual, but spending so much time with M. has made me see that I was only an intellectual in my former circle. Now, I'm struggling to be the smart one and it's clear to everyone I've no hope of being as well-rounded as my partner. M. told me that I speak like an educated version of my mother, and I wanted to rip his face off when he did so because my mother is the kind of person who uses profanities as adjectives and nouns, the kind of woman who laughs at jokes she doesn't understand. When we watch any kind of news programming, I ask all sorts of questions which sound naive to even me, but I ask them because I really don't know the answer. When I see a glint of superiority in his eye, I want to withdraw the question and myself from the room. How dare he do that to me? But, I know if the table were turned, I'd be a lot less gracious.

He speaks four languages, reads impossibly tedious books, listens to Chopin and Mozart and does it because he genuinely likes it. I love this about him as much as I hate it. Today, I listened to Pink's 'Sober' over and over again and I felt sheepish because I knew he was in the next room. He didn't say a word, probably blocked the music out entirely, but the weird blend of shame and bravado took over and I turned it a little louder every time I hit 'replay', cringing at the huskiness in her voice. I wondered if it is categorically a 'bad' song, whether or not it is to be appreciated or shunned, whether or not the song is the work of a strong woman or the product of a corporate sell-out. Then, I gave pause to wonder if it matters.

The world spins around every one of us. We can either be heard, or we can keep silent, but both options will bring us judgment from others. Can a book be bad? Can a song? Where does anyone get off thinking they have the right to say one way or the other?

At the end of the day, though, it has to be okay to make a decision. Maybe we need to start each sentence of judgment with 'Well, in my opinion...', or 'I think...', rather than the black and white 'It is simply...', but the freedom to state what we think and feel shouldn't always bring about the ire of the listener. When it's about something as trivial as musical preferences or tastes in books then it really doesn't have much to do with anyone else but the speaker. Let it be.

So...I think:

*The music industry is becoming a thoughtless, soulless, garbage can of cliches mixed with bad fashion and mediocre talent. The music is drowned out by the gossip, the manipulations and the teams of writers who don't have the faces or the voices to have their music be heard in the way they intended. Please take away the Christinas and the Britneys. Eliminate the Jonas people and their ridiculous purity rings. Music should be sung by the people who write it, and if not the people singing should sound as though they were meant to do so.

*Some books should have only been known as screenplays. If the intention is to make it into a movie, then it's likely it won't be written as well as a book should be. Take all the confusion out and call it what it is.

*If they can't act, don't give them the opportunity. There has to be range. Cate Blanchett, Johnny Depp, Alan Rickman, Julianne Moore etc. can act. They're delightful in everything and have shown that they can handle different genres. They're not all classically beautiful and haven't had cosmetic enhancements and we don't need them to. We like to watch them because they make us believe. If you've seen Julia Roberts in one movie, you've seen her in every one of her films. If you've seen Tom Cruise in one movie, you've covered the last twenty odd years of his portfolio. Annette Bening is great. John Malkovich, Gary Oldman, Kevin Kline, Edward Norton, Daniel Day Lewis...sighs of satisfaction. I don't want to mix pretty with art. The art becomes pretty when the deserving bring it to life.

*The best films I've seen in the last year are: Pan's Labyrinth (disturbing, though), The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Hot Fuzz (hilarious!), Zodiac, Waitress, Atonement (if only the insufferable Keira Knightley wasn't in it) and La Vie En Rose. There are others. Some I found disappointing because I wasn't capable of connecting. 'There Will Be Blood' was too dark for me. Not emotionally, but in terms of colour. It's my fault we couldn't be friends because Daniel was magnificent. 'No Country For Old Men' should have been a slam dunk given my deep affection for all things Coen Brothers, but it seemed to have too much...gratuitous violence? I don't know. It just didn't do much for me.

*Will Smith is extremely overrated.

*Katherine Heigl is misunderstood.

*'True Blood' is a vampire-themed series worth watching. There, I admit it. I have seen two episodes and plan to become a regular.

*'Lolita', though known as a classic, American novel is slightly off-putting when you can't shake the image of a twelve-year-old tantalizing a forty-something-year-old man. I can't quite see the writing for the pedophilia.

*'Antiques Roadshow' is as addictive as heroin.

*Impressionism is the most beautiful kind of art, but I will say that I'm opening up to some more contemporary artists. It's a new thing, but I realize I was too limited in my views before. I'm beginning to see, slowly.

*Atwood is an excellent poet.

*Zadie Smith is an excellent novelist.

*The Twilight Series is likely Stephanie Meyer's version of a sparkly Big Mac.

Maybe I'm just hormonal.