This blog is still alive, just in semi-hibernation. When I want to write something longer than a tweet about something other than math or sci-fi, here is where I'll write it.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Okay, Matty Boy, you claim to be a heterosexual male, right? And more than that, aren't you supposed to be a bachelor as well? Can you reconcile these claims with the fact that you recently rented the Sex and the City movie?
Hypothetical question asker, I understand your confusion as readily as I detect your snide subtext.
I watched Sex and the City regularly back in those heady days when I could afford cable with HBO. As I recall, I watched a few HBO shows on the same night, but it wasn't just clicker fatigue. Kristin Davis (Charlotte) looks my first girlfriend in college. Cynthia Nixon (Miranda) is a cute redhead, and I have a weakness for cute redheads. Sarah Jessica Parker (Carrie) was in Square Pegs, and a kid named Merritt Butrick, also on the show, was a classmate of my younger sisters, Jenny and Karlacita! Sadly, Merritt died from complications from AIDS about twenty years ago.
The less said about Kim Cattrall (Samantha), the better.
So I rented this thing out of nostalgia mixed with ennui, but about less than an hour into viewing, revulsion easily overwhelmed the weaker emotions. The production values in the film are waay better than those on the TV show, and this was actually a problem. With the better looking sets and locations, it became very obvious what completely repulsive people the women really are. There is no human feeling for another person coming from these women, just wave after nauseating wave of selfishness.
Part of my revulsion definitely stems from seeing this movie about opulence in 2009, when it is clear we are facing an economic crisis at least as bad as anything in my lifetime, and may turn out to be as bad as anything in my dad's lifetime. Had I seen the film when it opened in May 2008, when some people could still deny there was a recession with a straight face, I might not have felt so creepy seeing Carrie leeching off the success of the financially suspect Mr. Big (Chris Noth), or the opulence of Samantha's and Charlotte's lives, or the incredible lack of caring shown by career girl Miranda. But today, a kind of bad bubblegum movie feels absolutely toxic.
So yes, I watched it and no girlfriend forced me to do so, which brings my sexual orientation into question.
But in defense of my not very useful heterosexuality, I did turn it off in disgust.
And in tribute to the title of the post and to prove my aging nerd street credibility, I give you the song Puzzling Evidence from David Byrne's move True Stories.