Welcome back to THE WEEKEND GRAB BAG, also known as the loudest detritus left over in my noggin after a weeks worth of the usual cultural-social-life bombardment.
1. Getting Weird Again in the Beauty Department – And by weird, I ultimately mean bold. Because I’ve been in a serious rut, dudes, and though I’m not ready to write off my penchant for all things minimal and au natural, I’d like to have a little more fun. The impetus for this was chopping a good portion of my hair off. I’d done it once before so it didn’t feel too crazy, but the last time was my senior year of high school, so it’s certainly been a while. My ends get grossly thin when my hair grows out, and it also stops growing at what I consider to be a very unexciting length, so I’ve been wanting to press the reset button for a while. It’s as metaphorical a move as it is literal, which I think haircuts (especially those that involve a more drastic change) usually are. For a few hours, at least, you win the ability to feel like a whole new woman or man, and I believe that if you try hard enough, you can run with that notion a bit and use the simple physical change to help promote other transformations. So instead of just pinning pictures of wild eye make up and hairdos that actually take effort, or just a lot of mousse to create that perfect undone-yet-done look, I intend to actually go there, at least once a week. I’d say that’s not asking too much of myself, although I may be one of the few humans who has to force themselves to have fun and privilege play over work…but, I’ll save that for therapy. Knowing me, this plan will slide right out the door if I don’t hold myself accountable in some way, so, naturally, I shall document my strange creations selfie-style, and allow you to be either inspired or horrified (perhaps a bit of both?)
2. Age Ain’t Nothin’ But A Number, Right? – So, technically this is old news, though I’m finding that most people don’t really believe it. While I’m certainly not advocating for, say, the pairing of a 15 year old and a 30 year old, or something equally disturbing…I do believe that once you reach your twenties, age differences become less distinct and hard to place in tidy little boxes that must always be kept on opposite sides of the room, a la boys vs. girls at middle school dances. I somewhat sarcastically celebrated the engagement of Mary-Kate Olsen and Olivier Sarkozy on Facebook, claiming that “love is fucking weird,” because, well, it is…isn’t it? And they’re not a match you would expect–though I wasn’t really thinking about age when I made that claim, but rather, MK’s flower child sensibilities (as portrayed through the media) coupled with Sarkozy’s more-streamlined businessman persona. Nevertheless, I received I comment about how their pairing was not unusual at all, and that their age difference represented a “dangerous trope.” I just don’t see that, at all. The lady is 27 years old–surely she can make decisions for herself and really love a man in his forties? Must we always assume that in such relationships, the male is domineering and manipulative? That he only loves her for her spritely youth and all that supposedly comes with it? Having known couples in my own life with wide age gaps, many of whom last longer than most, I’d rather not rely on such assumptions. Maturity is mostly a conceit anyways, and nobody really acts the same way simply because they’re at the same numerical ‘stage’ of their lives. With these thoughts flooding my mind (at 2 AM, natch), I read about a new “cougar-centric dating app,” and after ugh-ing loudly, had to ask why? Is the title cougar so necessary, with all it’s vaguely negative associations? Which brings me to this great quote by Misha Tupitsyn writing for Bitch magazine:
Women are supposed to be the ones on the balcony, not the ones down below professing their love. We don’t think the female romantic is romantic. We think she is a predator. We think she is desperate, unstable—Fatal Attraction, the cougar, the spinster, the troublemaker. But deep emotion in this age is a radical act.
3. The Oscars – I haven’t seen any of the films this year so my self loathing is at its absolute peak (How dare you consider yourself a culture junkie, Jessica? You fraud…), but me and movies have a strange relationship. I go through phases where all I want to do is consume them, but that was how I spent the majority of my ED recovery time and by the end of it all I was bored and worn out. A year and a half of movie theater hopping isn’t exactly something one should complain about, but as they say, without moderation, anything can get old. TV also just appeals to me more these days, and I often find that a lot of the nominated movies at awards shows like these aren’t as exciting as people hype them up to be. By now, I’ve read so much theorizing about each one that I’ve lost interest in actually seeing the films themselves, which is sad, I suppose. That said, I’m still dying to see Her. But since I can’t speak directly to any of the films, and will mainly be watching for the red carpet l-e-w-k-s and my lovely lady mentor-pal Laura Brown on zee E! red carpet (whose presence will surely cancel out the awfulness that is the mani cam), I think I should probably just defer to David Lynch here:
In Hollywood, more often than not, they’re making more kind of traditional films, stories that are understood by people. And the entire story is understood. And they become worried if even for one small moment something happens that is not understood by everyone. But what’s so fantastic is to get down into areas where things are abstract and where things are felt, or understood in an intuitive way that, you can’t, you know, put a microphone to somebody at the theatre and say ‘Did you understand that?’ but they come out with a strange, fantastic feeling and they can carry that, and it opens some little door or something that’s magical and that’s the power that film has.
Categories: Weekend Grab Bag