The most depressing day of the year is always the last one. new years eve has too many expectations surrounding it, and its not much better in the joint. at least my expectations have been tempered. I’ve spent all day watching sex and the city. ordinarily that’d be one of the most depressing sentences ever constructed. (once, when I was 12 or 13, I tried watching sex and the city for the first time and I’ve never been more disappointed. thought it was porn.) but honestly, it’s entertaining, relative to my other limited options.
It exaggerates the friendship between these women as more meaningful or important than they are. but maybe that’s the point, there really exists a “slut alliance” of single women in their 30s. as much as feminists would like to point to Samantha or Carrie as role models of empowered women, they more strongly resemble Charlotte, desperate to get married, who finally does and is prescribed an antidepressant for a “depressed vagina”. Seriously, that was an episode. The one on right now involves Samantha trying to seduce a good looking priest and then I remember what turned me off about the priesthood and church more generally is that I never met a priest I envied or who was someone I wanted to be like. They were or are unremarkable and totally forgettable for the most part.
But I also like how Carrie is a writer in the show. it glosses over the writing process, really just showing how the ordinary, little day to day existence of person translate into something printed, ready for public consumption. which reminds me how I’ve recently overcome a roadblock in my own wrting.
I came up with 10-15 outlines for stories but I was unable to make any headway on any single one. then I finally started one but after a page or two, felt like it was going nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Anyways I arrived at a nice solution that was, like writing so often is, totally unexpected.