P & P Lite

Though it did not remain strictly loyal to the words of Ms. Austen, some of the liberties that were taken in the most recent rendition of Pride & Prejudice -- starring Keira Knightley, Donald Sutherland, and Dane Judi Dench -- were artfully integrated and remarkably beautiful.

This lite version is a great quick treat for when you need a little 19th century Brit lit pick-me-up, but regrettably do not have the time to read the novel or watch the BBC mini-series. Being that it's a Cliffs Notes summary of the novel, I would not recommend it as an absolute replacement, but simply as a temporary substitute.

You don't get the opportunity to fall in love with Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley is presented as a bumbling dimwit. Mr. Bennett is portrayed to be simply tired and old rather than bitter and vaguely malicious. Mrs. Bennett is even toned down a bit, with their marriage being oddly romanticized. And though the ending left something to be desired, it is an interesting interpretation of the book, offering views I might not have considered before.

Austen is in the ranks of Shakespeare in being infinitely adapted and endlessly analyzed, any semblance of original intentions being lost forever. Authors replaced by schools of thought. Shakespeare to Shakespearean. Austen to Austenesque. When is Slaughterhouse Five slated for processing? Or perhaps Vonnegut might hold evident that Shakespeare and Austen might not approve of such liberties taken with their words. Still, the sheer flattery of being mimicked and re-presented throughout generations probably makes it well worth it.

the Internet is for...

Isn't it a wonderful worldwide web? It's certainly assisted in my being.

I'm over-analytical. Which is why I love books and movies and television. They provide me with an outlet, in which to let loose the critically-thinking-killer part of me that breaks its victim into a million little pieces... and that's no lie. It's not a bad thing. Thinking is quite necessary, I've found. But anything can kill you if you take/do enough of it. With reading and watching, my spill-over thinking had an impersonal place to settle.

I'm insecure. Which doesn't lend itself to my being over-analytical. I think some things sometimes. And I don't know if they're right.

I'm competitive. Which doesn’t go well with my being insecure. (Show; don't tell.) The last time I played basketball with my father, he was beating me in our cinder block -- also called a breeze block, concrete block, or Concrete Masonry Unit (CMU), according to Wikipedia.org – lined driveway. Game point, loser’s out: I nervously handled the ball at the top of the key. My dad stole it and took off to lay-up the winning basket. Right before his release, I body-checked him off of the driveway. The basket was good. He got up off of the CMU with blood streaming down his leg. Before stalking into the house, he said, “We’re never playing basketball, again.” I threw the ball into the woods and beat him into the house.

The Internet lets me reconcile these three traits. (Well, reconcile or deny them; I’m not sure which one yet.) My being over-analytical is indulged with all the information, opinions, and bullshit floating around. (Or it’s stifled by it because I no longer need to develop my own opinions and bullshit.) My being insecure is alleviated because I can prove I’m right with a simple click of the mouse. (Or it’s aggravated by it because I need to check and re-check and cross-check… just to make sure and because I can.) Which appeases my being competitive, too. (Or inflames it.)

Then, the Internet gives me the chance to desperately talk about myself while maintaining some illusion of privacy, without having to deal with a shrink.

Wingman

In honor of Valentine's Day, let's talk about the real hero/heroine of romance: the wingman. From the buddy who sacrifices himself by pairing up with the inevitable big fat friend, to the pal who talks you up to the girl of your dreams, the wingman is securing opportunites for falling in love, or just getting laid, all over the place.

These are the people who think so highly of you, they recommend you to others and try to help you spread your love around. They listen to you when dates go bad and cover for you when you go bad. So whether you're single or in a couple, try celebrating the everyday cupids in your life on this St. Valentine's season.

Or try being a wingman yourself! It's easy and fun... and the gratitude you'll get, if all works out, is priceless. I recommend being subtle: set up a meeting in a group situation to take the pressure off of a potential blind date issue. Don't exaggerate the wonderous splendor of your buddy. Try to get a good match.

Of course, there's always the less subtle approaches too. Like playing an increasingly popular game first introduced to me on How I Met Your Mother: have you met Ted? Just go up to anyone with your friend and say, "Have you met (insert your friend's name)?" Then, just walk away and watch the magic.

Personal Wingman Shout-Outs:
To a certain couple of crazy kids who are taking a romantic impromptu trip to Madrid, you're welcome! Haha.
To AndyKim, Thanks for underestimating my ability to commit and introducing me to the best boyfriend in the whole world!
To everyone else, I hope you all had a happy Valentine's day!

Saturday Night Live

Saturday night, I left my 2-D friends at home and went out to join the 3-D people in the actual live world. After watching the GW v. St. Joe's game (hail to buff and blue!) and doing some other stuff, I ended up at the Frog. My boyfriend was bartending and many regulars happily trekked through the snow to drink, play pool, and partake in general merriment.

There were, of course, some ir-regulars there as well. There was the guy with a huge "MOM" tattoo cliched to his arm. And the guy in the back, who would pick his nose and wipe it on his jeans every time his friend went up to the bar to get another pitcher.

Then, there was a group of "those" girls, wearing tank tops and other hoochie wear, despite the weather advisory and the fact that this was the Frog and not Club Froggy. Which leads me to the induction of a couple other color-coded levels and specifications for the Crazy Girl Advisory System.

An added spec to code green: you are wearing a sheer tank top in the middle of the biggest snow storm of the year and you are flirting with the bartender, whose girlfriend is sitting right next to you. Honey, you're not just crazy green, you're dumb to boot. Good luck with that.

New level: Crazy Girl Emerald.
You're the bartender's girlfriend and some code green girl is flirting with him right in front of you, wearing a sheer tank top. She leans over the bar to reveal her desperately pushed up A-cup cleavage and giggles while asking, "What's your name again?"
You deal with this by not saying anything at the moment and focusing on not going code yellow on her ass. Later, you blog about it and continuously bring it up for the rest of the weekend (and perhaps for the rest of his life)... because yeah, you're jealous (hence, the emerald green label) and insecure.

New level: Crazy Girl Indigo.
This will include the girls out there, who are just plain clueless, like Britney Murphy in... Clueless. To the girl at the bar who was wearing a short, red corduroy skirt with black stockings: burn that skirt. (Please note that I consider my judgement of her fashion sense to be crazier than her lack-of-fashion sense, being that I am sucked in by consumerism and superficiality and she is not. Lessons learned from Clueless. Still, that was one damned ugly skirt.)

New level: Crazy Girl Violet.
Another not-really-crazy-at-all category. You are violet if you judge other girls for no reason besides their being a bit indigo. Or you behave and/or react crazily on behalf of a friend. For example, you talk sh*t about the code green girl wearing a sheer tank top because you're friends with the girlfriend of the bartender with whom said code green girl is flirting. This is not so much crazy as it is catty; you are just a good friend... but you're friend is probably crazy and you're a little crazy by association. Sorry to all my female friends! I'm taking you down with me.

So, I found that going out on Saturday nights are a lot like staying in. I still watch and judge people. And there are still scantily clad girls that make me feel bad about myself. But it was a lot of fun anyway.

"Development Arrested"

I don't know how I almost missed this, but Friday night was the Fox finale of Arrested Development. From 8 to 10pm, they aired the final four new episodes... against the Olympic's Opening Ceremonies. Interesting move, no? Perhaps it was a final f*ck you from Mitch Hurwitz to Fox. Perhaps it was the opposite. Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

Anyway, the two new hours were filled with hilarity and just a hint of nostalgia. Loyal watchers, sometimes referred to as Bluthies (if you're one of those crazy losers who do nothing but watch tv and end up obsessed with certain shows... ahem), were indulged with references to past episodes and a bunch of returns from old guest stars, such as "Anyong" (whose real name is, as it turns out, Hello) and Ann (... her?). There were also new guest stars (Judge Reinhold, Justine Bateman, and William Hung... not that they were poking fun at American Idol or anything) and tons of new jokes, of course, including shots at Fox, other shows, and other networks... for example Buster admitting his liking a certain skating show that currently inhabits their old time slot. Then there was my favorite plug: George Michael's inviting his wife/cousin, Maeby, to watch **bleep** (caption reads "Reference to off-network high-school private-eye drama censored by Fox").

I would tell you more about what happened, but if you didn't watch it, you're part of the reason it was cancelled. Sooooo... f*ck you! Yeah, I said it.

Now, it's all over between Arrested and Fox. Apparently, it's still up in the air whether or not another network will pick it up. But Showtime, I beg you, get Arrested.

Caveman Prosecuting Enron

From Slate.com:

Hueston took pains to draw attention away from all that accounting "hocus pocus," saying: "It's not about the accounting. It's about the lie." It calls to mind Phil Hartman's old Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer routine on Saturday Night Live: All your strange numbers confuse and scare me, but I do know one thing—those men are liars.

Haha! I forgot about that sketch. Thought I'd just share the funny. =o)

"Girls Rule, Boys Drool"

... according to a wallet I owned in middle school, purchased from where else but Claire's Boutiques. Now, studies show that my wallet wasn't so far off.

According to an article in the January 30, 2006 issue of Newsweek, "By almost every benchmark, boys across the nation and in every demographic group are falling behind [girls, in test scores and other academic achievements]."

This article points out the issue of biological differences between a boy's brain and a girl's brain. Apparently, the biological functionality of a girl's brain is better suited to perform well in today's education system. I would think that the gender who created and has been welcomed into the world of educaton for longer might have learned how to do better in it by now. But, alas, it seems that the past three decades have seen such drastic reforms, due to that darn feminist outcry for a fairer system to offer the "fairer" sex, that the needs of boys have been neglected.

Personally, I don't think the statistics I've seen show a huge problem for the boys (except perhaps for the literacy rate). Stripped away of all those spinning words, I think the numbers might show that boys and girls are becoming... dare I say it?... more equal.

But don't worry boys. I'm sure the new energy initiative program Bush is implementing will bring the boys back up a bit, what with its focus on achievement in math and science, the two subjects boys have statistically done better in than girls (though girls are more recently breaking even with the boys). And after school, no matter how many girls did better than you in school, you're still more likely to make more money than them in the workforce. Of course, if all else fails, I've got this pickle jar I'm having a bit of trouble opening... oh, never mind, I got it. Thanks, anyway!