Notes on a Scandalous Life

This afternoon, I watched a six-months-pregnant woman smoke three cigarettes in two hours.

I recently had the opportunity to write for Fictionista Workshop, an online community for female writers, which is pretty badass. My piece was about feminism and chick lit, which I didn't think was an overly-controversial topic. I thought I had examined the issue from every angle and reached a pretty moderate conclusion: while chick lit doesn't represent a very vast swath of the female experience, it's not exactly repressive. And yet, a commenter still managed to log in and declare that my essay was a white, middle-class piece of trash. WELL.

I haven't blogged in forever, and, if you look at the date and subject matter of my last blog, the reason is obvious: I got two jobs and started taking more courses on campus.

I realized today that I haven't bought myself anything since that purse that I bought a few weeks before Christmas. Yes, it's true - not only have I not purchased a new purse in almost a month, I also haven't bought myself so much as a pair of SOCKS during that amount of time. Tonight, while browsing ideeli.com (maybe I should avoid doing that, in times of cashlessness), I cried. On the inside. But when Gramcracker gave me a gift certificate to Ross for Christmas, a part of me almost wished that it were cash, so I could use it to pay bills. Yes, times are THAT hard. But it's not all bad. Maybe I'll learn that there are more important things in life than material possessions. Or, maybe I'll just start shoplifting.

Of late, I picked up a book that I had once procured and then forgotten about: Touched by Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. I'm not one of those people who would be likely to say to all my friends "I am sooo hyper, and I get bored in class. I must have ADD!" So, I don't think I'm over-diagnosing myself when I say that I do believe that I am and always have been manic-depressive, because I feel like this book is ABOUT me.

As the book explores, some would see my manic-depressive state as a bad thing: artists are more likely than the general public to be manic-depressive, and, likewise, are more likely to commit suicide and abuse drugs or alcohol. One camp thinks that the condition requires medication. Another camp thinks that it's the source of artistic inspiration. It's not like ink hasn't ever been spilled on this argument before. To wit: is madness really such a bad thing when it helps an individual to create art?

I've been feeling pretty existential lately, and I have to say that I think that the highs are worth the lows. When I'm manic, I can sit down and write, and write, and write. My creative ability skyrockets, and, to me, that's worth the occasional depressive spell that I experience. But then, even the lows can assist in the making of art - it's the way that artistic individuals FEEL things more strongly than the general population that helps them to channel those sensations into art.

If I knew someone who experienced (I hate to use the phrase "suffered from") the same condition that I do who chose to take medication, though, I would understand just as well. It's painful, sometimes - even the mania can be uncomfortable, when it keeps you from sleeping or makes you irritable. But, for me, it's worth it. This should come as no surprise to anyone who is very familiar with me, though, anyway - you all know that I'm crazy.

Since I talked up my excitement about Avatar the other night, I think it's only fair that I share my thoughts about it - post-movie. Personally, I loved it, even though there were a few holes.

The goods:
- Strong female characters not relegated to mere romantic interest roles
- Slight gender ambiguity among the natives of, uh, whatever-planet-that-is. I don't mean that you couldn't tell which ones were male and which were female, but, rather, that they all served similar roles in their culture - very egalitarian.
- Really, really well-played and imaginative special effects.
- Sigourney Weaver with a tail.

The bads:
- Several gaps in the story. Personally, I felt like I just got dropped in in the middle, and then had to find my own way from there. I had a lot of questions that were left unanswered - even though the movie was long as hell.
- The anthropologically-correct moral of the story (that indiginous people are not necessarily "primative" - just different) was a little overplayed, and made a lot of obvious references to American Indians. Not that that's bad... but sometimes I felt like it was being pushed on me a little bit.
- Not enough Michelle Rodriguez. Per my previous post, this may be due to some personal bias, but... c'mon.
- The whole "mating for life" thing. While I'm not opposed to mating for life, I kind of thought that an indiginous tribe, so in-touch with nature, might be a little more, you know, promiscuous. But then, maybe I'm just being too liberal here. Penguins mate for life, after all. Maybe they're like penguins. Just not quite as cute.

Overall: excellent moie. Especially in 3D. I hated Coraline in 3D, but this movie totally utilized the technology to make the film really jump out at you. My final verdict: go see it!

Earlier this afternoon, Abby and I caroused Rockwall, finishing up our Christmas shopping (and I confess to buying myself blue mascara - I can't go into Wal-Mart without purchasing ridiculous makeup). As soon as we got home, the muscles in the left side of my back attacked me, and I've been nursing the heating pad on the couch ever since.