Apparently there’s this part of my brain, lodged uncomfortably somewhere between the temporal lobe and the cerebellum, that drives me against my will to start aimless conversations while drunk. No matter how unengaged the interlocutor, how uncomfortable the scenario, how forced the interaction–I’ll do it.
Indeed, the two people in the Relationship for Show find each other almost by some self-organizing principal of reality, nature, society or culture; friends of the two are likely to affirm upon hearing of their newfound relationship, “oh, that makes sense,” or “heh, not surprised at all.”
In today’s collegiate world, being “pre-med” can mean several things to the dazed and confused undergraduate. I might be 90% wrong because I like to make radical, offensive generalizations — but here are a few ideas.
And it’s not just that the characters find themselves in depressing situation after depressing situation (well, they kind of do), it’s the fact that the scope of the novel makes every depressing instance so much more tragic because you’re highly familiar with what lead each character to the sad place they’re in currently.
On the most basic level, movies simply ask for a type of attentiveness that is hard to muster if you’re depressed. Cerebral films tend to have a lot of silences and moments where the spectator is encouraged to reflect on the images. That’s fine, but when you’re depressed, the only reflecting you’ll be doing is on various sad thoughts and anxieties floating around in your head.
As if being gay wasn’t gay enough, I’ve gotten myself into quite a hole (metaphorically, not sexually, I’m a total bottom). I’ve started the complicated procedure of talking to a “straight” guy. I’ve never dated, or fucked, a straight guy before and therefore I am totally lost here. Is it a good idea? What experience can you share about fucking “straight” guys?
I did some light research to paint what I believe to be as accurate a picture as we’re going to get regarding Carrie’s unkempt, irresponsible financial situation. For accuracy’s sake, this article refers specifically to Season 1 of the show, which took place in 1998.
It’s interesting to think about why we were so willing destroy our bodies at seventeen. Being a teenager was all about “Yes. Give me that! Why not? I might projectile vomit? Cool! I haven’t done that since I was five!” Being in your twenties, however is all about being neurotic. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe. I have a gluten allergy so I can’t drink that beer.”