Sex and the City

While I don't claim the objectivity of a wolf child recently rescued from the forest (Truffaut's L'Enfant Sauvage?), I have had very little exposure to Sex and the City considering I am a 22-year-old female who occasionally enjoys What Not To Wear. Why then, you ask, am I going to Sex and the City the film, which I've already enjoyed ridiculing through sundry biting reviews? The reason is this: the movie is a post-modern masterpiece; through its very existence, it fosters the same girls-night-out mentality among girlfriends who want a good night on the town, possibly away from men and the testosterone-driven films that will no doubt echo from adjoining theatres. The film has infiltrated women's social circles, and mine is no exception.

I am also going for the interest of anthropological observation. I'm slightly worried that a lot of women will be rushing to Shopper's tonight for tampons after being in proxy of all the estrogen in the room. I'm wondering if I should bring tampons to plug my ears, just in case I decide that watching it on mute is more bearable.

But let me say this: I'm always disappointed when I go to see a chick-flick - a disparaging term, admittedly - and the film turns out not to be a chick flick but a cliched, sexist, or simply dead and un-resuscitable romantic comedy. In some of these films, the women have lines only in response to male characters, their personalities are based not on real-life women but actresses in similarly phony films, and I leave the theatre only with a greater appreciation for the male psyche. "I have no trouble understanding the male part of men because I've seen so many films that play out their fantasies," a friend once told me.

Which is why I still have some hope that this film will be a genuine chick-flick that hails from a genuinely female perspective. Even though it was directed by a man, Michael Patrick King, the show was, after all, based on books by Candace Bushnell, and according to reviews on IMDb, the average liking for my demographic was a 7.8 /10 based on 1300 votes. Not bad for a film which Globe and Mail reviewer Rick Groen said is "uniquely bad; this one is a threshold-breaker with a different sound, the crack of rock-bottom giving way to a whole deeper layer of magma."

Groen, a man, differs from me also because he is familiar with the TV show and enjoys watching it. His review, however, crackles with the Schadenfreude reserved only for the truly and deservingly bad.

According to Groen, "there is no script, at least nothing recognizable as such to any sentient being with a room-temperature IQ."

Interestingly, twice as many men as women voted on IMDb, with 2900 men granting it a stunning 3.0.

On the G & M website, a woman responded to Groen's review by saying in matronly fashion,

"Regarding Rick Groen's review of Sex and the City (In This Case, Ladies, Bigger Is Far From Better - Review, May 30), I have some advice for the entertainment editor: Don't send a man to do a woman's job. "

Midnight Update

I dressed up a little, knowing at least about the show's bent for sartorial vogue. When I got to the theatre and met my street-clothed friends, however, I then felt over-dressed. That is until the movie started, at which point I felt completely vindicated for the money currently hot-tubbing on my Visa, money that feels more hot and lethargic every day, and has no intention of getting out of the hot tub regardless of any money trying to get in there with it. Besides, the money's in there because it doesn't need clothes; it needs to clothe me in chichi apparel. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda understand this.

Apart from my personal biases towards the film (love in NYC, writing career, love of over-the-top fashion), I think it helped, at least in my case, that I wasn't familiar with the tv show. If my expectations had been too high, or I had been hoping for a great new twist, then I can see how I could have been disappointed. But because I was new to it all, I found it refreshing. And I beg to differ with Mr. Groen about there being no plot. There is definitely a plot. It may even inspire me to watch an episode or two of the tv show. Who knows what terrible things may start to occur.

If what my friend Moni says is true - that I like only about 1% of the movies that I watch - then I applaud Sex and the City for at the very least lowering my expectations about it - or should I thank Rick Groen?

Diving from sea and sky

I was listening to a procrastination tape the other day, a tape that was supposed to help me overcome my aversion to starting and completing tasks. Ignoring the fact that it may as well have been sleepy-time hypnosis the way I reacted to it, I did retain one important part. The tape's speaker Brian S. Tracy assured me that he would procrastinate too if it weren't for his good habits. He follows 7 steps (which I retrieve now).

1)Make clear objectives
2)Write it down
3)Make a deadline
4)Write down all tasks needed for completion
5)Prioritize your tasks
6)Take action on your plan immediately
7)Do something every day

Now imagine that you're a 64-year-old retired French army parachutist. You've already taken 5000 jumps out of an airplane and frankly, it's getting a little old. But so are you. You need to take action if you're ever to achieve the goal you started thinking about 20 years ago - to jump out of an air balloon 25 miles up (5 times as high as Mount Everest), experience weightlessness, and break the sound barrier.

The parachutist, Michel Fournier, must have worked long and hard on his quest to see the curvature of the earth. In fact, he sold his house and most of his possessions. After step 3, I really think there should be a step called "Raise the Stakes." In other words, make the consequences of failing so dire that you have to continue on your mission. Fournier, check. One of his tasks included finding someplace to carry out his jump. After being barred from performing the experiment in France because of safety concerns (ex. From that high up, who knows where he'll land) he decided to come to less-densely-populated Saskatchewan to "eat his frog" as motivator Brian Tracy would say; the Frenchman is used to eating frogs it would seem.

The name of his experiment "Le Grant Saut" or The Great Leap, is reminiscent of the economic reform plan undertaken by China in the 50s. Mao had introduced the Great Leap Forward with the phrase "it is possible to accomplish any task whatsoever."

But like that plan, many things could go awry. If his suit malfunctions above 12 miles, his blood will likely boil.

Definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and the burning desire to achieve it: These, I hardly doubt Michel Fournier lacks.

But this morning, Fournier's plan stalled again. It wasn't procrastination that doomed it. His amniotic-sac-like balloon simply floated away before they could even get up in the air. According to Fournier's website, two hours later they found it in a field somewhere, learning their first lesson about the Saskatchewan prairie: it will fuck with you.

There are many unknowns: no one knows what happens when a person breaks the sound barrier in merely a suit. Also unknown: what the hell the sound barrier is. Anyone?

Fournier is brave, and possibly arrogant. But at least he has guts.

After this weekend, I'm convinced I have no guts whatsoever. Sunday I went tubing in river rapids with no education and a life jacket that looked like it had been salvaged from the Titanic. The expression "baptism by fire" would apply if it hadn't been so wet and cold.

While Fournier assembled his 40 person team near North Battleford for jump preparations, I assembled my sanity in the back of a beat-up camp bus hauling tractor tubes on the highway along Esopus Creek, NY. The tube-company owner and operator was a beefy bald man with a NY accent who wore a baseball cap that squeezed the back of his bald head. As I remembered them afterwards, his instructions went something like this:

"OK, so when you get in the water you're going to want to get onto the right side, otherwise you'll get stuck, then stay on the right, but go to he left after about a mile, then to the right again, at the bridge stay to the left, then just enjoy yourself, get out about a mile before the second bridge where it says OUT, oh, but watch out for the huge drop at the beginning, if you survive that, you'll survive anything."

I really need to work on my memory. Tube rental guy didn't get out of the bus, just said bye in that growly voice of his, and probably thought to himself good riddance, squeamish kids. On the embankment, we pushed off shore like a bunch of hatchlings leaving the nest for the first time. About half our group got stuck on tree branches.

Oh, what's that Brian? A major reason for procrastination and lack of motivation is vagueness, confusion, and fuzzy-mindedness about what you are supposed to do, in what order, and for what reason?

Guess what, Brian, procrastination doesn't work on a river. There's something in the water that makes it flow in one direction, usually towards rocks.

My shrieks were exaggerated and cartoonish as though I were rehearsing for some Disney voice-over. I was never sure whether other people were smiling and laughing at me because of my bad luck for getting stuck on top of rocks in the middle of the river or because of my penchant for Goofy hiccup-wails.

And it wasn't funny when fishermen on shore would yell "I'm gonna catch ya!" as I spun by.

It concerned me that there were fish in this river, the water being only about two to three feet deep. The shallow water didn't mean I could just stand up and walk to shore, but it did mean that the rocks and whatever the hell kind of fish lived in the river could easily bump against the wooden seat of my inner tube and/or against my dangling legs.

We eventually saw two bridges, and the rock with OUT painted in white spray paint. Two people were on the shore, and about a dozen had overshot the landing. Having made it to shore, we tried to remember whether the tube man had given us directions about what to do now. He hadn't so we started walking. A woman watering her patio plants yelled congratulations, and told us we were brave for tubing on Memorial Day weekend. The irony of Memorial Day commemorating much braver souls than we aside, it was nice to feel as though we were adventurous.

We did the river a second time, and this time we were the only two on the river. I was tired of avoiding the rapids all the time and confident about not tipping, so this time I simply headed towards the rocks, wrapped my legs around them and spun away. It was like an awkward video game, one where your hands are zapped with icey water every time you want to steer. Dave fell out of his tube which freaked out me more than him, I think. I was busy making Goofy sounds and kicking up my legs with the rapids and letting the current carry me backwards.

Go Michel Fournier!

Michel's homepage with frequent updates

NY Times Article about Michel's jump (login required, but free)

The Awkward Meltdown

Soup: I'm in favour!

When a waiter says, "Soup?" I say, "Yes, please!"