I broke my 2003-2004 No-Kazaa rule (conceived in a backlash of guilt over copyright laws) last night to download the Sex and the City finale. So, Carrie gets back together with Chris Noth, and Mikhail Baryshnakov turns out to be a bad old Russian after all. I love the fact that Sarah Jessica Parker gets to spend half the episode in white stilettoes and eating pastries in Paris alone, though. Those are two things screaming disaster waiting to happen -- to the girls, at least.
As to why I like this show: haven't a clue. I deal with sex with the apathy of someone who sells condoms (I do), don't have a penchant for Manolo Blahniks, and am whatever the opposite of a compulsive dater would be. Why is there no female equivalent for eunuch? There should be, for equity's sake. This isn't real life. They don't even dress like they'd exist in real life. I've been to New York. That's not life there, either.
It's the urban fantasy for the masses, I guess. I heard something written by Tolkien today, that (thankfully) wasn't part of a hobbit story: the purpose of the entire fantasy genre is to explore the human capacity to be happy. Like a Glade plug-in, I say; when was the last time a serious writer, artist, theorist, or philosopher even made a stab at the flip side of tragedy?
Here's something ironic from a girl that doesn't smile: when did happiness become offensive? I mean, I apologise for having a good day. Inconceivable.
As to why I like this show: haven't a clue. I deal with sex with the apathy of someone who sells condoms (I do), don't have a penchant for Manolo Blahniks, and am whatever the opposite of a compulsive dater would be. Why is there no female equivalent for eunuch? There should be, for equity's sake. This isn't real life. They don't even dress like they'd exist in real life. I've been to New York. That's not life there, either.
It's the urban fantasy for the masses, I guess. I heard something written by Tolkien today, that (thankfully) wasn't part of a hobbit story: the purpose of the entire fantasy genre is to explore the human capacity to be happy. Like a Glade plug-in, I say; when was the last time a serious writer, artist, theorist, or philosopher even made a stab at the flip side of tragedy?
Here's something ironic from a girl that doesn't smile: when did happiness become offensive? I mean, I apologise for having a good day. Inconceivable.
