Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Manic Pixie Dream Girl

While watching Cameron Crowe's dissapointing, "Elizabethtown" I learned from a review of the movie about a phrase used to describe stock female characters. Manic Pixie Dream Girls. These women are simply a foil to deep men. The description even brought literature into the equation with the example of Beatrix (yes, that's the spelling of Kill Bill's main character while probably related to Dante's Inferno anyway.)
Women have long been seen as a muse to great men. There is the great clique, "Behind every great man there is a woman". But it's poor writing.
That's why people like Bridget Jone's diary so much. It grossed tons of money. Why? Because she is so relatable. She's looking for love. She is her own worst enemy. She has a good heart yet she is not perfect.
So today a very long blog was lost in the wind, so make due with this one.
Think about all the women in movies and even books and think about whether they are deeper then a foil to their male lovers.

Monday, November 21, 2011

I am not normal

Oh my, I've had so many blog ideas on my mind, and too much time has gone by to make them articulate, focused blogs. Instead I'm going to change these blogs (for now) to make them a personal diary with points, digressions, and observations. I'll try to write what inspires me.
Yes, I am not normal. While at Humboldt State, a sociology professor singled me out and tried to steer me off my Literature major course. I collect parental figures, and she became my mentor for two semesters. Since, at the time, I was beginning a two year battle with heroin addiction, she was there for the unraveling.
I was unlike the well adjusted twenty year old students. In an auditorium full of students I was the only one to raise my hand to the question, "Have you gone to a gay bar?" Yeap. There are more layers to our initial bond then being a social anomaly to this brilliant professor, but I'd like to believe she knew my experience aside I was innocent to the core of human understanding. At the time I wanted to fit in more. So I was told by her to write an essay, which this blog was initially going to be-the essay- on, "What it means to 'be normal'". That was my assignment. In five minutes I came to the conclusion that no one was normal.
A crass example: My aunt is a paranoid schizophrenic. She is mentally unhealthy. But a lot of her attitudes/beliefs that are taboo in the wealthy, slightly uptight world of Annapolis, Maryland, are popular in California. She does not wear socks. Or shoes in the summer. In the town of Arcata it is popular to become a hippie and discard your shoes in public. That's a crass example because the only thing that is not 'normal' in a person is mental illness.
As a side note I dated that professor's teaching assistant. This being the second teaching assistant I dated. The first being my first fiancee. As another side note I've lived with one teacher in a platonic relationship, got a marriage proposal from my Shakespeare professor and stayed in his guest room often while withdrawing from a spectrum of designer drugs. He also gave me his prescription drugs. I had 'a fling' with my political science professor, who actually taught me the beauty of hugging a tree, picking out the best white mokkas in town, smoking swag weed, and getting lost in the woods. We made out on giant rocks overlooking the ocean, knowing all of this was as good as life gets. Am I leaving any professors out? See, major digressions and diary material. Maladjusted rants.
Side note: I think I dated the sociology teacher's aid just to fight with him on the subject of sociology vs. psychology. I wanted to kick him out of bed every morning and argue that his entire belief system was wrong. He never budged. I did slightly.
"You can only know yourself when your personality bounces off another person." Those were the great sociology professor's first in office words to me. I don't quite believe that. I believe that people have different degrees....different strengths of critical thinking. Also I believe in mental hygiene. Two different topics. Being 'normal' is something I want no part in. Mental heath in tip top shape? Give it to me baby.
I've done ten cross country trips. At thirty three I have a modeling contract. I lived in New York, Maryland, California, Vermont, North Carolina, and now Austin Texas. I lived on a boat, an attic, a tee-pee, a shack, a home where my lover and I grew marijuana and fought and loved passionately. I spent six months as the passenger in a Jaguar and another six months taking public transportation. There are two poems published about me. "The Dark Continent" and "My Rose". The former won the San Francisco poem of the year award. The only common link between these two poets is their belief that I am often unhappy. I kicked a heroin addiction. I loved heroin too. I remember this one homeless man, Justin was his name, shooting me up (because I never wanted to learn to put a needle in myself). His face looked like Jesus Christ when he was pulling the needle out.
Now I live in Austin. Every day I'll make it a routine to (inprove my spelling) come to this lounge where I can bring my laptop, get free wi-fi, and just write what is on my mind. If it's unpolished or no good it still stays. Like L. Cohen says, "You're living for nothing now, I hope you keep some kind of record."