Retract:
There is something to always be said about writing. It's a dangerous field to be in. I've had a lot of funny stories that have occurred in my life and I try to share the humour of it all. But at what cost?
Without further ado, I am retracting the last post I wrote for the sake of preserving specific friendships. The hardest part about writing is leaving everyone laughing and no one crying -- especially when it comes to drawing off of personal experiences -- which most writers do.
As usual, I acted before thinking, and for that I am truly sorry. Perhaps I need to find a new coping mechanism for dealing with life. I found the circumstances humorous, however, broadcasting them was perhaps not the wisest choice.
If you can't laugh it off what else have we got?
Point being that the subject posted perhaps needed time to heal before being able to be talked about.
On the other hand, I figure if we don't ever examine including self-examination, then we run the risk of repeating history in human behaviour. All to say that this public apology is extended to those that may have taken offense to what was written. My humblest apologies. What was said was in good humour and for communications evaluation.
This is precisely why most of the personal stories will most likely not make it on here even though time and time again, people have asked for it to be a relationships blog. Sorry folks. Time to water down the content.
Cheerio!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Chick Flicks: Emotional Porn for Women
So I am making an open clarification about a statement I made this week. As I should have explained to some friends of mine, my argument I made was rather brash and I need to preface it a bit.
I hold true to the conviction that chick flicks are like porn for women. Now if you are taking what I say on a literal sense, no it is not the exact same thing. However, on a figurative level there are some severe similarities.
For women, we aren’t as visually inclined creatures as men. (I say this as a rule. There is an exception to every rule.) What are we more inclined towards? Emotional connections.
Porn creates a sort of escapism; it creates a false sense of reality. As visual creatures, men will gravitate towards this.
Chick Flicks offer a similar sense of escapism in that there is another false sense of reality in make believe.
Now, I am not against movies that promote love stories. This is where I apologize to the friends that I didn’t explain myself to. Here is where my blanket statement got me into trouble. Insert-foot-in-mouth here.
To extract the appendage from my sore jaw, I must then say well what is defined as a chick flick and the intentions of the viewer in watching the show.
I am all for love stories. In fact the greatest love stories of all times don’t necessarily fall under the chick flick genre in my opinion. True love stories come with heart ache, pain, growth in character, change in dynamic situations, lasting loyalties, and an overall heartiness to both personalities portrayed. A chick flick is something that has very little depth, is only about the surface, superficial side of life. This is where there is a danger for any fan of these movies.
If you watch these types of films in abundance, I have a strong conviction that it will be hard for any real man to ever measure up. This may sound harsh to many of a female friend who may now be foe, but it’s true.
I used to be someone that loved to turn a chick flick on to pass the time. Why did I watch them? Because I was dissatisfied with the fact that I didn’t have any boy drama in my life. Then one day when I was dating my last boyfriend it hit me – that the so called love that was being portrayed on the screen in front of me resembled very little of what I had experienced in real life. In fact – if you find out what love is really all about, what is portrayed in a chick flick pales in comparison. Granted, the 2 hour short fix comes with the added perk of being able to turn it off whenever you want to and with 100% less heart ache because there is no “real” attachment.
All in all, my argument of escapism and conclusion can be measured up to many a piece of crap made within the entertainment industry.
So the next time you turn on any movie just evaluate what you may take from the movie. Buyer beware of the female's emotional hole in a chick flick.
I hold true to the conviction that chick flicks are like porn for women. Now if you are taking what I say on a literal sense, no it is not the exact same thing. However, on a figurative level there are some severe similarities.
For women, we aren’t as visually inclined creatures as men. (I say this as a rule. There is an exception to every rule.) What are we more inclined towards? Emotional connections.
Porn creates a sort of escapism; it creates a false sense of reality. As visual creatures, men will gravitate towards this.
Chick Flicks offer a similar sense of escapism in that there is another false sense of reality in make believe.
Now, I am not against movies that promote love stories. This is where I apologize to the friends that I didn’t explain myself to. Here is where my blanket statement got me into trouble. Insert-foot-in-mouth here.
To extract the appendage from my sore jaw, I must then say well what is defined as a chick flick and the intentions of the viewer in watching the show.
I am all for love stories. In fact the greatest love stories of all times don’t necessarily fall under the chick flick genre in my opinion. True love stories come with heart ache, pain, growth in character, change in dynamic situations, lasting loyalties, and an overall heartiness to both personalities portrayed. A chick flick is something that has very little depth, is only about the surface, superficial side of life. This is where there is a danger for any fan of these movies.
If you watch these types of films in abundance, I have a strong conviction that it will be hard for any real man to ever measure up. This may sound harsh to many of a female friend who may now be foe, but it’s true.
I used to be someone that loved to turn a chick flick on to pass the time. Why did I watch them? Because I was dissatisfied with the fact that I didn’t have any boy drama in my life. Then one day when I was dating my last boyfriend it hit me – that the so called love that was being portrayed on the screen in front of me resembled very little of what I had experienced in real life. In fact – if you find out what love is really all about, what is portrayed in a chick flick pales in comparison. Granted, the 2 hour short fix comes with the added perk of being able to turn it off whenever you want to and with 100% less heart ache because there is no “real” attachment.
All in all, my argument of escapism and conclusion can be measured up to many a piece of crap made within the entertainment industry.
So the next time you turn on any movie just evaluate what you may take from the movie. Buyer beware of the female's emotional hole in a chick flick.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
ReLent: No More Monkey Business
It is interesting the epiphanies you will encounter when taking on a challenge in life. For me I recently decided that I needed to give up something for Lent. Call it an act of recognition for all that I have been blessed with in life, a form of giving back through deprivation.
For years I tried to acknowledge Lent and give something up but more or less failed like a captured monkey.
Now, my reference may be attached to a fable or fact – so don’t quote me on this – but it has been relayed to me that in the wild, people will use a very simple shaft about the length of a monkey’s arm to catch monkies. Now the size of the shaft will vary depending on the type and size of the monkey one hopes to catch.
To entice the monkey, you dangle a shiny object from one end of the shaft. Now, in order to get at the object, the monkey must stick their arm through the shaft and grab ahold of the object at the other end. In doing so, this catches them in their own level (or lack) of intelligence. By creating a fist, they can’t retrieve the object from the end of the shaft.
As stubborn creatures often do, they refuse to let go of the object at hand.
Similarly, I never really was humbled enough to admit that there realistically was something to give up as a sign of sacrifice leading up to Easter and the recognition of the world’s most ultimate sacrifice on a cross.
Ironically, in this deep-seated recession, I was brought to my knees. Much had been taken away from me. I found myself without a job, sick for 3 months, I got hit by a car without any sort of insurance and without anything more to stubbornly cling to. Or so I thought.
I looked down at my nails one evening and realized that the one thing that I have never in my life given up, was my incessant need to bite my finger nails. I had never tried to make a concerted effort to stop because I had just succumbed to a weak excuse of justifying that it was just a part of who I was as a person.
The reason I started biting in the first place was because my dad did it. And from day one, I have always looked up to my dad in the highest esteem possible. As a child he would see my chewing and swat at my hand. Under his breath he would mutter how disgusting it was to bite nails. I thought, well you do it???
Although, like any stereotype, nail biters get a classification of their own. Hadn’t realized it until I stopped back around Ash Wednesday. They do. I always joked that my nail biting instinct was a natural form of nail clippers.
As much as I hold true to that archaic view in the event that if you’re caught in the middle of the jungle with nothing but your teeth, I also think that my logic was a bit backwards for many years.
And so as I embark on this new revelation and habit kicking blog series, (trust me, I'm not done,) I find myself strangely energized and ready to see this be a permanent sacrifice rather than a 40 day purge. No more monkey business!
For years I tried to acknowledge Lent and give something up but more or less failed like a captured monkey.
Now, my reference may be attached to a fable or fact – so don’t quote me on this – but it has been relayed to me that in the wild, people will use a very simple shaft about the length of a monkey’s arm to catch monkies. Now the size of the shaft will vary depending on the type and size of the monkey one hopes to catch.
To entice the monkey, you dangle a shiny object from one end of the shaft. Now, in order to get at the object, the monkey must stick their arm through the shaft and grab ahold of the object at the other end. In doing so, this catches them in their own level (or lack) of intelligence. By creating a fist, they can’t retrieve the object from the end of the shaft.
As stubborn creatures often do, they refuse to let go of the object at hand.
Similarly, I never really was humbled enough to admit that there realistically was something to give up as a sign of sacrifice leading up to Easter and the recognition of the world’s most ultimate sacrifice on a cross.
Ironically, in this deep-seated recession, I was brought to my knees. Much had been taken away from me. I found myself without a job, sick for 3 months, I got hit by a car without any sort of insurance and without anything more to stubbornly cling to. Or so I thought.
I looked down at my nails one evening and realized that the one thing that I have never in my life given up, was my incessant need to bite my finger nails. I had never tried to make a concerted effort to stop because I had just succumbed to a weak excuse of justifying that it was just a part of who I was as a person.
The reason I started biting in the first place was because my dad did it. And from day one, I have always looked up to my dad in the highest esteem possible. As a child he would see my chewing and swat at my hand. Under his breath he would mutter how disgusting it was to bite nails. I thought, well you do it???
Although, like any stereotype, nail biters get a classification of their own. Hadn’t realized it until I stopped back around Ash Wednesday. They do. I always joked that my nail biting instinct was a natural form of nail clippers.
As much as I hold true to that archaic view in the event that if you’re caught in the middle of the jungle with nothing but your teeth, I also think that my logic was a bit backwards for many years.
And so as I embark on this new revelation and habit kicking blog series, (trust me, I'm not done,) I find myself strangely energized and ready to see this be a permanent sacrifice rather than a 40 day purge. No more monkey business!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)