Growing up, I was always the kid who hadn't watched last night's episode of Lizzie McGuire. I wasn't usually able to contribute to all the conversations people had about television. That's because I never particularly overly enjoyed watching TV, while Even Stevens was playing, I'd be immersing myself in the Bailey School Kids series. I find that, up until recently, I still could never get all that engaged into a TV show.
And thennnnnnnnnnnn we got Netflix. If you've never heard of Netflix I'll be brief in explaining it to you. An online movie rental service is basically what it is.
However, now it's improved. You don't even have to leave your computer to watch what you want. They've got instant online movie streaming. Legal, of course. You pay one fee a month, and unlimited movies back and forth and unlimited online watching time.
Definitely a bargain.
Netflix offers a variety of amazing, top quality shows. The Office, Skins, Dexter, Weeds, The L Word, Lost, CSI, Heroes, and the list continues.
My favorite shows among that list would definitely have to be Dexter, Skins, and Weeds. I've immersed myself in these television shows, and really, it's kind of a problem. But they're awesome, so it's all right.
Since I've already expressed my love for Dexter, I'll have to dedicate a post to Skins.
I have to. It's mandatory. I've got to profess my love for such a wonderfully raw and powerful show.
Anyways, the show takes place in Britain and centers around a group of pretty wild, fun loving teenagers. Problematic teenagers. I always try to pick my favorite character, but I never can. With each episode I watch and with each character that's introduced, my affection deepens.
The first season was a series of episodes dedicated to helping you get to know each character. They're all so dynamic and they each have little qualities that you can easily find in yourself. They're average teenagers with pretty shitty lives, if I do say so myself.
The second season, my personal favorite, starts to develop more of a concrete story line. The show loses a bit of its humor (not all, definitely still a dramatic comedy), but the dark drama definitely intensifies. Situations arise in which I couldn't imagine ever dealing with.
Some of my favorite characters would definitely have to include
Cassie, the troubled teen, who seems a bit out of touch with reality, dealing with an eating disorder,
Sid, Cassie's significant other, who has a dysfunctional family and is awkward as hell, but cute still,
and Chris, this absolutely adorable, fun loving kid who's a sweetheart, and is quite known for his "fuck it" sort of attitude. Nothing seems to get to him.
Oh, and I definitely can't forget Maxxie, a ridiculously beautiful boy who's homosexual and proud. I love Maxxie.
Saying that those characters are my favorite almost makes me feel bad, as if I'm being disloyal to the others or something. That's how much I love each and every one of them.
What makes the show even better is the fact that they're all so very British! They've all got these adorable accents that differs among characters. It makes me smile when they say "fanks" instead of "thanks"!
One thing that might worry adults watching the show, but only adds to its amazingness, is the amount of partying these kids do. It's ridiculous really. They all drink, smoke, shoot up, pop pills, have ridiculous amounts of sex. No character ends the show having slept with only one person, let's just say that. The episodes can bring from me a variety of reactions. I laugh often, I cry often, I get excited along with the characters, and all the realistic surprises (I can't stand shows that have bizarre turns in storyline. Somehow each unexpected event always fits in nicely with the story line), make me gasp.
One thing that's even more refreshing is it's not like the other shows, where people are groomed and perfect and they all look like they're from hollywood. The kids in this show are all real. None of the people who play each character had any acting experience before the show, with the exception of Tony's character. It's amazing how believable and real they prove to be. And look where it got Dev Patel (Slumdog, anyone?).
In summary, this show's about as amazing as it gets.
I'm sitting at the very front of the room in the first seat of the first row.
This teacher has been my teacher for years, and although she personally can't see past the studious, poised young woman "vibes" I give off, she's had me as a student for almost two years, so she's learned from experience that sometimes I can be a bit raucous. I also sometimes do silly things that a small amount of thinking would have prevented me from doing (Cough cough, throwing a paper airplane that accidentally hits the teacher instead of the student it's aimed at. Cough).
We've all had our fun in that class. I remember last year we all loved 3rd period and all the stupid little high school jokes we'd pull. Every day was an off topic day. Every day somebody would say something hilarious that we'd be quoting for weeks.
That class was awesome.
Now, however, it's about as dry as the Sahara. No fun. No laughs. Just the buzzing of the air conditioner and the pitiful attempts at enthusiasm by our teacher. Dry.
It's not even thought provoking. The subject we are taught could be fun and exciting, but instead makes us feel as though we never graduated grade school.
Depressing, to say the least. People with books and phones under their desks. Homework from other classes. Writing notes and letters to their friends in English. Doing everything but paying attention.
And this teacher sees it all. Nobody's exactly discreet about it. We've all learned over the years that you need a small amount of backbone to bust a kid for breaking the rules, so we're good to go.
Anyways, this class is about as fun sucking as it gets, so you can't help but encourage your mind to wander to happier places.
And so I'm sitting there, my cheek turning red from being propped up by my hand. My hair in my face. My thumbs twiddling. My foot tapping. My headphones on.
And I look around.
And I get up.
And I pop out of my seat and belt out everything that I've been holding back. And I'm singing and I'm dancing and I'm twirling and hopping and skipping all across the room. And I'm grabbing papers off desks and I'm throwing 'em all around so that the class is white with falling stationery. And everybody's looking up at me bewildered. Until finally my friend from across the room gets up and we're harmonizing and we're dancing in sync. And one by one the rest of the class follows en suite. And my teacher's standing at the front of the room watching this whole spectacle unfold in front of her. And in the blink of an eye we change out of our boring school clothes, and the girls have got on classy black evening gowns with white elbow length gloves, and the boys have got on crisp, white tuxedos, with black bow ties. And the desks have magically cleared. So have the walls, in fact, and behind them unfolds an auditorium with blue and green spotlights, props, and an audience.
An audience, clapping and cheering and they are on their feet with joy and laughter and awe at our remarkable talent.
And the spotlight's on me for a moment, until it expands to fit every kid in that class. And we're on the finale and we're in perfect sync and we're harmonizing perfectly. And finally two boys prop me up and I'm on their shoulders and my hands are in the air and we're smiling and we've forgotten all our cares and woes because when it's show biz, everything has a happy ending.
We are in a musical.
Folks, my life is a musical.
My daydream ends as soon it begins, and I'm back at the front of the room in the first seat of the front row and I'm missing out on the notes. I wipe the slobber off my chin, I stretch, I close my eyes, and I take myself to another theater far enough from this hell hole till I won't be able to smell the stench of draining brain power.
I'm severely annoyed with my parents. My eyes are rolling so hard that they're threatening to roll right out of their sockets. My hand is gripping my purse so hard my knuckles are turning white. Finally, they let me go, I turn on my heels and leave them as quickly as I can, fuming all the way. I'm in a terrible mood, but suddenly...
There it is, my little piece of heaven. My sweet, sugarless indulgence: paradise. FOREVER 21 all caps, I'm all smiles. Everything is white, the windows are twinkling, the walls seem to sparkle. I walk inside and the mannequins, adorned in their lovely tresses, seem to smile and welcome me. The store gleams and glows and I ahh and ooh, and immediately my irritation melts away and an intoxicating calm satisfaction takes its place.
Information overload. This is what this is. I'm running my hands through all sorts of colors and fabrics. Blacks and whites and blues and pinks. Velvet, leather, denim, silk. Shoes, shirts, dresses, pants, jackets, underwear, jewelry. Ruffles, flowers, lace, pins.
It's all beautiful and it's all beckoning to me.
I could almost say I'm feeling giddy. I start loading up with clothing to try on. All sorts. My arms grow heavier as I make my way through the store.
I finally make it to the dressing room, and I take a moment to look at the small mountain that I'm straining to hold up.
I try on everything and all the clothing makes me feel pretty and poised and sophisticated and I just want it alllll.
I blow through 130 dollars ten times faster than it took me to make 130 dollars.
At the beginning of the year, I found that there was barely any time to do anything. I'd go home, spend some time relaxing by browsing the internet, fit some homework in, and it felt like that was all. I wasn't in any extra curricular activities at that time, so I figured time shouldn't be an issue. What was I doing between 3:10 and 10:00 that took up so much time?
Well, as soon as the problem went away, I figured out what it was. Facebook. Hours can be passed doing, literally, nothing at all on Facebook.
And only until I was without a Facebook did I realize how much we incorporate it into our daily lives on and off the computer.
Examples of bits of information:
"So I checked their Facebook page and it said that she wasn't in a relationship...omg, did they break up?"
"Yeah, I saw their pictures on Facebook. They didn't even invite me."
"She's Catholic, it says so on her Facebook."
"He changed his orientation to bisexual on Facebook."
"I love that song. I had it as my Facebook status a couple weeks ago."
"So last night I was Facebook creepin'..."
"He doesn't have good taste in music...did you see his Facebook page?"
"Tag me!"
Etc, etc, etc.
Now, not only do I have a lot of extra time on my hands, but I also feel completely out of the loop a lot of the time. I don't know what everyone's up to on the weekends because I can't see anybody's Facebook pictures. All the big news people hear about via Facebook, well, I'm always the last to know.
When I first had to close my account I was devastated. I was so sure that life without a Facebook was hardly a life at all. I moped, I pouted, I fumed, and still my parents did not relent.
No Facebook, they said. And that's that.
Well, my world was basically crumbling and windows were breaking and my feet couldn't feel the floor, and a hollow ringing filled my ears. Not to mention my knees went completely knumb.
Okayyyy, maybe that's a little dramatic, my knees didn't actually go numb. But, that's besides the point. The point is this tragic event was extremely significant to such a sociable girl as myself.
As days past, the withdrawal symptoms reduced. Three weeks passed and I could actually listen people talk about Facebook without bursting into tears. It was a definite improvement my online management therapist would always remind me. I was headed in the right direction.
I caved. I'm ashamed to say. I reopened my account and I creeped and creeped until Facebook was all that I could think of. My mind was just a bottomless pond of Facebook droplets.
I'm clean now. After months of trying to overcome such a consuming addiction, I can now say that I am done. No Facebook for me, no thank you.
And in the end the struggle was worth it. I made a good choice, and I'm proud of myself. And maybe my strength and my story will be inspiration enough to help somebody else make the same choice.
Lately, I've been holed up in my room even more so than usual. Doing nothing but watching Dexter.
12:30 AM, Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning, homework's undone, tests not studied for, room not cleaned, and I'm glued to my computer screen watching Dexter.
Dexter is a show that centers around a forensics blood spatter analysist who works for the Miami Police Department. He encounters all sorts of usual cases, and he's basically a genius. He comes off as this easy going, gentle guy who's a great boyfriend and an awesome brother.
It has the whole world fooled, it seems.
The twist: he's a serial killer, but the best part is, he doesn't kill just anyone. He focuses on those who deserves it. People who've killed in the past who are likely to kill again. He rids society of its worst. He's charming , though, as apathetic as he is, he's still charismatic and amiable. No one catches on, no one suspects his box of slides tucked away in his sunny apartment. Slides each containing a single drop of blood. Blood from each of his victims, which he collects as trophies. He hides them in his air conditioner; refrigerated, hidden, while still easily accessible.
He's also a sociopath. Antisocial personality disorder. He has no feelings towards others, he doesn't feel the difference between right and wrong. He knows what that difference is, he just doesn't have the intrinsic motivations most others have. When we're given his background through out the first season, we learn that he has strong, inexplicable urges to kill. He does the best he can and channels those drives towards those who would do the world a favor gone.
Basically, no conscience. Basically, no heart.
He has to live by a code his adoptive father, Harry, taught him. Rule #1, he's taught, don't get caught. Rule #2, make sure the victim deserves it. It's the foundation by which he lives his life. Laws and guidelines that were pounded into his head by Harry, who was also a policeman.
The shows unlike any I've seen before. You find yourself rooting for this bad guy, who's not quite all bad. Somehow, anybody who finds anything out, winds up, conveniently, missing or dead. However, the show manages to do this in such a way that their deaths make sense, they don't seem to be unrealistic or forced.
It's an amazing show. At least one of the best, if not the best show I've ever followed, and I'm terrible at following shows.
It's one that keeps you thinking the whole way through, but it's not terribly hard to follow.
I have yet to encounter anybody who's watched it and didn't love it.
In today's society there are certain rules and guidelines that everybody must abide by. Norms, socially accepted behavior, conformity. If you don't follow them, you're a weirdo, an outcast, undesirable.
One thing that I've been dealing with more and more with lately is the lack of confrontation. Now, let me clarify, I don't particularly like confronting people about things because that means there's something negative you actually need to talk about. I don't like making a big deal of things, either, but I'm the kind of person where, if something's wrong, I can't help but try to fix things or smooth it out. I want to communicate, but I'm finding that, for most people, that's not necessarily the case.
One thing I can't stand, that completely just confuses and befuddles, and buddoozles me is why, when somebody's at odds with somebody else, they choose to talk about it to everyone else besides the person who it actually concerns.
It's just high school, people tell me, or, it's just life. And I'm finding that for the most part, it basically applies to everyone. Most people hate and completely avoid confrontation. I'm not talking about violent, intrusive, aggressive confrontation. I'm talking about the more mature kind, where people sit down and talk things through, compromise. But I face up to it. Communication's the key, everybody says, but to me it seems, that the older you get, the less words have meaning. There was an acting piece for speech team, and one bit of wisdom that stuck with me: Adult conversation: who can talk the most but say the least.
How tragically accurate.
If you notice, in movies, or on TV shows, they'll always show the characters brazenly approach each other about the most trivial things. They're blunt and forward and they make it seem so common and so easy, but really, it's not like that at all. It's not easy, and it's not common. I really don't know anybody who does this. I've never encountered somebody who'll face me first about a problem. I'll mention something and they'll admit to noticing it, but, and I guess I'm just making assumptions here, they ignore it, hoping that it'll somehow go away.
That's not how it ever works out. It just grows and grows until it's a big elephant in the room, and it seems to be taking up all the space so every conversation feels tight and forced.
But I've realized it's not a good thing to do. I've found that if both people are willing to talk about it, it works out, but if one person exerts no effort, it falls flat and becomes excruciatingly awkward.
And that's one unwritten, unnerving rule society unknowingly seems to adhere to.
