Just this.

So yeah.

The Oscars, Anti-feminism, and singing in the key of Awkward

Disclaimers first, I'm not a very good feminist. I'm part of this weird nineties generation of girls that has been brought up to think we can be whatever we can be without having to fight for it. Because when I was a little girl, Barbie could be a doctor, a teacher, an airline stewardess, and an astronaut. (Never mind that she was subliminally telling me that math was hard.) Because I was born post-Tereshkova, post-Sally Ride, post-Thatcher, pre-Palin. Because Lisa Simpson told me that the glass ceiling wasn't just invisible, it was imaginary. Because I was promised a post-gender world as a child, one where women wore shoulder pads to make themselves masculine and imposing, where they ran business meetings and answered clunky cell phones phones and wore leg warmers when they exercised and had feathered hair. (This is what I remember of my formative years in the 90s. I might have them mixed up with the 80s.) So I'm not a very good feminist. But I still know it when I see it.

So let's talk about the Oscars. First of all, I feel betrayed by Natalie Portman. Natalie Portman, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SMARTER THAN THIS. You went to Harvard! You understand math that just looks like squiggles and lines to me! You are "one of the brightest stars of the generation" and I don't know who I'm quoting on that but I'm sure I'm quoting someone. Indie darling, blockbuster queen, gracefully transitioning from child phenom into leading lady. So you've just won an Oscar! How does it feel?

Great? Good. What are you going to do next?

Make a speech? Well, sure, everyone does. A really long, rambly speech? Again, everyone does. You're going to thank everyone who has helped you, ever, in advancing your career to this point? Great, good for you, I love a gracious winner!

You're going to thank your boyfriend for giving you "the most important role" of your life?

WHAT.

WHAT.

WHAT.

You are going to thank the dude for knocking you up, on national television, and belittle EVERYTHING you have done in your entire life in the process?

WHAT.

WHAT.

WHAT.

This is not me "hating on breeders." I have no problem with people who have kids. In fact, I think kids are great. I want kids someday! However I don't think that anyone should be defined, or allow themselves to be defined, or define themselves, by their ability to spawn. "Oh, yeah, I cured cancer, developed an interplanetary rocket that runs on cow pies, and published a novel. But I guess that's all peanuts now that I'm pregnant." Or this:

I don't think I would have cared if she'd said "my next great role" or something of the ilk. It was the phrase "most important role" that bothered me. We tend to criminalize women who put their careers ahead of their kids and put women who put their kids ahead of their careers up on pedestals. There doesn't seem to be any sort of happy medium between the two, at least not in society's general view of things, but I know from my own personal experience that there must be, because my mother managed to raise three intelligent, responsible members of society from birth to adulthood while still becoming a successful and influential member of her field. And while I'm sure she's proud of my siblings and I, and proud of herself for raising us, I don't think that the fact of us totally belittles every single thing that she's ever done professionally.

But moving on, because this isn't actually meant to be a blog post entirely about Natalie Portman and whether she did or did not totally invalidate every professional move she has ever made in one little Oscar speech. Let's talk about hosting! So this year's Oscar hosts were Anne Hathaway and James Franco... except, it was pretty clear that James Franco was blazed out of his mind and Anne Hathaway was carrying the show. In fact, it was almost less co-hosts and more Anne Hathaway, Oscar Host, and James Franco, her chaperone, requisite male body.

Just from the opening skit, it was really clear that this was Anne's show and everyone else just sort of lived there. She sings! She dances! She bitches at Hugh Jackman! She puts on a series of successively shinier dresses! Her enthusiasm introducing people is adorable! And James Franco just kind of squints at the lights like he's not sure what he's doing here because he's stoned out of his fucking mind. The only thing I got out of it was that the academy didn't trust a woman alone on stage to be able to keep the show moving, so they needed a guy to stand there and look manly.

My non-American friend who had never seen an Oscar telecast before pointed out, "But didn't Ellen [DeGeneres] host?"

The answer to this being that Ellen DeGeneres hosted the Oscars wearing a tux and sensible shoes, not a sparkly gown and heels. She's funny and manic and kind of butch. It's unthinkable to put Ellen DeGeneres in a sparkly dress and make her co-host with a man in a tux, but at the same time, if Anne Hathaway had put on a tux and sensible shoes and tried to host the Oscars by herself, it would have just been strange. She has to be in a sparkly dress, but I'm not sure that James Franco needs to stand beside her looking (very, very) confused and (very, very) pretty for the exercise to work. You'd think that a smart and self-assured woman could do the same job at a black tie event, regardless of whether she's wearing sequins or pants.

But what I get out of it is a statement that you cannot be both conventionally feminine and somehow emcee to a room of Hollywood's best and brightest, by yourself. The woman in the dress, with her coiffed hair and pretty necklaces, is weak. And this sort of goes back to the suit jackets with the shoulder pads from earlier - if you want power, you have to masculinize yourself.

Last point of the rant, Kathryn Bigelow. Kathryn Bigelow, you are a classy lady. Last year, all my friends and I cheered for you when you won Best Director. You were an inspiration. You had one of the prettiest dresses of the night. Everything I said earlier, about having to butch yourself up to gain influence? You defied it. You are a classy lady. So what was that fashion disaster you were wearing tonight ?

I know that my (and the rest of the country's, apparently) favorite pastime of snarking red carpet fashion is, on some level, fundamentally wrong, but you're so high profile, and it's because you're smart, and talented, and not because you're a pretty face who can look convincingly miserable. But if you're presenting an award to a bunch of middle-aged frat boys, in a category you took an upset win in last year, you'd better look amazing. And you didn't. And I was disappointed.

Okay, rant over.

WE HAVE LIFTOFF

Decided to go back and edit Like a Dog in Space some today. I'd been holding off because it was in the semi-finals for a contest here at school, but I got beat by a bunch of grad students (which I was expecting). I'd been meaning to rewrite most of Milena and Gennady's arc since they just don't match up to the crazy dramatic tension Ivan and Valeri get up to in act two, and I had this mental image of them talking about watching videos of the Challenger explosion.

Which, I of course had to watch. For research, you know? God damn it, that is a painful tape to watch. Because you know how it ends, but the people in the recording just sound so optimistic! But It gave Milena and Gennady a lot to talk about and some decent dramatic conflict besides "Dude I think your roommate is an alien and also I am a quirky American pop culture obsessed young Muscovite?"

And then David linked me to the shuttle launch livestream, which was more nervewracking to watch than usual because I'd just watched that Challenger footage like three times. AS RESEARCH, GDI.

But I got some good lines and an awesome monologue out of it so we're all good!

MILENA

This is how I look at it. You could fly a rocket and die. You could drive a car, and die. You could get bit by your grandmother’s poodle, get gangrene, and die. You could die of an aneurism in your sleep. You could die from eating bad sushi. You could spend your entire life trying not to die, but the thing is, Gennady - Everyone dies. So if death is this big, inevitable, all-consuming black hole, you might as well do something awesome before it happens to you. Like follow Gagarin’s path to the stars, or die trying.

(Beat.)

But, if it’s any consolation, there’s no one I’d rather have backing me up at ground control than you.

I KNOW THIS HAS BEEN SAID A MILLION TIMES. IT'S CLICHE... I wonder if it's a trope?

And it was all groovy anyway because Discovery was like "Woosh, c u l8tr, Earth!"

(Rant about how fail NASA is for not having a new launch vehicle ready to replace the shuttles is PFAD.)

Dreams within dreams within dreams

Last night was the first night I ever remember things getting kind of inception-y, and even then... They weren't really. Well, someone was sending me packages across time. I kept opening my door to find confused delivery boys with very specifically adressed boxes for me. Like, time and place. It was weird. I also recall I was trying to sleep, and in my dreams I was having a conversation with my grandmother who died when I was like eleven, who honestly seemed a little bit confused about where we were and how old I was, and at one point I recall waking up in my dream and telling someone to shut up, I was trying to talk to my grandmother.

That was weird.

Listening to music and doing laundry.

This song is kind of ridiculously cute.

We made a movie

A few weeks I participated with some friends in the Tisch 48 Hour Film Festival. There was very little sleep, a lot of hilarity, and a ridiculous amount of talking like Sean Connery involved in making this movie.

Enjoy!

Thank god that's over with.

Yesterday around ten PM when I was up to my eyeballs in homework and stress and panic and stress and homework, I made a promise to myself: I was going to finish all this shit, regardless of whether it wound up decent or not, and then tomorrow I was going to go to the gym, because every time I told someone how freaked out and shitty I felt, they told me to go exercise and calm down. Around two AM I finished all my work and crawled into bed, where I proceded to lie awake freaking out about every single little thing in my entire life for the next half hour.

Apparently I can never remember what position I like to sleep in. I always start out curled up on my side, because I remember sleeping like that as a kid, but sooner or later I realize NO WAIT A MINUTE, I sleep on my back. When I'm stressed, it seems like I never realize this. (AND YES, I re-discover this EVERY NIGHT.)

Anyway, I turned in all my shit, got out of class around noon, and went to the gym.

I feel the crummy and the stress seeping out of my pores with the sweat.

Ahh!

NEGLECTING MY BLOG?

Sorry, but every time I sit down to think lately I turn into one big ball of stress and panic.

Maybe I'll type something worthwhile later.

In other news:

AP credits are stupid and they're fucking up my graduation status and eating my elective slots and I'm going to have to drop like 90% of them for required courses for my double major. Seriously if I'd just taken AP Euro I'd be better off, it's the only one that I actually used towards getting out of anything useful. The rest are going to have to get flushed so I can take MORE ANTHROPOLOGY YAY. (I love Anthropology more than anything AP or IB courses I took in high school, the end.)

Also, I am going to get some of those cartoon valentines I hear other people used to give out in elementary school (I never did because I went to Jewish school) and put them in mailboxes on the DDW floor. If you don't get one it's probably because we're not really friends. Or because I forgot.

Also it was 15 degrees outside this morning WRYYYYYYYYYYY. :C

This is why I go to college, right?

The Shakespeare for Writers lecture tonight consisted of spending the second half of the class proving that Mercutio is homosexual beyond any shadow of a doubt, through use of Queen Mab, subtext, and likely intended staging, and then using this revelation to show character motivation in the fight with Tybalt.

Ie, why does Mercutio attack Tybalt? Because he thinks Romeo is making passes at him.

This is why I go to college, right?

Did Tisch 48 this weekend, which was crazy. I haven't got a copy of our completed film yet, but here's a copy of our promo poster that my friend/teammate sent me. I'll post a link to our movie as soon as I get it. :)

So today was really, really long.

But I did cobble together some kind of clumsy narrative using a bunch of random clips we shot last week for Fundamentals of Film. I screwed up the end credits though.

I think this is pretty decent considering it was my first time using Final Cut and we didn't actually have a story in mind when we shot the clips. Also the sound isn't synced but that's a problem for another project.