If I were an Iraqi in Iraq right now, I would feel so bitter toward the U.S. for coming into my country and creating this havoc. Saddam may have been a dictator of sorts, but at least he provided a degree of security. At least there wasnít a civil war. How can democrats advocate a cut and run strategy and forget the civilians?
The female protagonist, Biyun, is such a thin, single note character: completely devoted to her man, apolitical, kind, considerate... in short, virtuous beyond reproach. In the end, Qiushui marries another, then dies, while Biyun mourns his death into old age. What an ideal woman.
This tendency infuriates me because what passes for concern about "human rights in China" is really a subtle, patronizing form of Western imperialism aimed at emasculating the perceived threat of a growing power through implied Western cultural, moral superiority.
I remember asking my friend Kay, what could be better than working so hard at something to achieve the singular goal of being the best? It was a rhetorical question on my part, but she replied with ambivalence, saying that sheís not sure if she would want that kind of life. It would be intense, extreme. It would be a life of sacrifices. Iíve always wanted to sacrifice myself for something.
Of course, Madonna is the goddess of staying relevant. There's nothing shameful in marketing oneself to make a living as a star. What is this thing called ďreal talentĒ that supposed singer-songwriters supposedly possess? Being mildly entertaining is a talent. Remaining relevantly entertaining for over two decades is a superpower: human willpower, magnified and writ large.
The script, on the other hand, doesnít stand up to close scrutiny. The story doesnít have much of a plot beyond Jiang Wen and Zhao Wei sitting around and talking. As a meditation on post-modern life in urban China, the film has its merits. Itís quite representative of Sixth Generation Chinese filmmaking. I want to see more.
Ha. I think I have things under control. I always think that I can handle whatever comes up. Itís all experience, after all. Everything becomes water under the bridge. Eventually, inevitably.
He can be sweet and endearing sometimes. Especially when he's self-deprecating or showing me his vulnerable side (as opposed to his arrogant, selfish side). But he's hurt me a few times, and I don't feel open around him. I don't want to be the innocent little girl that shows him her naÔve smile and trust, only to be rebuked.
I miss him, I miss him, I miss himÖ
Itís a crazily anti-intuitive feeling mixed in with a healthy dose of cynicism, wistfulness, andÖ lust. I will admit this: we had a lot of chemistry out on the dance floor. Those are my favorite memories of him, of us. Uninhibited, crazy, tireless.
She complained that he wasnít treating her well enough (e.g. making an effort). So she dumped him. Makes sense to me. Jackís relationships are always so messed up. Heís not the type of guy who will stand up straight and end things if necessary. Heís always complaining about the situation heís in, but never taking responsibility for himself.
She started out life as an athlete, then married, had three kids, and became a housewife. That left her depressed and with low self-esteem. So finally in her thirties, she went abroad to study interior design, to pursue her dream. She had clearly articulated goals and established a plan for achieving them.
I like my boys a little bit off, a little dark and unwholesome. I want someone who can enjoy indie rock music and is willing to go crazy on the dance floor. Even Bobo had the indie spirit within him; he was just too shy to get out there and dance. But I knew inside of him was a great wilderness. He was my kindred spirit in that sense.
You never know though.
The feeling behind those words stirs the heart and trespasses upon the mind, coming and going like some unsettled specter. On Sunday nights, when the coming weekís concerns press upon a world-weary mind, this feeling saturates, intoxicates, overcoming lonely hearts.
It was such a nightmare, I even started thinking about Peach, who I was also incompatible with, but at the very least, knew how to treat girls. I really really liked that about him. I remember telling him my birthday once, casually, and he actually managed to retain that fact months later.
I donít know. Can girls and guys ever be truly, purely, friends? This is a stupid question, and Iím sure the answer is yes. But I donít know what it is about my relationships that make them so fucked up. At the moment, I strike a tenuous balance.
Maybe Iíve become inoculated to the modern realities of dating. Itís possible to have the most amazing date with someone and never hear from him again. Itís possible to have the most amazing relationship with someone, and devoid of commitmentís anchoring, drift apart silently.
Observe Justine Henin-Hardenne: only 5í6Ē and 126 lbs. Yet she has a powerful serve and her ground strokes are surprisingly heavy. Martina Hingis used to beat older opponents far stronger than her with ease. I think I have enough power to win matches. I just need more practice. This is a game I could get good at.