I've tried to watch the popular romantic comedy Love Actually, but I find myself only able to watch it in little bitty bits. A female relative, who shall remain nameless, didn't like it because it wasn't politically correct enough for her. People like this always have some idea about how every work of art could have been done to appease the PC stick up their asses, so I wanted to see the movie myself to see if I could agree with her.
The problem she had with it involved the dynamics of economically advantaged, older men falling in love with younger maids and secretaries and interns and whatnot. She painted the movie with the generalization that ALL the couplings were of this nature, at least that's the impression she gave me, and that, in and of itself, is not true. For example, I switched it off when two coworkers of equal social status and age were about to get in on, only to have the American female's burdensome mentally ill brother keep calling because he can't stand to be by himself for any extended length of time, and I guess that he's such a basket case that she can't just explain that the potential love of her life awaits the consummation of their mutual desire for each other, but that's my own PC ax to grind, so I won't go on about that,
No, let's get to her PC ax to grind: the class thing. Each story revolves around barriers to true love presented to the myriad protagonists, class only being one of them. Nothing gives a Brit a chubby like crossing class lines for true love, so of course that one is going to get some mileage in an ensemble piece such as this one,
But Rich, you ask, what does this have to do with you and your alleged love interest, the Invisible Woman (the uninitiated are going to have to go back to my posts starting from January 1st until now to get up to speed)? I will tell you. Historian Barbara Tuchman wrote a book titled A Distant Mirror about Europe in the tumultuous 14th Century. In one passage, she tells the story of a serf rebellion in England. The serfs rebelled against their oppressive feudal overlords, formed a mob numbering in the thousands, and set out to take their grievances to the King of England. They'd been brainwashed all of their lives about how much the King really, really loved them, so they thought that the problem lie with their immediate oppressors, their lords, their lords overseers and henchmen, etc.
So a mob goes on the march to one of the King's castles in hopes of bending his ear and having the King solve all of their problems. Naturally the King, who loves them so much after all, gets word of this mob descending on his castle, sends out his personal heavily armed guards, and the trusting, filthy rabble get cut to ribbons.
Well, in the good old USA, celebrities are a form of royalty for us. Sooo, for me, the twenty-two years old waitresses and baristas are the oppressive, lesser nobility with their collective foot on my neck, right, and the Invisible Woman is my version of the King of England. Am I right?
Now, Austin's own South by Southwest music festival is coming up, and these A-list celebrity types are known to show up for this. So, if I see the Invisible Woman down on Red River during this time and exclaim, "My love! At last we can be together!" and start running towards her, I bet that her security detail would tackle me, wrestle me to the ground, and kick the living shit out of me. Am I right?
That's the thing; there will always be things coming up in this town, or if I venture into this woman's town for any reason, there will be things going on that I will think will be an occasion to maybe meet up with this person, at least for awhile.
Now, to all you young or youngish ladies out there who may or may not actually read this, my oppressive feudal overlords in other words, I couldn't have come up with this insight if I hadn't been willing to disengage from the eternal pursuit these last several years and just do my best to take a fucking chill pill. Am I right? Damn right I am!
Like the song says about the models on my swimsuit calendar, "Well your stand-ins in my world/ don't serve you well at all/ and I bet I'm better off/ when you're a picture on my wall." What song you ask? Why "Picture On My Wall," by none other than Richy Vegas. How nice of you to ask.
The problem she had with it involved the dynamics of economically advantaged, older men falling in love with younger maids and secretaries and interns and whatnot. She painted the movie with the generalization that ALL the couplings were of this nature, at least that's the impression she gave me, and that, in and of itself, is not true. For example, I switched it off when two coworkers of equal social status and age were about to get in on, only to have the American female's burdensome mentally ill brother keep calling because he can't stand to be by himself for any extended length of time, and I guess that he's such a basket case that she can't just explain that the potential love of her life awaits the consummation of their mutual desire for each other, but that's my own PC ax to grind, so I won't go on about that,
No, let's get to her PC ax to grind: the class thing. Each story revolves around barriers to true love presented to the myriad protagonists, class only being one of them. Nothing gives a Brit a chubby like crossing class lines for true love, so of course that one is going to get some mileage in an ensemble piece such as this one,
But Rich, you ask, what does this have to do with you and your alleged love interest, the Invisible Woman (the uninitiated are going to have to go back to my posts starting from January 1st until now to get up to speed)? I will tell you. Historian Barbara Tuchman wrote a book titled A Distant Mirror about Europe in the tumultuous 14th Century. In one passage, she tells the story of a serf rebellion in England. The serfs rebelled against their oppressive feudal overlords, formed a mob numbering in the thousands, and set out to take their grievances to the King of England. They'd been brainwashed all of their lives about how much the King really, really loved them, so they thought that the problem lie with their immediate oppressors, their lords, their lords overseers and henchmen, etc.
So a mob goes on the march to one of the King's castles in hopes of bending his ear and having the King solve all of their problems. Naturally the King, who loves them so much after all, gets word of this mob descending on his castle, sends out his personal heavily armed guards, and the trusting, filthy rabble get cut to ribbons.
Well, in the good old USA, celebrities are a form of royalty for us. Sooo, for me, the twenty-two years old waitresses and baristas are the oppressive, lesser nobility with their collective foot on my neck, right, and the Invisible Woman is my version of the King of England. Am I right?
Now, Austin's own South by Southwest music festival is coming up, and these A-list celebrity types are known to show up for this. So, if I see the Invisible Woman down on Red River during this time and exclaim, "My love! At last we can be together!" and start running towards her, I bet that her security detail would tackle me, wrestle me to the ground, and kick the living shit out of me. Am I right?
That's the thing; there will always be things coming up in this town, or if I venture into this woman's town for any reason, there will be things going on that I will think will be an occasion to maybe meet up with this person, at least for awhile.
Now, to all you young or youngish ladies out there who may or may not actually read this, my oppressive feudal overlords in other words, I couldn't have come up with this insight if I hadn't been willing to disengage from the eternal pursuit these last several years and just do my best to take a fucking chill pill. Am I right? Damn right I am!
Like the song says about the models on my swimsuit calendar, "Well your stand-ins in my world/ don't serve you well at all/ and I bet I'm better off/ when you're a picture on my wall." What song you ask? Why "Picture On My Wall," by none other than Richy Vegas. How nice of you to ask.
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