Hey there, readership. I apologize in advance for being super serious in this blog in general, and I realize that I may lose your interest the second I start talking about things that aren't sassy Twilight commentary or weird running stories. This post is probably even worse, because I get both serious and personal. I'm doing this because I'm attempting to improve the world through my experience. You can stop reading here and I won't blame you even a little bit. Whole heap of trigger warnings in this post for pretty much any mental health issue.
Some of you may have noticed that I did not graduate from law school last May. Without going into too much detail, I had a very serious battle with depression last fall, and took time away. I'm currently doing quite well, my medication has been consistent for about ten months, and I attend therapy regularly, both to help prevent a relapse and also to treat my generalized anxiety disorder, a problem I had been treating long before depression decided to show up uninvited. My anxiety manifested itself in many terrible ways, some that I'm not yet comfortable sharing.
Currently, I can actually sleep through the night, something that was refusing to happen last fall, and my medication switch seems to have helped. I was on an SSRI for several years before switching to an SNRI. The drug I currently take is called Pristiq, and seems to be doing me good, despite having a name that sounds like a nightclub you don't want to go to, with cocktails that focus heavily on their use of blue curacao. School starts up again on Monday, and I kept my scholarship.
I don't mean to act as if this isn't a big deal, because it is. My life was put on hold for a year, and I spent several months hating myself, not being able to do anything, and not even really knowing why. While I can talk about it more easily now, it took me a very long time to NOT feel that this was somehow my fault; that all I needed to do was try harder and I could just beat depression. I understand now that I was sick, I am still sick, I am privileged to have had access to treatment, I was a rockstar for getting that treatment, and this was not my fault. I'm disclosing this information to help alleviate some of the stigma surrounding mental illness, but also to take some control: no one can force me to disclose this background not on my terms if I've already disclosed.
So, if you've stuck with me this far, thank you, but what does this mean for you? I have some general things to keep in mind if you are in any way involved with people who are struggling with mental health issues. That is, of course, if you don't already know them! You might already be an all-star and not need this stuff. Carry On with your bad self, Wayward Son.
1. Talk about it
If you're concerned about a loved one, don't just "let it go" in the hope that it will resolve itself. You are probably just fine talking directly to the person you care about, but if you're not sure that's the best idea, talk to a professional about how to approach them. A simple "how is everything, no REALLY" goes a very long way. Also feel free to ask them how they'd like to talk about what's going on. Open communication is key. If they say they don't want to talk, then they don't, but asking that one time is a good call.
2. Don't suggest treatment options
Unless someone asks for them directly, please do not offer things that you think would help. Yes, there are exceptions here, but very few of them. Treating mental health is an imperfect science at best, and different things work for different people, but please do not offer solutions. Your intention is good, absolutely: you care about this person and want them to get better! Really, it is awesome that you want this person to feel better. But if you start telling them that going gluten-free is way better than the meds they're on for treating their bipolar disorder, or that they really SHOULD be on meds for their anxiety when cognitive behavioral therapy seems to be doing the trick, it comes across as "I know better than you do about your own health." Also please, please, PLEASE do not tell people to just calm down, or cheer up, or focus of the positive, or go to yoga, or any direct commands. If it were that easy, they'd do it. I heard this at least once a week, and it was so difficult to handle, because the person was well-meaning and kind every time, but it made me want to punch them and cry. It made me feel like my own mental health was yet another thing I wasn't doing properly. Don't be the nice, well-meaning person who just got punched.
3. No comparative health issues
My lovely friend Adrienne called this playing "the suffering Olympics," and no one wins. People with mental health issues frequently already feel guilty about their conditions, and saying "well, you don't have cancer!" just makes them feel worse for feeling bad. It just turns into a terrible feedback loop. Ranking suffering does no one any good, and we should try to alleviate it regardless of its perceived severity.
4. You can get help yourself
If you're dealing with someone who is struggling, you are not legally or ultimately or responsible for their well-being (unless they are your children), and their illness may put stress on you. If you are feeling overwhelmed, or even angry at someone you care about for being sick, this may be an indication that you should find support as well. It is not their fault they are sick, but it is also not entirely on you to make them better. Mental health disorders can make people not be very nice to their friends and family, and while that may not be their fault (it's the fault of the mental illness!), it does not mean that you have to sit there and take it.
5. Please don't toss around mental health phrases
"Oh my gosh, I was so depressed!" is not a good way to describe that a movie you wanted to see was sold out. You're not "super OCD about that stuff" because you like to clean. You're not "like, so bipolar" because you had two different moods in reaction to things that happened in one day. This is really hurtful to those who actually suffer from these issues, and just because your friend who goes to therapy said it's okay to use them, doesn't mean it IS okay. And speaking of tossing around therapy as a concept? Please stop using the expression "exercise: it's cheaper than therapy." How about "exercise: sometimes an excellent addition TO therapy?" Sick people aren't deliberately staying sick because they don't want to spend half an hour on the elliptical. This is serious stuff.
6. No jokes or brush-offs
I realize I may be asking people to completely restructure their thinking about this whole concept, and I get a little angry here, but please hear me out.
Therapy is not "trendy." It is more common now than ever because people have more access to mental health treatments, and this is a GOOD thing. Psychiatrists (the good ones) aren't just "paid to listen to you talk." They try their best to help their patients function in the world, and even potentially no longer need them. I personally get homework from mine. Think of therapy sessions as a weekly physical for your brain.
Meds aren't inherently "big pharma bullshit." Some people with a diagnosis are like Zach Braff's character in Garden State, but many aren't. (Also his dad is a terrible therapist for thinking there wouldn't be any issues with your dad being your shrink because whaaaat.) If you need a debate about the problems with R&D development and patent law in pharmaceuticals, and depression medications with black box suicide warnings, and why meds are marketed more to women, go ahead and have one (really! do have one! that stuff is important!), but not at the expense of those who may credit the medication with saving their lives. My several years on my SSRI helped me calm down, and my current medication allows me a normal baseline of emotions.
Those who are suicidal and/or self-injurers are not "cutters" or "emo kids" and don't need to hear "I wish my grass was emo so it would cut itself" or "remember, down the road, not across the street" for the best way to slit your wrist. This isn't a political correctness issue. This isn't about being able to take a joke. This is unacceptable behavior. And if you're about to say that the people who self harm do it for attention, please think about this: just how awful is their life that they think making themselves hurt is the best or only way to get that attention?
Perhaps most importantly, mental health issues aren't stupid. They aren't bullshit. They are real illnesses and disabilities and they hurt and kill people. The fact that we're more comfortable talking about heart attacks than we are about depression doesn't mean depression isn't real: it means our comfort level is wrong.
There's zero chance that you don't know anyone dealing with a mental health issue. You probably know several. I'm one of them, and I'd love it if you took this information to heart.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Anatomy of a spin class
Disclaimer: I really like spin, and I've been doing it more lately because my knee is still being kinda stupid so I'm trying to be nice to it, and then I will be able to run more again hopefully soon. I miss running. No, I'm not crying right now, why would you ask WAHHHWAHWAH sobsobsob
All right! Look at you, girl, planning your schedule so you're here 45 minutes early. Aw yeah, you're awesome. And you're here that early so you can guarantee a hiding-in-the-back spot for this class.
Okay, I'm 45 minutes early. Even the girl at the front desk gave you a look when I said I had a spot saved in the class. Oh hey, there's a towel on my bike. Maybe I can do towel origami for like 42 minutes and then warm up.
That's stupid; stop laughing at "towel origami," it wasn't even funny. You're staring at a spin bike in a darkened room and laughing at yourself while folding some basic rectangular shapes into a tiny white towel. Go do something before they kick you out for being a crazy person. And no, going up to the giant fan and talking into it so your voice turns into a robot voice doesn't count as "doing something." Let's go run a bit.
Aight, I did my mile. Now I get to go in like "aw yeah look at my warm up." Let's go back in.
Okay, good, there are like 3 other people in here, it's less weird. Don't do towel origami. DON'T DO IT.
Bike adjustin' time. Just need to unscrew this peg and move the seat down and forward...why can't I move it? Did the Incredible Hulk tighten these before me? Why am I so weak? WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING RI-oh. It turns the other way. No one saw that, right? They all totally saw it.
Aww yeah, feelin' the burn. Yeah, whatever, so you can feel a burn with zero resistance. Don't hate.
Oh hey instructor. How you doin'. You apparently doin' well because you just said this is the third class you've taught today. We have that in common. If by "class" you mean "tablespoon of Nutella" and by "taught" you mean "eaten." And by "today" you mean "so far today."
WHY DID YOU TURN THE LIGHTS ON. WHY. I LOOK LIKE DEATH PLUS HONEY BOO BOO PLUS TOMATO SAUCE. I SIGNED UP FOR DARKNESS. STOP THAT RIGHT NOW. Oh, you were just checking the sound system and they're off now. You're forgiven.
Yeahhh buddy let's start this class up. Love this back row bike. Oh, a full turn, you said? I'm sure what you MEANT was a half turn. Or like, a third. Or whatever amount of resistance makes my legs go as fast as yours. Wait, yours are reeeeeally fast. Like, supersonic fast. Like they're gonna catch on fire due to air resistance fast. Oh, yeah, sure, telling the class to just Do Our Best and take the class Based On Our Fitness Levels and How Often We Do Spin is gonna make me forget that you could potentially power a city with your spin bike and I look like I should still have training wheels. Don't patronize me. Whiiiiiiine.
I need to get out of the saddle now. Okay, out of the saddle. Why am I giggling? Saddle isn't even a funny wor-hehehehe saddle. Shut UP. Focus. Finish this song out while blatantly ignoring all of the prompts to add resistance. She's staring at me. She knows I'm ignoring her prompts. Shit shit shit. Okay, look at me reaching down, I'm being good and totally adding resistance. I am a LIAR.
Water break thank you GOD. Ew, am I seriously sweating that much? No, that has to be the dude next to me. I cannot possibly be dripping onto the ground. It must be that, um, gravity is working not quite perpendicular to the ground and it's the people next to me. Ugh it's totally me I'm the grossest I'M SORRY EVERYONE.
I did not know a remix of "Free Fallin'" and "Get Low" existed. Now I do. I cannot unknow this.
Well, at least pretty much the whole class looks like some form of hell right now, so We're All In This Together (don't actually use that as a song plz and thank you). Except for the lady directly in front of me. Okay, woman, there is no way your butt is a real butt. It is clearly made out of Valyrian steel and it is not fair to the rest of us that you're parading around as if that is an attainable butt. Your tiny shorts encase a lie. Okay fine, your butt is real but can you please get it away from me because I've now started to hate my butt and it knows this and is responding by falling asleep. That might be because we've spent 9 straight minutes seated but it's MOSTLY YOUR BUTT'S FAULT.
Nice, a new song, let's do some stuff where we get out of our seats. Position 3, I am all over this. Leaning forward like a champ. Elbows and shoulders are loose, my weight is shifted back. I am basically a Tour de France rider right now, I look so fly. Aaaand I've got sweat on my chin. It's dripping ugh ugh ugh this is unpleasant I need to wipe it. Well, I can do this, because I'm being good and not supporting my weight on my arms so I can just shift and get that sweat and nothing bad will hap-BAM. Or I'll slip and my nose will come within one inch of the handlebars and one of my feet will fly out of the pedals and I'll give the lady next to me a heart attack. Basically the same thing.
Okay, cool, we're done with like 40-ish minutes of this 45 minute class. Almost time for cool down. Um, instructor lady, what do you MEAN we should all try for 60? No no no, I did not sign up for 60 minutes. I have things to do, like eat more Nutella. Everyone here thought it was 45, it'll be fine! Someone will say something, she'll stop, and we'll all leave. Can you hear the people SING, singing the songs of angry men...
No one's leaving. THIS IS WHY REVOLUTIONS FAIL, PEOPLE. DON'T JUST LET HER BULLY YOU. Ugh, fine, maybe I can just leave...nope. My wonderful back row bike spot has made it so I am actually trapped. Fine, I'll do this.
(15 minutes of death later)
Can we please be done now or I will cry. Please. I mean, I'm probably gonna cry anyway, but I was planning on doing it out in my car like a normal person. Now you've forced my hand and you'll have to watch my ugly cry face. Wait, you said "cool down"! I love you!
Sure, "Sandstorm" is a cooldown song. Go home, spinning, you're drunk. Whatever, I'd cool down to the damn Macerena if you just let me out of here. I'll do your stretches, I'll clean off my bike, and then I'm GONE.
Same time next week, yeah?
All right! Look at you, girl, planning your schedule so you're here 45 minutes early. Aw yeah, you're awesome. And you're here that early so you can guarantee a hiding-in-the-back spot for this class.
Okay, I'm 45 minutes early. Even the girl at the front desk gave you a look when I said I had a spot saved in the class. Oh hey, there's a towel on my bike. Maybe I can do towel origami for like 42 minutes and then warm up.
That's stupid; stop laughing at "towel origami," it wasn't even funny. You're staring at a spin bike in a darkened room and laughing at yourself while folding some basic rectangular shapes into a tiny white towel. Go do something before they kick you out for being a crazy person. And no, going up to the giant fan and talking into it so your voice turns into a robot voice doesn't count as "doing something." Let's go run a bit.
Aight, I did my mile. Now I get to go in like "aw yeah look at my warm up." Let's go back in.
Okay, good, there are like 3 other people in here, it's less weird. Don't do towel origami. DON'T DO IT.
Bike adjustin' time. Just need to unscrew this peg and move the seat down and forward...why can't I move it? Did the Incredible Hulk tighten these before me? Why am I so weak? WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING RI-oh. It turns the other way. No one saw that, right? They all totally saw it.
Aww yeah, feelin' the burn. Yeah, whatever, so you can feel a burn with zero resistance. Don't hate.
Oh hey instructor. How you doin'. You apparently doin' well because you just said this is the third class you've taught today. We have that in common. If by "class" you mean "tablespoon of Nutella" and by "taught" you mean "eaten." And by "today" you mean "so far today."
WHY DID YOU TURN THE LIGHTS ON. WHY. I LOOK LIKE DEATH PLUS HONEY BOO BOO PLUS TOMATO SAUCE. I SIGNED UP FOR DARKNESS. STOP THAT RIGHT NOW. Oh, you were just checking the sound system and they're off now. You're forgiven.
Yeahhh buddy let's start this class up. Love this back row bike. Oh, a full turn, you said? I'm sure what you MEANT was a half turn. Or like, a third. Or whatever amount of resistance makes my legs go as fast as yours. Wait, yours are reeeeeally fast. Like, supersonic fast. Like they're gonna catch on fire due to air resistance fast. Oh, yeah, sure, telling the class to just Do Our Best and take the class Based On Our Fitness Levels and How Often We Do Spin is gonna make me forget that you could potentially power a city with your spin bike and I look like I should still have training wheels. Don't patronize me. Whiiiiiiine.
I need to get out of the saddle now. Okay, out of the saddle. Why am I giggling? Saddle isn't even a funny wor-hehehehe saddle. Shut UP. Focus. Finish this song out while blatantly ignoring all of the prompts to add resistance. She's staring at me. She knows I'm ignoring her prompts. Shit shit shit. Okay, look at me reaching down, I'm being good and totally adding resistance. I am a LIAR.
Water break thank you GOD. Ew, am I seriously sweating that much? No, that has to be the dude next to me. I cannot possibly be dripping onto the ground. It must be that, um, gravity is working not quite perpendicular to the ground and it's the people next to me. Ugh it's totally me I'm the grossest I'M SORRY EVERYONE.
I did not know a remix of "Free Fallin'" and "Get Low" existed. Now I do. I cannot unknow this.
Well, at least pretty much the whole class looks like some form of hell right now, so We're All In This Together (don't actually use that as a song plz and thank you). Except for the lady directly in front of me. Okay, woman, there is no way your butt is a real butt. It is clearly made out of Valyrian steel and it is not fair to the rest of us that you're parading around as if that is an attainable butt. Your tiny shorts encase a lie. Okay fine, your butt is real but can you please get it away from me because I've now started to hate my butt and it knows this and is responding by falling asleep. That might be because we've spent 9 straight minutes seated but it's MOSTLY YOUR BUTT'S FAULT.
Nice, a new song, let's do some stuff where we get out of our seats. Position 3, I am all over this. Leaning forward like a champ. Elbows and shoulders are loose, my weight is shifted back. I am basically a Tour de France rider right now, I look so fly. Aaaand I've got sweat on my chin. It's dripping ugh ugh ugh this is unpleasant I need to wipe it. Well, I can do this, because I'm being good and not supporting my weight on my arms so I can just shift and get that sweat and nothing bad will hap-BAM. Or I'll slip and my nose will come within one inch of the handlebars and one of my feet will fly out of the pedals and I'll give the lady next to me a heart attack. Basically the same thing.
Okay, cool, we're done with like 40-ish minutes of this 45 minute class. Almost time for cool down. Um, instructor lady, what do you MEAN we should all try for 60? No no no, I did not sign up for 60 minutes. I have things to do, like eat more Nutella. Everyone here thought it was 45, it'll be fine! Someone will say something, she'll stop, and we'll all leave. Can you hear the people SING, singing the songs of angry men...
No one's leaving. THIS IS WHY REVOLUTIONS FAIL, PEOPLE. DON'T JUST LET HER BULLY YOU. Ugh, fine, maybe I can just leave...nope. My wonderful back row bike spot has made it so I am actually trapped. Fine, I'll do this.
(15 minutes of death later)
Can we please be done now or I will cry. Please. I mean, I'm probably gonna cry anyway, but I was planning on doing it out in my car like a normal person. Now you've forced my hand and you'll have to watch my ugly cry face. Wait, you said "cool down"! I love you!
Sure, "Sandstorm" is a cooldown song. Go home, spinning, you're drunk. Whatever, I'd cool down to the damn Macerena if you just let me out of here. I'll do your stretches, I'll clean off my bike, and then I'm GONE.
Same time next week, yeah?
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
How to make me want to destroy you while at Chipotle
First of all, a good way to start is to be a teenager and wear some weird skinny jeans and glasses that are so comically oversized as to only be helping your vision if you see out of your cheekbones. Good first steps. Actually, these are the second steps, technically, because your bright zigzag tank top (that you checked in your car's side mirror) blinded me to the rest of your outfit and all I could see was the neon.
Then, please do continue in the front door by yanking on one handle, and when it doesn't budge, trying it 3 more times before the woman who drove you here (mom? I presume?) pulls on the other door which magically opens, allowing you entrance. Once through the door, just stop there. It's a great place to stop, directly inside the entrance. I really like standing in the actual doorway waiting for you to figure out that yes, this Chipotle is like all other Chipotles, and there is a line that forms.
Why are you sitting down? Why? Oh GOD, you think there are waiters here. Also you should say "I guess we just seat ourselves." Down here in the world of plebeian food, we have to go get it ourselves. Because I am a brat, I'm taking what is technically your spot in line because you can't get it together.
Oh hey, you're behind me now. It's like 4:30 in the afternoon, so the people cooking back there are basically just starting up, so we get to stand here. Nope, too close to me, back up. No, I'm not moving up, because no one is being helped at the moment, so my creepin' up on this poor girl in front of me is not doing a damn thing. Just talk amongst yourselves for like 2 minutes; you can wait.
Then, definitely give a stupid, hipster answer to a question. The woman with you just asked you what kind of work you've been doing recently, and the correct answer is not "well I've been really interested in graphic novels lately." Huh? Are you an artist, or you just like to look at things through your dinner-plate-sized glasses and call that working? Also I find it extra amusing that your voice was at a normal volume before but to answer that question you needed to let ALL EIGHT OF US in this CHIPOTLE know that you REALLY like GRAAAAPHIC NOOOOVELS.
Keep inching up behind me. Really. I truly enjoy you slowly and sneakily closing the 12-inch gap between us so you can be sure to ask for extra cheese on your burrito bowl. As we both know, Chipotle workers will refuse to serve you unless you are acting as the big spoon to the customer in front of you's little spoon. I am the little spoon. Let's do this. I'm a kickass little spoon, especially when the big spoon is wearing stupid stupid jeans. I'd LOVE it if your neon-and-denim-clad hips made contact with my butt.
Then, be sure to question the fact that guac is extra, and make the guy behind the counter repeat it. Guac has been extra since the dawn of time. Newborns know that guac is extra. Jesus knew that guac was extra: he would have put it in his Sermon on the Mount except he was thinking about it and was like "nahh everyone knows about that already!" Trilobites knew that guac was extra. Are you a trilobite? No, but this is the Main Line of Philadelphia, so there's a decent chance the woman with you actually named you "Trilobite" to be trendy. But yes, nothing gets me going quite like a bit of surprise spooning and then avocado inquiries. Aw yeahhh.
Oh yeah, now that we've gotten the foreplay out of the way, please do reach over my shoulder and touch me to grab your bowl. I was thinking of just stealing it and rearranging the cheese inside to match the sexy neon zigzags of your large-armholed tank top as a seduction method, but now you've ruined it. Oh wait, maybe not? Your hips just did their spooning thing again. Yes, I still have a shot!
OH WAIT. NO, I DON'T WANT A SHOT. I WANT YOU AND YOUR STUPID OUTFIT AND LACK OF SPATIAL AWARENESS TO GO AWAY FOREVER SO I'M GOING TO PAY AND THEN GET MY NAPKINS AND THEN BYE.
You're still a teenager, so maybe I can chalk this up to "people with 2-digit ages beginning with 1 are all terrible" but dude, get it together, or the next person you surprise-spoon is gonna be a cage fighter and he'll end you.
Not that that would, y'know, make me happy or anything.
Then, please do continue in the front door by yanking on one handle, and when it doesn't budge, trying it 3 more times before the woman who drove you here (mom? I presume?) pulls on the other door which magically opens, allowing you entrance. Once through the door, just stop there. It's a great place to stop, directly inside the entrance. I really like standing in the actual doorway waiting for you to figure out that yes, this Chipotle is like all other Chipotles, and there is a line that forms.
Why are you sitting down? Why? Oh GOD, you think there are waiters here. Also you should say "I guess we just seat ourselves." Down here in the world of plebeian food, we have to go get it ourselves. Because I am a brat, I'm taking what is technically your spot in line because you can't get it together.
Oh hey, you're behind me now. It's like 4:30 in the afternoon, so the people cooking back there are basically just starting up, so we get to stand here. Nope, too close to me, back up. No, I'm not moving up, because no one is being helped at the moment, so my creepin' up on this poor girl in front of me is not doing a damn thing. Just talk amongst yourselves for like 2 minutes; you can wait.
Then, definitely give a stupid, hipster answer to a question. The woman with you just asked you what kind of work you've been doing recently, and the correct answer is not "well I've been really interested in graphic novels lately." Huh? Are you an artist, or you just like to look at things through your dinner-plate-sized glasses and call that working? Also I find it extra amusing that your voice was at a normal volume before but to answer that question you needed to let ALL EIGHT OF US in this CHIPOTLE know that you REALLY like GRAAAAPHIC NOOOOVELS.
Keep inching up behind me. Really. I truly enjoy you slowly and sneakily closing the 12-inch gap between us so you can be sure to ask for extra cheese on your burrito bowl. As we both know, Chipotle workers will refuse to serve you unless you are acting as the big spoon to the customer in front of you's little spoon. I am the little spoon. Let's do this. I'm a kickass little spoon, especially when the big spoon is wearing stupid stupid jeans. I'd LOVE it if your neon-and-denim-clad hips made contact with my butt.
Then, be sure to question the fact that guac is extra, and make the guy behind the counter repeat it. Guac has been extra since the dawn of time. Newborns know that guac is extra. Jesus knew that guac was extra: he would have put it in his Sermon on the Mount except he was thinking about it and was like "nahh everyone knows about that already!" Trilobites knew that guac was extra. Are you a trilobite? No, but this is the Main Line of Philadelphia, so there's a decent chance the woman with you actually named you "Trilobite" to be trendy. But yes, nothing gets me going quite like a bit of surprise spooning and then avocado inquiries. Aw yeahhh.
Oh yeah, now that we've gotten the foreplay out of the way, please do reach over my shoulder and touch me to grab your bowl. I was thinking of just stealing it and rearranging the cheese inside to match the sexy neon zigzags of your large-armholed tank top as a seduction method, but now you've ruined it. Oh wait, maybe not? Your hips just did their spooning thing again. Yes, I still have a shot!
OH WAIT. NO, I DON'T WANT A SHOT. I WANT YOU AND YOUR STUPID OUTFIT AND LACK OF SPATIAL AWARENESS TO GO AWAY FOREVER SO I'M GOING TO PAY AND THEN GET MY NAPKINS AND THEN BYE.
You're still a teenager, so maybe I can chalk this up to "people with 2-digit ages beginning with 1 are all terrible" but dude, get it together, or the next person you surprise-spoon is gonna be a cage fighter and he'll end you.
Not that that would, y'know, make me happy or anything.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Elle Woods: Real American Hero
I LOVE Legally Blonde. Haters to the left. And for your July 4th reading pleasure, I am going to outline why this movie is the best. This post does assume you've seen the movie or are at least familiar with the plot, which you freaking should be. If not, get thee to IMDB immediately.
First, to outline the couple problems, because nothing can be perfect.
1. You do not go from a 143 on a practice LSAT to a 179 on the real one.
It just doesn't happen. Okay, fine, maybe it's happened, and there's some miracle law student out there who bumped that grade up, but otherwise, nope. That's going from well below average to the top 99.9%. Everyone with a 170 or above on the LSAT is in the 99th percentile. 180 is the highest score, and this is not a content exam, so it's not like she magically crammed a ton of info into her head. Just, nope. Still totes happy for her!
2. Gay people stereotypes
Enrique, the pool boy and one of the prosecution's key witnesses, is about as flamboyant as it gets, and Elle figures out he is in fact gay because he recognizes that Elle's shoes are Prada. "Gay men know designers, straight men don't!" ahhhh stop. Additionally, Elle's lesbian(?) classmate got her Ph.D. in women's studies with an emphasis on women in combat (which sounds hella interesting, for the record; I would read that dissertation), and is later shown arguing with Warner about how "semester" actually shows preference to men (semen vs. ovaries) and she's starting a petition to have the next one be the "ovester." I can't. Semester means "six-month period," for anyone who was wondering.
Now that we've got the small sad-trombone moments out of the way (such a shame...), let's move on to why this movie is the best thing that's ever happened in America.
1. Law school realism
Barring her ridiculous admissions video, the scenes when she's in school are actually pretty darn accurate. You DO have first-day assignments, and while you probably would not be kicked out of a classroom for not doing them, you'd better get it together. The professors DO call on you like that all the time: Socratic method, that's American law school, they look at the list and "Ms. Cozzetto, please state the facts of this case." She seems to have both crim law and civil procedure in her first year, also totally accurate. And competition for internships (summer associate stuff) is crazy competitive. Also the amount of work she does. Pretty accurate.
The one different thing? She'd be totally hip with her Mac. 2/3rds of students now have them and lots have the brightly colored cases. Elle Woods, trendsetter.
2. Paulette is the best
The movie's main love story revolves around a chubby, "lower class" woman and no one, not Elle, not the UPS delivery guy, not anyone except for her ex, makes fun of her or her circumstances the whole damn time. She gets the hot guy, she gets her dog back, she gets what she wants, and Jennifer Coolidge kills it as usual. Her relationship with Elle doesn't feel forced at all. Which leads me to...
3. This movie passes the Bechdel test with flying colors
More than two named women, they all talk to each other, and about something other than a man. And just in general, there are so many diverse ladies in this it makes me happy. Elle and Paulette do frequently speak about men, but Elle takes times out to rescue Paulette's dog like a champ. Elle's two sorority best friends are supportive as hell when Elle decides to go to law school, and while it's played for comedy ("Elle! We came to see your trial! Oh look how cute there's like a judge and everything!"), they showed up to something they have no interest in simply because it's important to their friend. The judge in the trial is a black woman, and the lead prosecuting attorney is a white woman. Elle's civ pro professor is a McGonagall-esque lady, and even when she kicks Elle out on the first day, no one calls her a bitch. Elle's whole sorority both encourages her as she goes out on what she thinks is a proposal date with Warner, and then cheers for her when she gets her LSAT results, because these are things that matter.
Of course, the best example of this is Elle and Vivian, who by all tropes and rom-com rules should hate each other because they're technically competing for the same man. But pretty much as soon as Vivian realizes Elle is kind and Elle realizes she doesn't have to hate Vivian for being engaged to her ex, they start being friends. And the best kind of friends. They work together, they both joke about how they are asked to get coffee when their fellow male interns are not, they offer to help each other out. Vivian eventually dumps Warner for being a punk, and they are besties. I like to imagine them riding off into the sunset to make the world a better place for women.
4. Elle Woods is so wonderful and kickass I can't even deal
She's super happy and kind the whole damn time, even after 1L year, which can easily crush anyone. She decides she's going to Harvard, and so she works insanely hard and gets in. She decides she wants the summer associate job, and so she does the same. She helps out her classmate when he's trying to get a date. She helps out Paulette. She remembers her haircare rules and because she knows both how perms work AND how cross-examination works, she freaking wins a goddamn murder trial, and I will love the makers of this movie forever for allowing her to use knowledge about "stupid, lady crap" to dominate everyone. She could easily rest on her appearance and focus on superficial things, but she doesn't, because she's chosen other goals. HOWEVER, and this is the important thing: she doesn't judge any other person for their choices, no matter how "superficial." She decides what's best for her, and kills herself to get it, without ruining anyone else's happiness in the process, and especially without having to trample on any other women. She is my hero.
AND SHE SHOULD BE YOURS TOO, BECAUSE AMERICA.
Happy Fourth, everyone. And remember the rules of hair care are simple and finite.
First, to outline the couple problems, because nothing can be perfect.
1. You do not go from a 143 on a practice LSAT to a 179 on the real one.
It just doesn't happen. Okay, fine, maybe it's happened, and there's some miracle law student out there who bumped that grade up, but otherwise, nope. That's going from well below average to the top 99.9%. Everyone with a 170 or above on the LSAT is in the 99th percentile. 180 is the highest score, and this is not a content exam, so it's not like she magically crammed a ton of info into her head. Just, nope. Still totes happy for her!
2. Gay people stereotypes
Enrique, the pool boy and one of the prosecution's key witnesses, is about as flamboyant as it gets, and Elle figures out he is in fact gay because he recognizes that Elle's shoes are Prada. "Gay men know designers, straight men don't!" ahhhh stop. Additionally, Elle's lesbian(?) classmate got her Ph.D. in women's studies with an emphasis on women in combat (which sounds hella interesting, for the record; I would read that dissertation), and is later shown arguing with Warner about how "semester" actually shows preference to men (semen vs. ovaries) and she's starting a petition to have the next one be the "ovester." I can't. Semester means "six-month period," for anyone who was wondering.
Now that we've got the small sad-trombone moments out of the way (such a shame...), let's move on to why this movie is the best thing that's ever happened in America.
1. Law school realism
Barring her ridiculous admissions video, the scenes when she's in school are actually pretty darn accurate. You DO have first-day assignments, and while you probably would not be kicked out of a classroom for not doing them, you'd better get it together. The professors DO call on you like that all the time: Socratic method, that's American law school, they look at the list and "Ms. Cozzetto, please state the facts of this case." She seems to have both crim law and civil procedure in her first year, also totally accurate. And competition for internships (summer associate stuff) is crazy competitive. Also the amount of work she does. Pretty accurate.
The one different thing? She'd be totally hip with her Mac. 2/3rds of students now have them and lots have the brightly colored cases. Elle Woods, trendsetter.
2. Paulette is the best
The movie's main love story revolves around a chubby, "lower class" woman and no one, not Elle, not the UPS delivery guy, not anyone except for her ex, makes fun of her or her circumstances the whole damn time. She gets the hot guy, she gets her dog back, she gets what she wants, and Jennifer Coolidge kills it as usual. Her relationship with Elle doesn't feel forced at all. Which leads me to...
3. This movie passes the Bechdel test with flying colors
More than two named women, they all talk to each other, and about something other than a man. And just in general, there are so many diverse ladies in this it makes me happy. Elle and Paulette do frequently speak about men, but Elle takes times out to rescue Paulette's dog like a champ. Elle's two sorority best friends are supportive as hell when Elle decides to go to law school, and while it's played for comedy ("Elle! We came to see your trial! Oh look how cute there's like a judge and everything!"), they showed up to something they have no interest in simply because it's important to their friend. The judge in the trial is a black woman, and the lead prosecuting attorney is a white woman. Elle's civ pro professor is a McGonagall-esque lady, and even when she kicks Elle out on the first day, no one calls her a bitch. Elle's whole sorority both encourages her as she goes out on what she thinks is a proposal date with Warner, and then cheers for her when she gets her LSAT results, because these are things that matter.
Of course, the best example of this is Elle and Vivian, who by all tropes and rom-com rules should hate each other because they're technically competing for the same man. But pretty much as soon as Vivian realizes Elle is kind and Elle realizes she doesn't have to hate Vivian for being engaged to her ex, they start being friends. And the best kind of friends. They work together, they both joke about how they are asked to get coffee when their fellow male interns are not, they offer to help each other out. Vivian eventually dumps Warner for being a punk, and they are besties. I like to imagine them riding off into the sunset to make the world a better place for women.
4. Elle Woods is so wonderful and kickass I can't even deal
She's super happy and kind the whole damn time, even after 1L year, which can easily crush anyone. She decides she's going to Harvard, and so she works insanely hard and gets in. She decides she wants the summer associate job, and so she does the same. She helps out her classmate when he's trying to get a date. She helps out Paulette. She remembers her haircare rules and because she knows both how perms work AND how cross-examination works, she freaking wins a goddamn murder trial, and I will love the makers of this movie forever for allowing her to use knowledge about "stupid, lady crap" to dominate everyone. She could easily rest on her appearance and focus on superficial things, but she doesn't, because she's chosen other goals. HOWEVER, and this is the important thing: she doesn't judge any other person for their choices, no matter how "superficial." She decides what's best for her, and kills herself to get it, without ruining anyone else's happiness in the process, and especially without having to trample on any other women. She is my hero.
AND SHE SHOULD BE YOURS TOO, BECAUSE AMERICA.
Happy Fourth, everyone. And remember the rules of hair care are simple and finite.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)