Exacerbated Gibberish

My recent bout of unemployment had caused me nothing but insomnia, boredom, and a whole lot of Sex… and the City, that is. While I was never a devout fan of the successful show in its prime, I did occasionally enjoy an episode or two. So on the one day that I had absolutely nothing better to do, and since becoming a fan of DVD telethons as the new recreational sport, I decided to watch the entire six seasons of the popular show. And even though I’ll admit to the fact that my intentions of watching was originally to get out of running family errands, doing chores, and even getting myself a decent haircut, my opinions of it changed as I watched episode after episode.

Looking back to when the show aired, I vaguely remember myself watching a few episodes every now and then, just for the sake of watching. I figured, because everybody else was watching, and not wanting to be thrown out of a conversational loop whenever the need arose, I might as well pretend I was a fan too. I even only started watching on the third or fourth season. Frankly, I didn’t quite get it at the time. Back then, it was all about the sex for me. I was mortified, to say the least, yet strangely aroused and disturbingly interested from all the images and scenes of, dare I even say it, soft-core porn the show provided; this is, of course, despite the pre-program advisory in silent black and white. Somehow I just couldn’t quite grasp how such taboo topics as sex and male and female genitalia or lewd, promiscuous sexual acts I’m embarrassed to even mention here, suddenly became okay to be shown and discussed as normal, everyday conversational pieces, say, over lunch, brunch, dinner, a movie, a telephone call, a date, before sex, after sex, and even during sex. Heck, the lead character’s job is entirely about those topics. Clearly, I missed the memo there. But now that I was watching it again after 2-4 years of gained maturity something-or-other, and what I hope to be a better understanding of life, I actually saw the show in a totally different and better perspective. Turns out, it was indeed about relationships like they kept on saying to the public before. I just forgot how living with cultural differences can sometimes hinder a full understanding of things. Apparently, if our normal, acceptable behavior here in Manila is what Americans, especially the New Yorker ones, would define as conservative, their “normal” over there is our liberated. And this is how they manage to get away with broadcasting stuff like sex on national television every single time. Unfortunately for me, though, after watching six seasons straight, the show somehow managed to have Carrie Bradshaw’s way of thinking rub off on me a little, as the cobwebbed gears in my head started turning with those sudden random thoughts on cultural differences, and I found myself just having to ask… are we really behind the times that bad, or are they just the ones who are moving too fast? Or is it possible, that it’s just me? If so, then I need to rephrase my question. Has the liberated ship already set sail without me on it?

Despite twenty-two lousy years of a pathetic existence I frequently refer to as my life, I know that I need to start calling myself a bachelor now. And while my experience in the relationship department is certainly lacking in so many aspects, as a single man, however weak and depressing, living along the outskirts of the posh side of our country’s very own version of Manhattan, it strikes me as very worrisome that the clock has already began to tick, and I’m still stuck on a time loop. It feels like I’m still caught between being the dependent child, and the struggling, striving young adult. In retrospect, you could say that my family history and anti-socializing definitely had something to do with it. I feel like Miranda Hobbs, always too proud to show the slightest sign of weakness, always cringing at the slightest imperfection. Somehow, I just find it so hard to be comfortable around other people, and just eventually developed intimacy issues. But when it comes to matters of the lust-induced sexual appetite, what’s holding me back?

I have to ask myself… I couldn’t help but wonder… am I just another Carrie, who’s living his life in the city, on the lookout for love? Now that’s a scary thought.

Sex and the City trivia:

Back in the day, when Chandra Wilson was not yet famous and successfully playing Grey’s Anatomy’s Dr. Miranda Bailey, she was an extra on Sex and the City playing a female police officer who was supposed to stop Samantha (played by Kim Catrall) from posting posters of her then boyfriend Richard’s face all over the place. When Samantha explained to her with much fervor how she caught the man (Richard) eating another woman’s p*ssy, Chandra let her carry on. She had about two lines and not more than 10 seconds of face time, but I still noticed. ^_^

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~ by iamnotfrodo on April 8, 2007.

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