25 December 2010 (Christmas!)

INSTIGATORS: Mona Lisa Smile, School Ties, Dead Poet's Society, The Emperor's Club

SYMPTOMS: sinful quantities of red lipstick, vintage cardigans, hair ribbons, records, and attempts at coy fliratation

I have always been a sucker for the classic, fifties-era boarding school/college film. There is something immensely appealing about the pure wholesomeness and the good ol'fashioned values that go along with the land of rigid academia. I will admit however that the majority of the appeal does not seem to be generated by the few cursory minutes the students spend packed into the chapel for initiation or the few shots of them pouring over musty old schoolbooks. Rather, it is the hours full of close-ups of the gamine girls and roguish boys racing off with rosy cheeks, loosened ties, and bouncing curls to sneak in their evenings of rock n' roll and elicit cigarettes that keeps me coming back for more. 

I believe that the root of my problem can be identified in my childhood, beginning with my first year on this planet as the shy, introverted little squirm that I was, continuing all the way through my childhood and into my adolescence. I believe that much of my psychological instability can be attributed to a slight withering of the brain due to lack of exposure to the juvenile limelight. Even those who spent no time on the stage, the playing field, or the concert hall (and these children are few and far between) generally put on a show or two in the privacy of their own homes or at least did a few sing-a-longs with their friends. Yet I had absolutely none of this, too emotionally delicate to even spend time with children my own age, much less to ask them for their attention while I pranced and crooned and twirled. Instead, I spent much of my time hidden behind a book or a television screen, far more comfortable quietly reliving the fabulous adventures of others than chancing my own embarrassment in the real world. From there I contracted my disease, which has been designated the Latin name identicus anonymiticus. Lacking any discernible personality of my own, I took on the identities of my favorite film and book characters. As a young girl, I spent a good amount of time as Harriet (the Spy, not Tubman) and even more as Arriety Clock of The Borrowers. As I grew older and my taste diversified, I alternately tried out Holly Golightly, Susan Vance, Miranda Priestly, and even Danny Zuko (really my lifelong aspiration has been to be a greaser but for some reason or another that's really never quite worked out for me). As I've grown older and been exposed to more and more, my affliction has only become more severe (some films like American Beauty being quite dangerous for a person such as I). Thus, several of my therapists have suggested the documentation of my fluctuations on an online blog so as to externalize the infiltrators and attempt to connect with some personality of my own.

The trend began in 2007 with Ellen Paige's portrayal of a knocked-up teenage eccentric and made it all the way up to this year's group of screaming, dancing, vomiting bridesmaids; funny women have been making a comeback. There have always been countless film stars fulfilling the ideal of style, confidence, and poise; it's the classic quality with which they angle their heads, hold their drinks, angle their feet. Yet, I find that when it comes to filling the hours I allot in my schedule to mindless YouTube-ing, it is these new comediennes to whom I constantly return. It's Ellen Paige drawling "forshiz" and Emma Stone's adorable lisp and Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolf dancing like fools. It's that I constantly find my friends and I parroting their lines to one another like fools, and that I constantly find myself assuming their facial expressions.

Watching tourists walk around Times Square, you can see them looking around in a big mass of fanny-packed confusion for an actual New York resident. The sad truth of it is that Manhattanites are simply too cool to hang on the streets. In the winter, they hole up in the contaminated warmth of subway stops or, preferably, in cozy corner cafes. And now that it's summer you certainly won't find them blindly searching through their sweat for the nearest Duane Reade. No, the people of the city have taken to the roofs; there is really no reason for them to leave these cool, concrete heights, up there you can find everything you need: art, gardens, restaurants. Moreover, the roof is a unique experience in that it possesses the hard-to-find combination of being both scenic and illicit. An excellent example of this phenomenon in the Rooftop Films festival, gracing the city's roofs every summer.