in the last month I cajoled my G into watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series and in the last week into following it up with the Joe Wright Pride & Prejudice film (the one with Keira Knightley). I had already seen the Keira Knightley version somewhat recently and had been charmed by the gorgeous countryside and general, you know, girlieness of it. Ah romance. Naturally, after imposing the overacted but more book inclusive miniseries on my man, I wanted him to compare it to the movie along with me. And now that I have and we both agree that the movie is better despite the plot missteps, I'm reading the book. Actually, as per usual, I'm reading three books right now. Ms. Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Dan Savage's The Commitment, and Eat Pray Love (Belinda don't judge me!). I guess I treat books a little like tv - I like to watch more than one show and still come back to it.
The last couple of weeks has been a true test of my nature. I tend to be a very passive person, non-confrontational, and consequently I don't let things that bother me go terribly easily. After a truly stunning unleashing of some very repressed anger, the sense of relief I am experiencing still, two weeks later, is amazing. Elating. I feel fantastic. And I have felt this way for most of the last two weeks. I'm starting to think, it's possible that there is value in fight club. I admit, it might be a little sick. Sometimes a good cry isn't enough.
Two of my friends sent me this on the same day and I'm simply delighted to contribute to the viral nature of this damned hilarious statement on feminism.