Every age has given me a deep sense of grief in some ways. I remember turning 13 and thinking that there was some sort of defined sense of maturity that I had to embody. It was the faux sophistication that ruined my teenage years. Of course, don’t all teenagers believe they know it all? Then there was when I turned 18. Suddenly, I wanted to be more open and vulgar, honest, and openly sexual without a sense of regret. Again, still being a teenager I felt at though this was what I was supposed to do, but still thought it made me special because I was the only one who felt strong enough to do so. Without too much digression, my sense of open honesty and shameless sexual liberation made me remarkable to certain people, and others for other reason. Then I was 20, feeling less accomplished than my other friends because I began college late and still don’t know my “meaning”. It was stupid to feel this way, looking back on it. Sadly, I’m 25 now. Twenty-five years old and feeling was less accomplished than 13, 18, 20, and even 24 year old me. Though .. that’s not all true.
Emily Klein doesn’t know she has killed her husband until the day of his funeral. At first, signs point to a tragic accident. Yet, as Emily pieces together the events before his death – events which led to her own memory loss – she begins to suspect that her husband’s death may have been the result of more than a terrible twist of fate… But the accident is only the beginning. Because while Emily’s physical scars will heal, the trauma of the accident has awakened old ghosts. She hears strange sounds, catches things that can’t possibly be there in the corner of her eye. Before long, everywhere she looks, she seems to see her husband. And suddenly, Emily finds herself asking the most dangerous question of all: Can she really trust herself?
Podcasts are cool, right? I can’t lie to you and say I didn’t popped the ear cherry with Welcome to Night Vale but I did. Sadly, that wasn’t enough. What came next was Serial. I listened to Serial in a matter of three days and I was hungry – more like starving– for more. The shine of Serial has worn off, and season two bored me to tears, so I went hunting for new weekly eargasms. I’ve collected quite the listen history, though it’s hard to really call me . This month is TryPod month, an effort to get more people into the world of listening to podcasts. Thankfully this gave me a reason to talk about what I listen to and share my favorite episodes.
There are only about 20+ posts on my blog and I feel as though that 70% of them include the words Fight Club. Most of them mention my love for it, or how great it was for me, or just how much I consider it to be a literary masterpiece. The things is, for a very long time I haven’t been able to properly articulate why and how it affected me. I say it’s Fight Club, but it’s a lot more than that.
I remember when the film premiered in the late 90s, when it came to HBO and all I understood was that there was some fighting and the name was carved into pink soap. This was before I was deeply in love with Brad Pitt and had to see all his films. This was also the time that my idea of a great film to occupy me was Spice World or Rugrats Go To Paris. I still had youth left in me, and with that in mind, I didn’t honestly have the attention span or intelligence for this movie.
In a way, I still don’t.
The Magicians came into my life and ravished me this past week. Honestly, the show so much didn’t do it but the fictional characterizations and mental improvements I added when the show lacked is what captured me. As much as I enjoyed it as is, as something to distract me from beating myself up over not finishing my story or being stuck in a show that made me cry all the time, it got the job done while also making me think about something important. What’s a hero? Truly, what makes a hero, well, heroic?