Yesterday Jessica and I were interviewed on the subject of Carrie Bradshaw; do we like her, is she a narcissist, etc. And the utterances I found coming out of my mouth surprised me. I was, like, defending Carrie Bradshaw, holding that she was a victim of a societal self-absorption addiction that was a natural outgrowth of New York's suspended adolescence, and arguing that Sarah Jessica Parker, in all her suspended adolescent charm, had salvaged from the grim creations of Candace Bushnell — Candace Bushnell being one of those icky dogmatic narcissists who sees only hypocrisy in New Yorkers who claim to have agendas other than fame and shoes and real estate — a sort of heart. In the forgiving glow of distant drunk memory, Sex & The City was a poignant statement about the limitations of all that, a subtle expose of the atrophy that results from the neglect of the basic human need to be needed. "OMG, I'm so kind of exited to see it suddenly!" I told Jess as we walked past a billboard displaying it. So imagine my delight when today, the first ever American review of the movie appears in Anna's RSS feed!
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