I'm Sorry, Jane

I was watching Emma today. Mostly because there was nothing better on and because Alan Cumming is in the movie. I can never pass up a chance to watch my favorite frolicking Irishman.

But this isn't about Alan Cumming. This about Emma, and to a greater extent, Jane Austen.

As most of us should know, Emma was the basis for the movie Clueless, in both of which a spoiled, bored youth decides to help those whom she considers less fortunate. Heartwarming, no? Well, that's just my point. I cannot, and will not sympathize with Emma and I don't see how anyone can. I mean really, how can one feel at all sympathetic to a girl of 21 who's not only incredibly sure of herself as an impeccable judge of character, but an expert on the affairs life as well? In end she finally realizes that she is, dun-dun-dun, only 21 and therefore totally subject to the selfishness and conceit that comes with the territory of being young, rich, and English. But not before absolutely dashing the hopes of her "best friend" Harriet for love not once, not twice, but three times.

Can you see why she makes me angry? I mean first she tells Harriet, a girl so happy to be noticed by anyone that she gobbles up every piece of crap advice Emma throws her way, that the absolute love of her life, Mr. Robert Martin, is totally unsuitable to a woman of her standards. To which her dear Mr. Knightly responds with absolute disgust. Mr. Knightly, and perhaps Mr. Frank Churchill, seem to be the only sane characters in the whole movie.

Ha! But this doesn't end her ridiculous quest. Emma then tries to set Harriet up with the rather pompous Mr. Elton, who as it turns out only has eyes for the beautiful Emma. Surprise, surprise. Of course Harriet is crushed, because she thought that all that attention had been directed at her. Now Emma must pick up the pieces.

Then Frank comes to town. Emma thinks she is smitten, but really she just wanted a new piece of furniture in her otherwise terribly drab life. Emma realizes that she doesn't really love Frank and soon finds out that it is for the better as Frank is engaged to the lovely, but poor Jane Fairfax.

Now, Jane is a girl I can get behind. She had real struggles. Her parents died when she was young, she was taken in by a good friend of her family, but then chose to stay with her poor spinister aunts in order to be close to the lovely and wealthy boy she was having an affair with. That is the stuff of novels, my dear. And frankly, I think Mr. Churchill was rather smart not to fall in love with such a silly and self-absorbed girl as Emma Woodhouse. To think, people were actually disappointed that Frank chose Jane instead of Emma.

Well, moving on. Soon we find that Harriet has fallen (how many times is this now?) for Mr. Knightley. She tells this to Emma, the one person she trusts most, though God only knows why. Suddenly Emma realizes that she loves Mr. Knightly. Boohoo. So Emma decides to do everything she can to make Mr. Knightley proud of her (i.e. repairing the damage caused by her selfish blindness and pride).

Knightley returns and in an awkward stroll reveals his feelings for Emma. Keep in that up till this point Mr. Knightley has been in every way sensible and sarcastic, the kind of male lead I thoroughly enjoy. And now here he goes proposing marriage and confessing love to a silly, self-absorbed youth. Feh. Here I was thinking him a smart man.

So Emma tells Harriet she's "Sorry, but I guess it's because I'm so popular." Okay, I exaggerated, but you get my point. So Harriet ends up with the simple, plain farmer Mr. Martin (*coughcough* I TOLD YOU SO*coughcough*) while Emma gets the dashing, quick-witted and rich Mr. Knightley.

I don't get it. Emma didn't deserve Mr. Knightley. Harriet didn't deserve him either. No one deserved Mr. Knightley. Except for maybe Jane Fairfax, but she's already been taken by the gorgeous Ewan McGregor, er, I mean Frank Churchill.

Personally, I think that Emma was wrong to turn down Mr. Elton proposal. They were perfect for each other: rich and self-absorbed.

I've never read Emma, so maybe I'm wrong. But Ms. Austen herself wrote, "I am going to take a heroine whom no-one but myself will much like."

You were right about that one Jane. So very, very right.

Damage Control and Digressions

Okay, so I realize that if you read my last blog post, I sounded awful close to doing something drastic. So, let's do a little damage control.

First of all, I am a Pisces. I do believe in the zodiac, I won't lie. That sounds weird, but I do. And being a Pisces, I am often completely wound up in my own problems. I enjoy wallowing, guys. Crying is the best experience in the world. I simply do not enjoy letting other people know how I feel all the time. I grew up as "The Cry-Baby", and I know how it feels when people get upset over stupid things and you're annoyed. So, I try my best not to bog people down with my own problems. This results in stress and anxiety which slowly begins to build. It usually climaxes in one, extremely worrying, and depressed blog post. It's just my life. So no worries, guys. I'm fine.

In other news...

I'm feeling a little disheartened. I miss my old, crazy posts. They started with so little intent and ended up as the most beautiful accidents. Hmm. I realize now that I have geared my posts to people who know me well enough to understand my everyday life. I now realize that if you just stumble upon this blog (through Ficly or otherwise) that a good deal of this does not make sense.

This is simply the way my mind works. I confess, I do not entirely understand my own writings. But I think that's kind of beautiful in its own way. I think I put more of myself into what I write when I don't understand it.

This reminds me of a narrative I wrote for a character called Chloe Lockwood. Thinking about that makes me think about catering, which makes me think about Fight Club. I mean the real Fight Club. Not the movie, the book. And Fight Club makes me think about old houses and soap.

Wouldn't it be cool to do what the narrator and Tyler did? How hard do you think it would be to run a home-made soap business from your house? Think of it, you really could, I think, create anarchy. Beautiful, messy anarchy with just whiff of oatmeal rosemary lemongrass soap underneath.

But I digress. Then again, perhaps I don't. I wasn't really talking about anything anyway. And how can one digress from nothing? I don't belive you can.