Mad Men is one of my favourite drama series. When it has become available on Netflix, I have watched the whole series that were available as fast and as much as I could. I could not stop watching it the first time and watched the whole series couple of times more.
For obvious reasons, I smoked more that I usually did while watching the programme. I was still a smoker back then. The plot of the story is after all premised within the time where smoking was not yet frowned upon.
In that programme, smoking is associated with strength and smokers are presented in the light of success. The underlying message is: smoking cigarettes makes us strong and courageous. It helps us not only to get through our difficult life but also to thrive in it.
In the beginning, I was just merely watching the sitcom hit in the 90s entitled Friends. The more I watch it, the more I find myself to be studying Friends and treating it like a case Study. In this blog post, I intend to reflect upon my ‘addiction’ to watching Friends, but also how this addiction has made me immune to the humour of my favourite sitcom.
Since ‘Friends’ becomes available on Netflix, I cannot stop watching it. Last weekend for instance, I have spent the whole Saturday watching its episodes after episodes. As much as I do not want to be disrespectful to the experiences of those individuals who are actually struggling with their substance addiction, my watching behaviour last Saturday mimics addictive behaviour if not a symptom of addiction itself. I have lost control and this has already happened in the past.
Unlike the more structurally scheduled programmes on local television channels, Netflix offers us relatively more choices and freedom to watch what we want, when we watch them, and how much of it we want to watch in one sitting. As David Brook once wrote in his book entitled, The Social Animal: ‘freedom without structure is its own slavery’ (2012:58). While my face was glued on the screen watching Friends the whole day last Saturday, I was quite aware that I was being a slave of my own freedom.
An empty page is quite intimidating. It is daunting to look at empty, blank, white page whether it be a word document on the screen computer or a piece of actual paper on one’s desk. To paraphrase Fredrich Nietzsche: ‘when you gaze long into an empty page, the empty page will gaze back into you.’ For a couple of days now, I have been staring into a blank empty page and although it is Static, it has a life ad will of it’s own. The empty page can reciprocate the gaze and it does look down at me.
A professional writer I am not and perhaps I will never be. I do not possess the necessary talent, creativity, and discipline to become a published author or to earn a living from the craft of writing. Although writer I am not, writing I love nonetheless. There is nothing more gratifying, at least for me personally, to strike an empty page with words of my own expressing my thoughts however incoherent these thoughts might be.
Staying late in bed is one of my guilty pleasure. What I mean by guilty pleasure, is literally guilty pleasure. That is: I find it quite pleasurable and yet felt guilty right away after doing it. Last week, I made a Brilliant plan for today to wake-up early as 7:00, leave the house at 9:00, be in the library before 11:00, and have a very inspiring and productive day. I was hoping that inspiration would come and visit me today.
When the alarm woke me at 7:00 this morning as instructed, I was having a reassuring dream from which I do not wish to wake-up. I cannot remember the details of my dream, but I was certain that I was in that happy place.
I can claim in good conscience that I am a full pledge vegan. While I do not and cannot promise that I will be a perfect vegan, if such person truly exists, I could say with mostly absolute certainty that my position relative to that vegan ideal is relatively close.
My diet is strictly plant-based and I do not find it difficult at all. In fact, I am not even aware that I am being vegan round the clock as if being vegan is always what I have been. It just comes naturally, like breathing.
This photograph has been taken last spring of 2017 and has already been posted on this blog entitled: The White Roses in the Early Days of Spring 2017. This week’s photo challenge has weaved an opportunity for this photograph be exhibited again.
This photograph depicts how binary structures, such as life and death, old and new, arrival and departure are deconstructed. Life and death are not just two ends of a spectrum, but rather intertwined. Birth and death are brought together by growth.