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Going in to see The Wolf of Wall Street on Christmas day was something I had been looking forward to since I had first seen the trailer (any movie trailer that thumps along to a Kanye song usually gets me pretty pumped). Unfortunately, my beloved Matin Scorsese let me down on this one. Don’t get me wrong, I’m by no means a prude. I love Breaking Bad, Tarantino, and even zesty dramas like good old Cruel Intentions, but The Wolf of Wall Street lacked a substance that even fluffy Cruel Inentions pulls off. I understand that the point is to depict the ultimate self-destruction of an individual so consumed by his own greed that he completely deteriorates, but this story has been done before in films like Wall Street and its inevitable sequel Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps. So, to make it stand out, the writers chocked this tale full of graphic sex, drugs, and party scenes to the point where even I was uncomfortable.

The climactic demise of the protagonist culminated in an almost too casual domestic rape scene. This moment is extremely underplayed compared to the excessive explicit imagery appearing throughout the film. To me, this was the worst thing this criminal had done the entire movie and it was left completely ambiguous and uncontroversial. This may have been an intentional choice by the production team in attempt to make this final horrific act stand out against the earlier glorified and glamorized depictions of misbehavior. However, if that is truly the case, they were unsuccessful because most viewers were left unsure whether it was a rape at all, myself included. Instead of standing out, this deeply important scene fell by the wayside.

As a filmmaker,  if you’re going to make a three hour movie, you better be adding moments that are really worthwhile. Scorsese just lost me at so many points in the film and I walked out of the theater feeling like I had made no connections with any of the characters. The writing was shallow, the characters were not relatable, the soundtrack didn’t make sense with the scenes. Overall it was really disappointing compared to Scorsese’s usual quality of production shown in some of my favorite films like Goodfellas and The Departed. These movies included excess sex and violence, but this was balanced out by the quality of the story.

Despite my overall disappointment with the film, I will say that the acting and cinema were very well done. Unfortunately, the writing failed to deliver the quality promised by the trailer and thus the shining acting went mostly unnoticed in my eyes. I’d be really interested in reading the autobiography of the real Jordan Belfort, which served as the inspiration for the film, to see if it contains any redeemable elements of good storytelling that are missing from the film.

My very first class of college was Musicology 139: World Music. It was 9:30 am and I stumbled into class, found a seat in the lecture hall and waited for wisdom to be imparted. Professor Castro opened the class by telling us to look around at each and every one of the 115 other music performance majors in our grade, because around us were 115 of the finest musicians our age who all had the potential to be the next Pavarotti or Yo-Yo Ma. She then had us look again, as she reminded us that while we all were talented musicians, it is unlikely that even 3 of us will make a living on music alone.

As a rational person, those odds make me want to run as fast as possible away from a career in music. Run to engineering and white picket fences where things are comfortable, safe and all but guaranteed. 3 in 115? What if it is 2? What if it is 1? What if none of us make it?

Last semester, music almost defeated me. I auditioned for numerous shows and could not seem to get the roles which I desperately wanted, hurting my pride and causing me to wonder if I was one of the 112 who stood no chance at a career. Additionally, I excelled as an engineer finishing an internship with a return offer, joining the EECS Honor Society, and maintaining a strong GPA, making the choice between music and engineering seem all but obvious.

Yet, on December 18th as I sang in Hill Auditorium for the School of Music’s Concerto Competition I remembered why I sing in the first place. Even though my entire body was shaking from nerves and I felt as if I could barely remember how to breathe let alone 10 pages of French marred with coloratura, I was happy. Finding freedom in the intense focus, I survived and rekindled the passion which has driven me to music.

Only time will tell if I’m one of 3 or of 112. However, I am currently one a few thousand who have sung a solo at the acoustically perfect Hill Auditorium. And for the little girl who wrote a bucket list in crayon detailing all the places she wanted to sing one day, it is enough to be able to cross Hill Auditorium off the list.

Stop trying to make “epic” a thing, everyone. Epic came and went like “fetch” sadly never has. BUT. While I’m opposed to “epic,” “Epic” (capital E) is entirely different.

                             

It’s a genre. And with that,  all of you click away from this blog because: duh.

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Every January 1st, or around this time, facebook/news-outlets/twitter/tumblr/friends/real-life/etc. all start to either embrace, really or ironically, or denounce, the “new year resolution” way of being.

1) Goal: Fit hegemonic beauty standards for white, cis men. (Every year I’ve made this goal and oops! Always a fail. Sixpacks are like the elusivity of Mew, or so I’ve been told.)
2) Goal: Stop doing (x) “bad” habit: binge drinking, smoking, doing tons of drugs, having “meaningless” sex, procrastinating, hating myself, never leaving my bed . . . . (I’m stubborn, so my bad habits, some/most/none/whatever, usually do end when I tell them to. However, not all of them. Bad habits are like dark chocolate, “healthy” if you do them a little bit at a time.)

Don’t get me wrong. I love goals. I love planning. I love aims. My friends constantly remind me about how obsessed I am with the future and how I want to get things just right. With this in mind, however, most new year resolutions, on a global (everyone) and local (me), level tend to miserably fail on one if not ALL of these goals. But its not so tragic, rather it’s a comedy of errors. All of us fail every year, right when we want a fresh start.

{Busting your ass at the gym EVERY day all day long for a week so that by the time you quit working out you’ve done your body more harm than good, you’ve exhausted yourself and made yourself sick, and now you feel even worse.}

                              

                                        For the strong of heart: treadmill fails.  

{You tell yourself you want to be more (a)social so you’re either overwhelmed and crying in public or underwhelmed crying at home. And for us intro/extrovert mixes whose lives a constant balancing act of ways we get recharged, we’re left crying everywhere always.}

{Trying to fix your life by yourself  rather than seeking help from friends, family, your community, or from other “professional” people always ends badly. Not only do you fail yourself but then you lose any hope of doing anything alone. AND in this individualistic, capitalistic society,  personal failure isn’t bad it’s evil. So now you’re Satan, surprise!}

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Instead of making “goals” this new year, I’ve decided to make changes. I refuse to have a life that maps too well onto a comedy of errors and not, instead, onto an Epic. Changes lead to goals, but I don’t want to pretend to myself that I know where I want my life to go in a year from now. I don’t even know where I’ll be, let alone who I’ll be, in a year from now. 2015 is just as opaque as 2013, so I will stick to the present.

Some of my changes include:
1) “Evaluate life more often.”
2) “Love more freely and deeply.”

I’m just going to leave those here.

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My main plans for this new year is to embrace change. I will be turning in my thesis in 3 months. I will be graduating in 5. I will be travelling to Europe in 6. I will be taking the GRE in 8. I will be *hopefully* moving in 9. “3-6-9 you drink wine, monkey on your back you feel just fine.” I’m out of wine, I hate monkey massages, but Cat Power still gets me.

By making these changes–big and small alike–my life really can’t fail. This is the main thing I hate about New Years resolutions. All goals cannot be met or else the world would be a different place. Failure is imminent and I will either queerly embrace this art or thrive in redefining what success/failure/change/goals mean to me insofar as I can change my life one way. Change it back. Change it differently. So for me I resolve to make changes and that way I either change or stay the same. I cannot fail.

Thus, there’s really nothing that can go TOO wrong. Somedays I’ll be seduced by Calypso, others I’ll have to battle “the Citizen,” but I’ll learn something from each interaction, each movement, each path I take. And that, my friends, will be my Epic new year. Always learning, always growing, always reflecting. So when I get to 2015, I’ll have my adventures mapped out, the places I’ve seen remembered, the people I’ve loved etched into my heart, and my existence will transform into a 800 page novel with many more volumes to come.