May-December Romances (Or "Why I Love Jeff/Annie So Much")

I promised during my post about Community that I would write sometime about why I love Jeff Winger and Annie Edison together so much. I think that this is the perfect time to do it. I’m currently re-watching the second season of my favorite television show with a friend in anticipation for the third season. Since I’m the one catching her up – and she’s seeing these episodes for the first time – we watched up to “Conspiracy Theories and Interior Design” this weekend (which is both a fantastic episode in general, especially for Jim Rash, but also a great Jeff/Annie episode). She was thrilled with the episode, and at the end simply said: “I want Jeff and Annie to date.”

While I’m not sure that I want Jeff and Annie to date at this point in the show (they both have a lot of maturing to do), I will say that as far as a romantic potential pairing, these two are my favorite. When Community first aired, the show set us up to believe that Jeff/Britta was the ideal endgame. All of the TV spots for the show reminded us that the only reason Jeff agreed to form a study group was to impress Britta. The idea of Jeff and Britta together at the beginning didn’t repulse me, honestly, but I never saw the complete appeal of it. As separate characters, I love Jeff and Britta. As best friends/partners-in-crime (something along the lines of Doctor/Donna in Doctor Who) in episodes like “Romantic Expressionism,” I love Jeff and Britta. But I just feel like the pair is too similar in order to work romantically (some disagree, and honestly, to each your own. I will never tell someone that they are wrong for wanting a certain couple together). Perhaps it’s the fact that both of them can be hard-headed and stubborn, or perhaps it’s the fact that – quite often – they bring out the worst qualities in one another. They constantly bicker about everything, and that’s cute to an extent because it highlights their similarities (that’s why episodes like “Anthropology 101” are so funny to me).

But the most intriguing pairing of the show for me is still Jeff and Annie. And I think that the episode that really first highlighted their dynamic for me was “Football, Feminism, & You” in season 1 (also, can I say that this is probably my favorite episode title out of the seasons). In the episode, we really get the sense that Jeff and Annie are both very self-serving characters, but both for vastly different reasons. We know that Jeff, from the pilot episode, is a self-involved character who really dismisses the thoughts and feelings of others in order to serve his agenda. And this is something that he gradually learns to deal with (even slightly throughout this episode) and overcome during the coming seasons. Annie is self-involved in the same way that Shirley is self-involved – not because she is callously selfish, but because she wants control over life, and people, and things to make herself feel more secure.

I think that “Football, Feminism, & You” is one of the first times that we get to see how much Jeff and Annie really can butt heads and affect one another. Jeff makes her cry and she makes him feel guilty. It’s the first real interaction between the two that I think we get, and it’s significant because it shows – even early on – that they both have these strong sort of wills, and both have power to really affect one another. The end of the episode is sweet, and is the first instance that we really get to see how these two characters could be good friends. The “milady”/ “milord” is an exchange that I loved then, still love now, and am glad is a running theme in the show.

“Debate 109” is perhaps the episode that everyone who “ships” Jeff/Annie mentions as the turning point. The episode didn’t just show us that Joel and Alison can work together well chemistry-wise (which they can because they’re both wonderful actors), but also really brought the possibility of these two characters in a romantic relationship together. After the debate kiss, there’s this awesome moment from Jeff where he just looks properly stunned as to what just happened. And I think that – until that moment – he kind of thought of Annie as a little sister. But there’s this moment where you look at someone as more than just a friend. And it’s normally insignificant, but there is always a turning point, and I think this was Jeff’s.

“Romantic Expressionism” is another one of my favorite Jeff/Annie early episodes, because I think it’s a great chance to explore the idea of Jeff being jealous, and beginning to kind of thwart Annie’s attempts at relationships by doing so under false pretenses. This is also probably my favorite Jeff/Britta episode because together those two are just hilarious magic. The single greatest moment in this episode to me, is one of the subtlest Jeff/Annie moments – the “look.” I know it sounds campy and cheesy, but the look that they share is brief and sweet because of how much Jeff truly softens and how genuine his expression is.

I think that what I like the most about these two is that while Jeff/Britta is a perfect couple to highlight similarities between the two, Jeff/Annie is a perfect couple to highlight the differences. And that’s not to say that Jeff and Britta are completely similar or that Jeff and Annie are polar opposites (more on that in a minute), but to me, relationships are hinged on how that other person causes you to change and to respond. Annie brings out the heart in Jeff, I think – she makes him care, and feel guilty and he always goes to her because he knows that (see: “Basic Genealogy”). Jeff, on the other hand, brings out the feisty side of Annie – he causes her to loosen up, and to be less politically correct all the time and to instead learn to be more bold.

Which, of course, comes to a head in “Pascal’s Triangle Revisited.” I’ll be honest – I watched Community backwards. Or rather, I knew about the story backwards. My friend Jaime tweeted the night that the finale aired, freaking out over the Jeff/Annie kiss (and she had every right to be because she ships those two). At her urging, I decided to watch the whole first season. I suppose you could argue that I watched the episodes through slight goggles – obviously, I already knew what would happen at the end of the season. Nevertheless, I had fallen in love with all of the characters on the show, and also the Jeff/Annie ship.

Second season was interesting for me to watch, because people (Jeff/Annie shippers in particular) were bristling after “Anthropology 101.” The argument there was that Annie had matured so much by the end of the previous season, so when she suddenly regressed into a love-struck teenager again at the beginning of season 2, that made her appear child-like. Subsequently, they decided that this was a way for the writers and producers to dismiss the idea of Jeff/Annie as silly. Now don’t get me wrong – I would have loved to see Annie be completely mature and composed during that episode. But here’s my argument – that wouldn’t have really been Annie. That would be Annie at the end of season 2 (now a young woman who can hold her own against Jeff, and the entire school in a game of paintball assassins, mind you!) but not at the beginning.

Annie Edison is my favorite character because she’s so completely intelligent and witty, and yet we forget sometimes that she’s struggling to find her place in Greendale and in life. (I would say that she’s not a girl, not yet a woman, but that would incite all kinds of Britney Spears songs). Annie is a wonderful, beautiful character who is – often – more mature than her older study group companions. And maybe that’s why I don’t have a problem with the “age difference” between Jeff and Annie – because a lot of the times, I forget that Annie is only supposed to be 19. She’s living on her own, supporting herself, and driven to get an education and shake away her high school self. She’s mature.

Relationship-wise, it appears that both of the characters care a lot for one another (Dan Harmon, correct me if I am wrong!) but just don’t know how to proceed (or if to proceed). I’d say that they’re at this sort of impasse, where both have to grow before they can actually have a functional relationship. Jeff is still afraid of screwing the group up and himself up. He’s back at Greendale because of the latter, and he doesn’t want to mess up the – arguably – best six relationships he has. That’s why addressing things like in “Asian Population Studies” was so difficult. To him, relationships are always complex. To Annie, it’s just the opposite – to her, relationships have to be black and white. You either want me or you don’t. What’s it gonna be? And in this instance, I think that Annie asked Rich out to prove her point – decisions don’t have to always have drawn out discussions preceding them. Sometimes, if you like someone, you should just go for it (which of course, for her, actually backfired). And in this situation, I’d like to think that neither was completely right. Sure, things are “complicated” for Jeff, but that doesn’t mean he can’t know how he feels about her. And yes, relationships can be simple, but Annie should also realize that sometimes you can’t just be put on the spot about your feelings.

Annie is more of an open book than Jeff, as evidenced by how she does choose to view the world. In “Paradigms of the Human Memory,” she sees the world clearly through a romantic eye, whereas Jeff has always been more cynical. And I don’t think that neither necessarily has to change in order to make a relationship work, because – back to my point earlier – I believe they start to bring out these qualities in one another. Not that Jeff makes Annie more cynical or that Annie causes Jeff to become like a romantic comedy’s leading man, but that they appreciate those aspects of one another.

I think that one of my absolute favorite episodes of the season for Jeff and Annie was “Intro to Political Science.” And the reason that I like this episode so much is that we really get the sense that these two characters care a lot about how the other perceives them. Annie doesn’t want to be seen as a “kid” or a little girl. And I don’t think that it’s with condescension that Jeff has called her a kid previously (and in this episode too). I think that it’s Jeff’s way of trying to distance himself from her. It makes him feel better, perhaps, to think of himself as an adult, and her as a child – in “English as a Second Language,” he admits that the reason he treated her like a child was because she had feelings. Perhaps that’s why Jeff continues to distance himself from her by referring to her as “kid” – maybe he just can’t come to terms with the fact that she is both an adult and has feelings. Or else I’m reading too much into this. Regardless, I loved this episode because we got to see Jeff and Annie compete against one another and it proved that – once again – Annie is capable of holding her own against Jeff. The conversation in the supply closet was a nice touch as well. Jeff could have easily dismissed Annie’s admission that she cares about what he thinks of her and said something completely Jeff Winger to get himself away from admitting anything involving caring. But he didn’t – he actually reciprocated. I think that is what we’d like to call character progress, folks.

And yes, I just spent the past three or so pages (roughly) discussing why I love two fictional characters together on a fictional television show. And Dan Harmon, or anyone else for that matter, if you have read even half of this, I congratulate you.

I will once again reiterate this fact: Community is a brilliant show, full of brilliant characters and intriguing pairings, Jeff and Annie included.

Bad News Bears (Or "A Case of the Mondays")

Everyone is entitled to have a case of the Mondays at some point, right?

Well today is mine.

Actually, last night truly began my fantastic start to this morning. You know how there is a moment where you lie awake in bed, wishing that you could fall asleep because you’re consciously aware of how early you have to get up the following morning? I’m always amazed by how this seems to happen every Sunday night to me (or at least it seems like it does), and how – no matter how much I try to turn my brain off and relax – I never can fall asleep at a reasonable hour.

So I stayed awake, numbing my mind with the newest episode of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” and the last half of the movie “Bride Wars,” in sincere hope that those things would help lull me off to sleep. I had no such luck.

And when I settled myself onto my pillow, all I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep and have someone hold me. And yes, maybe that sounds pathetic (and maybe it is), but I didn’t care. I wanted arms to hold me and rock me and sing me lullabies.

I went to summer camp when I was in middle school, up in Pennsylvania. It was this awesome camp called Victory Valley (I actually just had to Google this place because I have so many memories of it). One night, we literally camped out. For the entire week we stayed in these cute little cabins, but on this particular night, our counselors took us out into these huge pavilion like structures that were high off the ground and we all camped out together (all of the girls, at least).

And I so clearly remember all of us clutching onto our glowsticks, sprawled out on our sleeping bags just listening to the sounds of the woods. Most of us couldn’t fall asleep, of course – for one thing, we were middle-school children who were wired to stay awake for as long as possible. But I think we were all just a little bit scared – scared that we were open and vulnerable, and if we all fell asleep then a bear could come and attack us (or worse: that the boys’ cabins could come and throw water balloons at us in our sleep).

So one of the counselors sang to us, very quietly, until we all lulled off to sleep. I can’t remember what she sang, but all I know is that it was comforting – falling asleep to the sound of someone’s voice, someone who was going to watch over you.

Maybe that’s why I associate singing someone to sleep with security and safety and peace. Who knows. All I know is that last night I wanted someone there to sing me something sweet.

And so far, this blog post has been less than philosophical. I apologize for that, because I really do want to write something substantial and poignant for people to read (or, because no one probably reads this anyway, for myself to go back and read when I need to).

But all of us have days where we would rather stay in bed, under our covers than face the world. And today is one of those days for me. I’m tired, stuff at work is broken that needs to be fixed because we have a deadline tomorrow, and I’m just mentally unprepared for it all. And I really need to try to be positive – to let others see that what gets them down won’t take me down as well. That I’m stronger than that. Like what Isaac talked about yesterday afternoon in his message: there is hope because my hope is not determined by things on this earth.

Days like today, that’s easier said than done.

But here’s to trusting. Here’s to believing that there are plans out there that I am only a tiny part of. Here’s to knowing that today is just one day, and that I can get through it. Here’s to not putting so much pressure on myself to be perfect, or to look perfect, or to act perfect all of the time. To just being the best possible version of myself that I can be and letting God fill in the gaps.

Here’s to a case of the Mondays.

At least there will always be Tuesday.

Letters (Or "Here's What I'll Never Say to You")

"We lay aside letters never to read them again, and at last we destroy them out of discretion, and so disappears the most beautiful, the most immediate breath of life, irrecoverable for ourselves and for others." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 So instead of writing a profound blog post today, I thought that I would write some letters. Letter-writing is cathartic, but perhaps it is most cathartic when you write letters to people that you never actually send. It gives you that emotional release without any of the repercussions. And so - today - I give you a few letters addressed to various individuals that I would never actually send:

I.

It seems appropriate to write this first letter to you. You were, after all, a huge part of my life for a few years. And now that I am older, and a little bit wiser, I can come to say - thank you. The fact that you completely broke my heart and my trust has made me the person that I am today. And for a while, I was really angry and bitter with you, and especially over what you did. I felt like you took my trust and - having lied to me for years - snapped it in half. But looking back, you actually made me stronger. You made me into someone who realized that forgiveness is an extremely powerful thing, and not always an easy one. I used to think that I was a very forgiving person - that I was the sort who would never grow bitter or hold grudges. But after what you did to me, I found my heart hardened. And perhaps a little bit of me will always feel that way, but I remember hearing that forgiveness is a process. You have to make a conscious effort to forgive that individual every time they pop into your mind. So I wanted to let you know that I forgive you. Despite the fact that you hurt me, I don't wish any ill thing to happen to you. I wish you well, and hope that you are. And, should by some chance we ever meet again in this life, I would smile and nod in your direction. And just know that's a huge step from where I came from a few years ago.

II.

Most of all, I want you to be happy. And I want your life to be happy. And it pains me to know that you're always in pain - it seems that if it's not physical, it's emotional, or spiritual. I wish I could understand what you're going through - how depression makes you feel, and how your joints ache at such a young age. I wish I could just make that all go away for you. I wish we could go to London together and study abroad and shop at little shops and eat and drink in pubs, and take train rides and write poems in Bryant Park. Honestly, if there's anyone in my life that I wish I could do all those things with, it'd be you. And it's funny because we didn't even really start out as close friends until later in life. But I think that it's amazing how close we've grown. And I know you're struggling with what to do with the rest of your life, but I know God has a plan and He'll work things out. And I'm always here for you.

III.

I was in love with you once and I can safely say that I am happy that you're happy. It's amazing to feel that, really. I'm actually kind of glad that you never felt the same way. In the words of Elizabeth Swan: "It would have never worked between us." True words.

IV.

It's been almost ten years, and you're still the only person who can make me laugh as hard as you do. I love being around you, and I love that you are always there for me. And I love that we can be silly and crazy and have random adventures. I wish your home life was better for you, or that you could get rid of the dysfunctionality of it somehow. I wish I could help. But I love you, profusely. And you're my best friend. And you always will be. And someday, you'll get to be in your first American wedding, and I'll get to be in my first (and probably only) Indian one. :)

V.

I just don't even know what to say to you. I'm not sure that I even know who you are anymore. I think that I did, maybe. Or maybe I just convinced myself of who you were - maybe I just constructed a model you in my mind, and saw you through that lens. The thing about you is that you're unpredictable. So maybe someday we can be friends, who knows. But as for right now, I'm still on my guard - my walls are up, because I don't know what you want or who you really are. And that scares me.

VI.

How did we all fall apart like this? Sweetie, you're so controlling. You can't make people do things they don't want to do. You can't shut people out because they disagree with you. And you sure as heck cannot try and glue something together that has already fallen apart. Because it's the truth - whether you want to admit it or not. We all fell apart. We're not the same people that we were in high school, and thank God for that. We've grown up, and moved on. And though we all love each other in the kind of way that makes us nostalgic, we'll never actually be those people again. And it kind of is sad to me that you want us to hold on so that you can feel better. I understand why you want control - your life hasn't exactly been sunshine and rainbows the past few years. And I would never want to be in your shoes. You've gone through some rough things, and you know that you had (and still have) our support. But don't resort to high school - don't threaten us, don't cause petty arguments. I love you, of course, but sometimes you make me frustrated. Just an FYI.

VII.

Is it weird that sometimes I wonder what would have happened if - three years ago - I had ended up with you instead of him? I hope you're doing well. Because you're actually someone who I really really liked, and who kind of miss to this day. And who I regret deleting off of my Facebook friends.

VIII.

It's kind of weird that you're dating her. And not just because I - along with every other single girl I know - had a crush on you. It's just...weird. But I hope you're happy. Because I really do enjoy seeing you happy.

VIV.

I'm trying to think of why we aren't friends anymore, and I don't know the answer. You and I used to be pretty close - we used to live right down the hall from one another, for goodness' sake. But we moved back home, our lives changed, and we started up new colleges. And I thought that we would still stay close - you are such a strong, wonderful woman of God. But lately... I feel like there's this huge distance between us, even though we live 15 minutes or so apart. It's funny, because we'll say that "we should really get coffee sometime." But we never do. Why is that? Has our friendship become just that shallow?

X.

This is a letter to all of you, and it's no secret how much I love you guys. When I transferred, I never thought that I would find a group that I connected with as much as I did. We're sisters, but we've become a family. And I want to cry thinking about how much I miss seeing each and every one of you from week to week. But we're forever bonded, so I guess that's okay.

Rejection (Or "Why Does It Feel Like I Keep Failing?")

"Three failures denote uncommon strength. A weakling has not enough grit to fail thrice."

- Minna Thomas Antrim

Well, I've finally returned to the realm of blogging. It only took three months, right? So - with the inspirational quote above - I write my first back-to-blog post about rejection, and feeling like a failure.

I am a writer. It's no surprise to anyone who has ever read this (which I am still convinced is just Jaime, or actually - recently! - I had the sincere honor of having Dan Harmon read my blog post about his show Community. So thank you for that, Dan!) that I am someone who loves to write, and who thrives on writing. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I have had my work published in a few literary journals, and it has definitely been quite an exciting experience.

However, I can honestly say that I have had my work rejected much more than I have had it accepted. And though I know that this is part of the writing process, sometimes it discourages me. I read my  poems and short stories, and when I finally feel like they are edited enough to be published, I submit them. And I feel a sense of pride when I e-mail those attachments. No, they are not perfect pieces. There is no such thing as a perfect poem or a perfect story. But I feel like they are complete - ready. Then, they are - nine times out of ten - rejected.

I had a professor in college once - Professor David Athey, who is to this day my favorite college professor - who told our Creative Writing and Publishing workshop that for every 100 pieces you submit, you will usually get 1 acceptance. Perhaps that is a fairly accurate estimate (or at least it feels like it is an accurate estimate). But when you open your inbox, and your heart flutters at the sight of a response e-mail from that journal that you submitted to, and then you open it only to find a non-personalized rejection letter...well, sometimes you get just a little bit bummed out.

That quote of the day above is pretty encouraging though, is it not? I think that so many times we take rejections personally. We think that someone has a vendetta against us - against our style of writing or our use of images or our way of storytelling. And perhaps, yes, there may be a grain of truth in there. Perhaps the way that we tell a story is not what they are looking for. But in order to succeed in writing - or really anything in life - I believe that we have to learn to not take rejection personally. Instead of looking at being rejected by someone (be it friend, job, etc.) as a failure, we should really begin to look at it as a stepping stone.

Rejection does not denote failure, as much as I sometimes like to believe it does. Instead, failure is determined by how you respond to rejection. Do you pick yourself back up and work harder to improve that which was rejected? Because - let's be honest - if something is rejected for any kind of position, chances are that it is not at the very best it could possibly be. I read poems and stories that I submitted years ago, and go back and tweak them. Why? Because - at the time - I had this rose-colored view of my work. When you read your work the moment that you write it, it seems perfect, does it not? My challenge would be to let the piece (whatever it is) ferment on your computer, or in your home for a while - let's say a week, for starters. Then go back and review. The majority of the time, you'll find that "perfect" piece you love so much isn't quite as perfect as you had remembered it to be.

(And well, I will return for another blog entry about revisions and my difficulties with them. But that's for another time.)

I think the true determining factor of an artist is not hinged on how many places your work has been submitted. Sure, it's nice to construct cover letters with four or five different places of reference. Does it feel good to say that you are "published"? Of course it does. But the true artist does not focus on what has been accepted, but rather what has been rejected. Because when you look at what hasn't worked, only then can you improve and learn to create something that does.