I'd forgotten what a fucking great show this is. Not having watched in a while, it had settled in my mind in the shape of a thirty-minute dramedy, frothy and facile. I'd forgotten how incredibly real it can seem, how moving it can be. Most of the time it's a hoot, and then it will suddenly twist and gut you, because under the bright veneer are so many layers of loneliness and need and insecurity. I think I've cried at six out of the first seven eps.
The weird thing is that the characters are not people I'd ever hang with. Trendy New Yorkers, slim and social, more or less well off and well-sexed. But after a while, I mostly stop noticing the differences and see only the likenesses. Like in the episode where Miranda suddenly goes on a baking spree, and she's in her kitchen and she's made a cake. She eats a few slices, puts it away and then suddenly goes back and starts doing the sliver-slicing trick: where you slice inch-thick strips of cake off, piece by piece, telling yourself you'll just have a tiny bit more, not a real slice, not a full slice. Later, she dumps the cake in the trash. Then goes back and grabs a hunk off the top with her bare hands and gnaws at it like a rat, looking broody.
Then she pours dishwasher liquid on the remains to stop herself from eating any more.
Jesus. I've done *all* that.
What a great show. And I love Miranda. I think she's my favorite.
It should be like a quiz: What "Sex and the City" character do *you* identify with?
Also, I've just realized that Samantha is kind of like the female Brian Kinney. Different in key ways--she's incredibly expressive, for one thing, whereas he's very carefully *inexpressive*, and yet when it comes down to it, they're both out of touch with their emotional core. They both reject the intimacy of long-term relationships and pursue sex with a single-minded devotion.
And Annie's right: Samantha should definitely sleep with Spike.