No Sex...

in the City, for Neve.... I’ve been asked on more than one occasion if I’ve already seen or plan to go and see the Sex and the City movie. The movie has been out now for a couple of weeks.

No. I’m. Not. Going.

“Why? Pourquoi? Porque’? Perche’?” You ask. Here’s my answer:

I was a die hard S&C groupie when the show aired on HBO on Sunday nights at 9:00 p.m. EST (see, I can still remember the time and day of the week). I paid the exhorbant price for HBO each month just so I could curl up on my couch, or someone else’s and watch each new and exciting episode; cosmopolitan delicately poised in one hand, eye’s glued to the tube, eager to laugh, ponder, cry and empathize with each of the single women struggling with similar perils of my own. In other words, I could identify with their lives.

In the very beginning, the show was edgy and fun. The writing was so well done that I remember applauding the talent of the writing team. "This stuff is really well written." I thought and I would comments to others that probably didn't really care to know. But I felt compelled to say it. Hell, there was some good stuff being written for cable television. Each and every word was chosen perfectly for every character; it was poetry in prose motion.

The show was really about Carrie Bradshaw, the main character, who had a relationship column. She was single and living in the big city of New York. Occasionally there would be a drop in here or there from other characters, like Miranda, but those characters developed in later episodes.

I can remember one of the very first episodes when Sarah Jessica Parker, aka Carrie Bradshaw used to talk into the camera; dictating the events of her week, and coincidentally her weekly column sex topic. You as the viewer felt that she was speaking to you directly. You wanted to answer her questions, or jump into the screen and help her with whatever relationship issue she was lamenting on about.

Her appearance wasn't as important in the beginning either. Her hair was long, crazy and curly; she wore little to no make up and her style back then was less “top designer” looking, and more funky and bohemian; more realistic to her well under six-figured annual salary.

You got the feeling she (Carrie) shopped at cool, resale shops in SOHO, not the upper west side's boutiques that catered to those who would barely bat an eyelash at the cost of purchasing a Chanel suit. Have you ever priced Chanel? Well, I have, and let’s just say, the cost of a used jacket is more than the cost to replace my karma car. Actually, a pair of Chanel sunglasses is more expensive than my karma car. If she did have a few pairs of designer shoes, Manolo Blahnik’s, but looking back now, those shoes were probably purchased because of some great shoe sale; substantially marked down from their original $400+ price, because they were a previous year's model.

Then. Something. Happened.

More and more people were talking about the show. HBO became greedy; wanting more, so they expanded to a bigger audience; a more mainstream audience and that’s when the show started to lose some of its edginess for me. It was still very well written and I would watch it, but it had changed from its raw, original form; metamorphosed into something suburban mom's across the country could also relate to. That was confusing for me.

Boo, hiss.

I found myself becoming less and less enchanted with watching the show. I started to miss some of the episodes; I found myself cheating.

Gasp!

I would opt to read a really good book or make Sunday night dinner plans. Great conversation, food and wine were taking center stage. Then later, the word on the street was the show was going to end and I actually breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I didn’t want my great memory of the show to be lost to high ratings and bad writing. I felt the show needed to end when it did; on a positive note, because in my opinion, it was headed to what prime time's answer to S&C is today, Desperate Housewives. How fucking stupid is that show? Good Fucking God!


It was time to say goodbye to my friends, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte, and I did. I said goodbye a long time ago and it was a little painful; bitter sweet, because I was saying goodbye to a show that I once respected, an icon for setting higher writing standards in the industry, not to mention a glimpse into the single life of four women making it in the big city, who no matter what always had one another to lean on.

Going to see the movie for me at this point would ruin all the great memories I still savor from when I still really liked the show. It's sort of like trying to go back and have sex with someone after the relationship has ended, badly. Or better yet, trying to keep making a relationship work when you both know it just needs to end. No good can come from that. You're left with sadness and frustration, I'm afraid.