Why does Henry James get to skate over the bit when Isabel makes a terrible and largely uncharacteristic decision?

That, my friend, is cheating. He probably could have done it effectively--he more or less managed it in The Bostonians, although Verena is less independent than Isabel, and it's not as much of a leap--but he funked it, merely presenting us with the fait accompli of her obviously disastrous engagement, and then the equally catastrophic marriage. We are not less taken aback than Caspar Goodwood, and we might be more insulted, since we, unlike that excellent young man, are not entirely ligneous.

Independence in a woman does not equate to foolhardy actions made out of spite, especially when those actions are insufficiently explained by character and circumstance. Isabel might marry to thwart Mrs. Touchett (though that would be, at the least, rather rude, which she doesn't like to be wantonly), but it's hard to see how, having wrested a clearly painful declaration from Ralph, she would continue in such a viciously self-justificatory vein. It surprised me, I have to say, that she went through with it. (That is, it didn't surprise me in the slightest. This is a novel by Henry James, after all, so the lady in question is clearly headed for a smash. It did, however, strike me as unsatisfactory.) Isabel is headstrong, but not an idiot.

Gilbert Osmond is too obviously a fiend; Serena Merle much too obviously an interested and (at best) amoral party. The sense of impending doom, yes, is effective. But the character outline flickers, is dislimned, then snaps back into place when the crisis has passed, and that is poor.

(I mean, honestly, he's played by John Malkovich in the film. Get your head in the game, Isabel.)

Why does everyone have to take pictures of everything?

There are definitely people who like looking at photos, and there are also people who like taking photos. Some of the latter people are even good at taking photos.

But the number of photos being taken far, far outstrips the number of photos at which anyone will look, ever. You can't go to a wedding, concert, or brunch without being surrounded by hordes of incompetent amateurs with iPhones (or--often worse--actual cameras) who seem to feel it their duty to document, in minute and excruciating detail, every moment from the sublime to the ridiculous. But mostly the routine.

No one is looking at the bride. Everyone is looking at the little screen on his camera. Most of these people will look at these photos later only as thumbnails through which they must now irritatingly scroll to find the new photo of a cappuccino that has to be their new wallpaper.

Please. Just pay attention. The photographer has a website, and the bride probably has a Dropbox, so you can get the photo if you really, really want it. And it will be better than yours. Because yours was taken at a lousy angle, by you, with a potato.

Why is the Hitler Youth haircut back in style?

The practicality of the short, short back and sides cannot be argued. The shock of hair on top is more questionable, but, again, sure. There's nothing wrong with it, as a haircut, really.

But also: No.

Why do those creepy super-lifelike statues exist?

Have you seen these? Sometimes they're Elvis, which is weird, and the one I've seen is at an Oriental rug store, so that makes sense. There are also policemen, guiding you. But maybe the worst ones are the ones that sit on benches, because it takes much longer to figure out they're just statues, and it's horrifying.

I'm not talking about bronzes of Ben Franklin that sit on benches and look avuncular at the University of Pennsylvania. Those are obviously statues, and cute in a sort of strange way.

The things I'm talking about are squarely in the middle of the uncanny valley. They also seem to serve no purpose. I do not need a fake policeman to show me the driveway. I do not need Elvis at a rug shop. I certainly do not need a fake woman to take up space on a bench.

This goes double if it also makes my skin crawl.

Why have music videos gotten totally insane?

This is a partial list; I rarely watch music videos, and don't remember too many of them. I do remember, in support of my argument, that the music video for "She's So High" just featured some pretty girl and Tal Bachman looking moody, which seemed pretty plausible.

So, the 2010s. What are you doing?

The video for "Some Nights" is about the Civil War. I am pretty sure that the song "Some Nights" is not really about the Civil War. It is only about war in a very metaphorical way. So. Yeah.

Or then there's "When You Were Young," which appears to be about an unfortunate girl and a series(?) of caddish men somewhere in some central American backwater. You can probably make a universalizing point about naïve young women and not-gentlemen, but why?

And then, of course, there's Gotye's pelvic bone, about which we all know wayyyy too much.

Why do I keep dropping things on my third metatarsal?

And it's always the corner, too. Hurts like hell.

Why is Slumdog Millionaire billed as a feel-good movie?

Did any of these people see it? Has "feel-good" undergone some major transformations lately? That movie is unpleasant as dammit! And the songs (with the exception of the credits sequence, thrown to the audience as one throws a bone to a severely depressed Rottweiler, I imagine) do not help. Irrfan Khan doesn't even get a nice cathartic moment.

It starts out with torture, and ends with the hero's brother getting shot. Sure, Jamal gets the girl, but his other moment of triumph occurs when he is literally covered in crap. Amitabh Bachchan, however awesome, is not worth that.

A man was set on fire, right? That's not just my imagination? A mother was killed in front of her children? And then a fat child caused two boys to be pulled off a train for a chapati he clearly didn't need to eat? A small lad was blinded for money? A girl was sold into eventual prostitution? No? Did this not happen? One kiss makes all this okay?

What the hell kind of movies are you watching, world?

Why do I always forget that taxis exist?

On the one hand it's fortunate, because taxis are essentially slightly smellier ways to piss away your money, but on the other--sometimes you don't want to get rained on.

Why does the new Thor movie look so bad?

I know, I know. Thor was bad enough; it was badly written, somehow poorly directed, the special effects were hilariously awful, and to put the tin lid on it Natalie Portman was on your screen for a lot of time. Why couldn't I just complain about that?

Because I kind of liked it, is why, and also Loki's face. But unrelatedly, the new one looks like it has all of these things but so much worse. Even more Natalie Portman, with even more stupid drama. Ken Branagh has washed his hands of this franchise, and I can't blame him. God knows what schlub is going to write this thing, but it's not going to be Joss Whedon. I guess, fingers crossed, we're not going to have the cartoony Rainbow Road, so that'll be something?

But why does Loki's hair look like Jack White's? NOT OKAY.

Why are we too scared to say when we're good at something?

You may have noticed there is now no middle ground between arrogance and self-hatred (real or assumed). How did this happen? Why are we jerks for having confidence in ourselves, and why has it become de rigueur to write off our talents as mere chance or, at best, a facility for employing smoke and mirrors?

We all do this. I do it. You do it. Most of our friends do it. But why?

Frankness used to be (claimed, at least) a virtue: a candid, realistic approach to life and its vicissitudes. Nowadays candor is assumed, or, worse, trumpeted as a more palatable name for jackassery. Instead of sincerity, we build cages around ourselves, compounded of self-deprecation, humble-braggery, and outright lies. This, we think, protects our egos and the feelings of others, but in truth it turns us into automata with glistening humor and internal vacuum. I defy you to say this is better than the occasional bruised self-esteem.