Author Archives: Julia Lloyd-George
On the outside, a visit to Georgetown’s Counseling and Psychiatric Services may appear trivial or commonplace, no different from the typical routine for a doctor’s appointment—but the decision to seek out CAPS at all can be monumental. To students affected, recognizing and addressing a mental health problem carries far greater weight than does of a physical disorder, since the stigma surrounding mental health is so deeply entrenched in our society and on our high-powered, high-achieving campus.
It’s all in the title. Masters of Sex, a new series from Showtime that premiered in late September, is practically an invitation in itself. The ‘s’ sounds blend perfectly, rolling off your tongue as you say such an attention-grabbing phrase aloud. If you’re in a public place, heads might turn. Conscious of its obvious allure, however, the show does not rely on superficial appeal alone.
I was an awkward teenager. That hardly makes me an anomaly, but the levels of angst accompanying that particular state of being reached the kind of heights that every misfit seems to think is unique to them. Of course, the irony is that this is a fairly universal condition among people navigating new identities and social strata, even as the hierarchies of high school appear to be carved in stone. Everything seems inflated beyond belief, every interaction a subject to be endlessly analyzed, and every embarrassment a potential reason to leave the country.
The first time I got drunk, I was 17 and at my cousin’s house in London. I’d had alcohol before, but never enough to feel that hazy lightness I’d heard so much about. I woke up the next morning with my first hangover. The party the night before felt like some distant and glamorous dream. […]
There’s something about zombies. I’m not sure if it’s the palatable idea of flesh-eating corpses or the escapism that a zombie apocalypse offers citizens of a government shutdown, but Americans just can’t get enough of The Walking Dead. Apparently, we like it even more than Sunday night football. This is a big deal for me, since I’m the kind of quintessential American that knows exactly what those cactus-shaped posts on either side of the field are for and wouldn’t dream of ignoring the Super Bowl until Beyoncé comes on. In short, zombies are huge.
There’s something paradoxically satisfying about watching a great hero’s tragic downfall. Every tumble down a slippery slope confirms our expectations, even as that character manages to draw our sympathies on the road to perdition. Over the narrative arc of its consistently glorious five seasons, Breaking Bad has accomplished that difficult task of getting the audience to root for the bad guy throughout his descent into monstrosity. The problem is deciding whether or not to play to those sympathies when the end is nigh.
Lorde isn’t old enough to drive. This detail is relevant not as incontrovertible proof that the New Zealand songstress is an astonishing prodigy, but because her songs are so concerned with movement: The shrinking distance between her and the world of fame and fortune, as she travels through her own unknown town on the back of a story she’s telling for the people unaccustomed to being the protagonists.
It’s not difficult to imagine how the pitch meeting for Don Jon went: “So, there’s this porn addict…” I know I would be skeptical, but, then again, I’m not part of Hollywood’s key adolescent boy demographic. It’s certainly not an easy story idea to pull off, and the main character is about as likable and multi-layered as a cardboard cutout of Todd Akin. Still, there’s a lot more to this film than first impressions allow.
Any show whose opening sequence revolves around Andy Samberg wearing a leather jacket and moving in slow motion is already at a serious advantage in my book. Now that I have my bias out in the open, I’ll go ahead and say that Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Fox’s new sitcom and Samberg’s first major post-SNL vehicle that […]
The first few minutes of Oscar-winning director Jane Campion’s haunting BBC miniseries, Top of the Lake, find a young girl slowly wading into the freezing water, the silhouette of New Zealand mountains emerging through the surrounding mist. Her glassy expression is unreadable and the scene stunningly seductive, but when a frazzled adult arrives and yells that the water could kill her, we begin to understand that there’s a sinister force behind the tranquil landscape. As the story unfolds, its characters disturb the surface in more ways than one, peeling back the outward layers of both their small, sleepy town and their own pasts to discover more corruption than they might have imagined.