Listening to: “Great Divide” – The Cardigans
What a week, what a week. What happened again? I can hardly remember. I think bullet points are in order.
– Did not get the job I wanted in NYC. But I was SO FUCKING CLOSSSSEE I think. I reacted by scouring my apartment (the living room/kitcheny area at least). I dug out my little plastic tabletop Christmas tree and propped it up in a teapot. Sipped cheap merlot and listened to Vince Guaraldi’s version of “O Tannenbaum” and watched the lights twinkle. I do have a soft spot for ol’ Christmas.
– While it’s a far cry from My Name in Lights, I did get “published” in Entertainment Weekly–in the letters section. My original was longer and angrier, and the “Girl Power” title’s kind of barftastic, but they got the gist. GAWD, do I hate all this Twilight bullshit. Real vampires don’t fucking SPARKLE. End of story. This was my original letter:
In “Twilight: A Hater’s Guide,” Clark Collis wrote that guys should skip “Twilight,” but that it’s a must-see for “girls and girls at heart.”
Well I’ve got news: Not all women dig “Twilight.” There are plenty of chicks out there, like me, who know that underneath its faux-gothic-romance sheen, “Twilight” is little more than a teen abstinence propaganda flick. We’ve seen quality star-crossed supernatural romances (“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” anyone?) and know that they don’t have to come with bad writing, cardboard characters, and heavy-handed moralizing as a caveat.
We also like our heroines to have a little less simper and a little more personality. If girls across America are looking to Bella Swan as a role model, then we’ve got a generation of wet noodle nothings to contend with. If this is what comes after feminism, then I really don’t want to see the sequel.
This comic also sums up the asscrap of it all pretty well:
– Just spent 11 hours catering a wedding in South Boston. I’d forgotten how completely, soul-deep draining food service can be. But it wasn’t too bad, and it felt nice to be useful. I think it’s the first time I’ve worn a tie in a non-ironic or non-a-cappella-related capacity. I only dropped one tray of glasses, not too shabby. The guests were all so hammered themselves, they had already broken half of it anyway. Most of the people in the company were nice, except the chef who was TOTALLY BATSHIT. This stuff is gold, people. Oh, and to all my soon-to-be-wed friends out there–serving hot dogs and fake Chinese takeout for your reception dinner is not cute; it’s just tacky. And grooms–don’t give a 20-minute toast in which you talk more about the Patriots and your golf score than about your new wife.
– Went out on the town last night with some good friends and got abjectly plastered, and dropped waaay too much money on delicious martinis at Eastern Standard. But it was worth it. Hell, it was even worth the debilitating hangover. I now owe dear Alexis two cab fares. Man oh man I have gotta stop staying out so late. Oh wait, NO I DON’T. I love staying out late.
– The other night after a show at the Colonial, Travis and I ducked into the first restaurant we could find in Chinatown–which happened to be uber-sketchball. Like, policeman-looking-at-the-books-while-we-were-there, all-five-toilets-busted, roast-duck-that-tasted-like-feet sketchball. Between the nasty carpets and the tankful of eels, it all but screamed drug front.
– I dunno if you’ve heard of Five Centimeters per Second, but it’s like the prettiest movie in the universe. Japanese animated film by Makoto Shinkai in which nothing crazy or supernatural happens–it’s just everyday mundane things, but shown in this ridiculously beautiful way.
– How much do I love J.D. Salinger? So much.