Blahg, Blahg, Blahg

2011-12-15T20:26:00.001-08:00

HAHA, just read over the first few posts - PASSIVE VOICE? Really? STILL?

Can Lose

2011-12-15T20:17:00.000-08:00

You know those awesome people who hear about pilots before they start and then watch them the night they first air and then watch every episode until the series finale? I've never been one of them. When I was a surly teenager, I think (but who remembers these days) that I was sort of against TV. I felt I was superior to a lot of things, so let's add television to that list.

I might have only watched HBO shows, actually - but, like, only the really weird ones. Still haven't seen 6 Feet Under (I know, I know) and have only watched one episode of both Deadwood and Oz. Instead, I watched Tell Me You Love Me (did anyone other than my mom and I watched its first and only season?). And Sex and the City and Big Love.

I would hear about a show and I think I had, and still do, this thing where if it was widely liked I wouldn't believe that it was actually good. Fuck the 99%, you know? WHAT DO THEY KNOW?

Well, a lot (let's not talk about any reality shows or Two and a Half Men). Let's get into this. A list of some of my favorite shows on television right now: Modern Family, Parks & Rec, 30 Rock, The Office, Glee, Friday Night Lights.*

A list of shows that people generally fawn over and I scoffed at for at least two seasons into each one of these shows: Modern Family, Parks & Rec, 30 Rock, The Office, Glee, Friday Night Lights.

OMG SAME LIST. Why am I such a dick? These shows are so good. And since getting sick (30 Rock was the only one I'd watched before this summer), they've been my saviors. I watched all 7 seasons of Office in about 2 weeks - the most fulfilling 2 weeks of my meaningless summer. And FNL? Don't get me started. I bit the bullet two days ago and have watched roughly 18 hours in those 2 days. The joy that these shows have brought me has been unparalleled by anything in the past 6 months (exceptions: my boyfriend, my parents, xojane). When most of my friends (understandably) couldn't deal with me this summer, I could watch 15 hours of Leslie Knope in a day and eat hot and sour soup in bed.

And here's where I turn this into a bummer.

Over the past few days as I've been all-consumed by FNL, I've been thinking about the show's ubiquitous pump up cheer: Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can't Lose. What this whole ordeal has taught me: they can lose. In fact, it's slated that they will. But with a companion like this show, I feel a little more okay about it. And then I get better, little by little, with a little help from my TV friends.

*Okay, okay, I, like Mindy Kaling, used to have this other thing where we (Mindy and I) would constantly make lists of things we liked to be prepared if someone cared enough to ask us. 5 favorite concept albums? Brands of wheat beer? I got you. So this need to have complete lists plus my ever-present anxiety requires that I include other shows I love right now that don't fit into this post - Seinfeld, Lost, My So Called Life, The Big C, Sopranos, Mad Men, Breaking Bad. Listen. I consider myself into some pretty high brow shit except for when it comes to TV. And I've fully accepted it. I watched all three seasons of Laguna Beach this summer. Again. I am starting to watch Twin Peaks, though, so it's okay.

There was a point to the last post

2011-09-18T21:27:00.000-07:00

that I remembered an hour later.

When your present is stagnant and your future can't begin, all you have is the past. Which is to say, I have never felt more nostalgic in my whole life. I miss EVERYTHING that has ever happened to me because, well, it's better than this. For the first time ever (really, I didn't even like it when it was happening), I miss high school. I think about every single relationship I had with every single person. Reading my high school blog certainly didn't help. I while away the waking hours on Facebook, looking at every picture I've taken and posted. There are a lot - I am feeding my own disease.

Facebook is the worst part of my 'funemployment.'* I have all the time in the world, but no energy, so all the time is funneled into low energy tasks, such as Facebook. And though my world has paused, everyone else is goin', goin', goin' and I get to spectate the lives of 1444 other people who are working and doing and seeing and traveling. Suddenly, I envy everyone. Really, everyone. People I've mocked for years. People I hardly know. Because they have allowed something I can't quite muster. They feel present and eagerly move into the future. And, here I am, stuck in 2006.

*Someone referred to it as funemployment the other day. It's anything but. Funemployment only exists for, a. those with money, b. those who have chosen not to work. In which case, they are not unemployed. They are simply not employed.

2011-09-18T19:10:00.000-07:00

I'd always thought that I would get a job immediately upon graduating. I'm smart dammit. Plus, numerous internships, great references, a top school, rigorous courseload (repeat: I will not feel guilty for saying nice things about myself, I will not feel guilty for saying true, nice things about myself. No. Shame). But I don't want to go into law or finance. Translation: there is nothing. It is a desert out here.

Sometimes when a door closes, a window doesn't open.

September 2011

2011-09-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

Unfair: to be tortured and agonized like an artist but without any of the talent.

In Real Life, Thoughts Aren't Tempered By Titles

2011-09-12T07:59:00.000-07:00

Except for Emily Dickinson. Her titles are more than indicative of her thoughts.

But I'm quite sure Emily Dickinson should not (is not) be my role model. So, I don't need the extra anxiety of thinking thoughts and then categorizing them. So I won't. For now on.

Day 3, here we go.

What do me and the homeless have in common?

2011-09-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

The sartorial inclination to layer, for one.

But also, according to Wikipedia, "According to a study by Charles R. Drew University of Medicine and Science in California , malt liquor is the alcohol of choice of the homeless and unemployed."

Except - wait for it - malt liquor is never my choice.

New Ideas

2011-09-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

So, a few nights ago, while spiraling into sleep, I thought of 'blahg, blahg, blahg.' Perfect. That title totally gets it. I'm so smart. My blog is going to be a hit.

I've known I maybe sort of wanted a blog for a while but needed direction (still haven't figured out that part) and a name. First the name, then the subject.

So, today, when I remembered what I'd decided nights before in an off-brand Tylenol PM haze, I typed it into blogger. blahgblahgblahg.blogspot.com. Okay, so one other person is as clever as me. Got it. I can deal with that.

I was curious who this person is. My internet soulmate. Oh, hello Curtis. It's nice to see that you posted a few times on March 21 and 22. And that's it. March 21 and 22, 2002.

Then (because, honestly, how else should I be spending my time?), I googled the phrase.

So, I was neither precocious nor am I particularly clever. But I'm in good company. Curtis et al.

Well, I'll steal from the great bank of ideas once more. Pete Campbell: "It turned out it already existed, but I arrived at it independently."

How to Write a Life

2011-09-10T17:09:00.000-07:00

I don't know. It felt like it was time. The moment has been forced to its crisis, or the crisis has forced the moment, or it's just time.

I've always had a complicated relationship with documenting my own experiences in words. I remember owning a Tweety journal when I was in 3rd grade. Every few weeks or so, I would feel like writing - the details of my day or what was currently making me sad. Though I was an interesting child, maybe even precocious*, I wasn't attracted to writing in any real sense. In fact, I was destructive and overly judgmental of my own writing and my own editorial decisions. For instance, I made it a habit to read what I'd wrote earlier that week or month and then cross out every sentence, tear out the page(s), and throw it away. Why so many varieties of destruction? I felt really protective over whatever I wrote. So protective, in fact, that it didn't feel safe for even me to read it. What sort of nine year old does that? I was immediately embarrassed by my own thoughts, however inconsequential.

These days, memories like that feel important. Maybe because memories are hard to come by recently. Maybe I've begun thinking recently the lengths women go to self-censor. Was reading Tavi's tumblr the other night (after I met her (wah!) and mostly sweated in Miu Miu as her and Ellen discussed the semiotics of tumblr) and came across this quote, reminded me of my 3rd grade purges:

"Why do girls always feel like they have to apologize for giving an opinion or taking up space in the world? Have you ever noticed that?" Nicole asked. "You go on websites and some girl leaves a post and if it's longer than three sentences or she's expressing her thoughts about some topic, she usually ends with, 'Sorry for the rant' or 'That may be dumb, but what's what I think.'" - Beauty Queens by Libba Bray (via tulletulle.tumblr.com)

As a little girl I knew this. Even if no one but myself saw it, I didn't feel justified, in some sense. Or maybe I was just a nervous kid who didn't want anyone to ever find it. Can never be too careful (let's not talk about my web trace).

Last week, I read every entry of my 3 year livejournal - my first foray in internet confessions. What a whiner I was. So dramatic. I still write confessionals daily. Away messages for years. I crafted those for hours. Then status updates. No interest in twitter. It's time to (start to) blog (again?).

But this time, I'll try to be more deliberate. And this time, I'm not sorry.

*Okay, when I had my boyfriend read over this first post (got to be careful!), he laughed at this part. Read it out loud. Okay, so maybe I wasn't precocious. Maybe you can't say that? I'm not sure. The point is I was smart in person but dull on paper. Got it? Okay. Got it.